26 - Haven
HAVEN
I told myself I was getting used to the bus. The same roads, the same stops. The same worn-out suspension that made every bump feel like a violation of my personal space.
Not that I had any personal space.
Dorian leaned into me again, as he fell asleep for the third time. I didn’t mind him using my shoulder, really. Up until the drooling, anyway.
“Dude…”
I pushed him off, hard enough to wake him. Dorian blinked a few times, before running a sleepy forearm over his glistening mouth. Then he smiled, winked, and poked me in the ribs.
“How’s it hanging, stats-girl?”
Together we looked down at the saliva stain on my shoulder. Dorian grinned.
“It’s hanging,” I told him. “How’s the back healing up?”
He opened his mouth to reply, then stopped, as total confusion crossed his face.
“Wait. How do you—”
“House ain’t that big,” I returned his grin.
Dorian blinked a few times, completely dumbfounded.
“Go back to sleep, mush-mouth,” I chided him. I even offered him my shoulder back. “We’ve got another few hours’ ride.”
I closed my eyes as well, focusing on the hum of the motor to drown out the dozen or more conversations going on around me. Grayson and Mercer were done talking strategy. Ares and Sebastian were seated beside each other, talking about something in low tones.
And that was a conversation I would’ve paid to listen in on.
I tried to rest but sleep wouldn’t come. My mind was too busy jumping from issue to issue, stat to stat. Eventually it would wander, trying to put out fires that had nothing to do with hockey.
The problem was, a few of those fires I secretly wanted to keep burning.
Finally the bus lurched into the parking lot, with a long, groaning exhale of air brakes.
I glanced up and shook my head. The hotel looked like it had burned down years ago… but someone forgot to close it.
“Home sweet home,” Caleb muttered, behind me.
A flickering neon sign buzzed weakly overhead, missing at least half the letters. The parking lot was cracked and uneven, puddles reflecting the sickly glow of the lights like something out of a B-grade horror movie.
“Nobody touch anything,” Zack added, stifling a laugh. “Seriously. I mean it.”
We filed off the bus in a loose cluster, bags slung over our shoulders, gear dragging behind us. The air was crisp, and noticeably sharper. This deep into Canada, it actually bit at your lungs.
Mercer and Grayson disappeared through the door of the main building. They emerged ten minutes later, although it felt like an eternity.
Together, they started handing out keys.
“Zack, you’re with Caleb,” Mercer grunted.
“The fuck I am.”
“Figure it out,” the coach growled. “Dorian, you’re with Asher. Riley, Jackson…”
Keys flew across the parking lot, snatched from the cold mountain air by guys with the reflexes of, well, hockey players. I hovered off to the side, waiting, not entirely sure how this worked for me. I hadn’t exactly been included in overnight trips before.
Finally, Mercer glanced over at me.
“You’ve got your own room,” he said, and handed me the key. “Second floor. End of the hall.”
I took it with a nod. “Thanks.”
“Don’t die,” Zack called as he passed me.
“What?”
He pointed to the hallway ceiling. Either it had been painted half-black, or it was covered in mold.
My stomach twisted as I realized which one it was.
I climbed a set of dirty cement stairs. Grayson stepped up beside me, just as I reached the landing.
“Second floor?”
I nodded. “Last room at the end.”
He and I both looked down the hallway. Almost on cue, the overhead fluorescents flickered, ominously.
“Lock your door,” he said.
I arched my brow.
“That sounds like advice you give someone right before something terrible happens.”
“Just giving you information.”
“Helpful.”
A beat of silence passed between us. Then—
“You’ll be fine,” he added.
His eyes lingered a second longer than they needed to. And his tone was different. None of the usual swarminess.
Maybe because we were so far from home.
“You trying to reassure me?” I asked, studying him.
“Don’t get used to it.”
We parted ways, and I walked the dirty, decades-old carpet all the way to the end. The key stuck for a second, before the door finally gave a dull click.
I stepped inside, and immediately wrinkled my nose. The room was… functional. That was being generous. A bed. A tiny table. A TV that looked more like a lost relic, than a piece of hardware.
“Zenith,” I said mockingly. “Nice.”
You’ve stayed in worse places, I tried to convince myself. Only I wasn’t all that convinced.
Making the best of a bad situation, I dropped my bag and began unpacking.
It was late, and I was looking forward to sleep.
Once everything was in its proper place, I dipped into the closet that doubled as a bathroom.
I took a lukewarm, barely-there shower, got dressed, and slipped into my predictably uncomfortable bed.
For a good minute, I almost missed the frozen wasteland of my attic bedroom. Then warmth enveloped me, and I began drifting off.
I slept for a while, maybe. It was difficult to tell. My encounter with Ares still drifted through my head, among a thousand other things. It was no surprise then, when I thought I imagined the voices outside my door. They grew louder, though. Impossible to ignore.
Laughter, at first. Then shouting. A door slammed, somewhere down the hall. There was a sharp burst of yelling; male voices, that weren’t ours.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when someone — or some thing — banged loudly into my door.
My heart pounded as I sat up. The voices grew louder, angrier.
I stood slowly, crossing to the door without thinking about it. Moving quietly, I pressed my ear against it.
“—I thought I told you—”
“—don’t start that shit—”
Another slam. Closer.
Footsteps stopped. Right outside my door.
Then, to my horror… my door handle began moving.
I froze. The handle moved slow, testing the lock. Somehow it stayed engaged. There was another bang — right next to my door this time — followed by the sound of footsteps, running.
Eventually, a door slammed, further away.
Silence followed.
I exhaled hard, not realizing I’d been holding my breath for almost a minute. I tried telling myself I wasn’t scared, but my rapidly beating heart said otherwise. I didn’t like the isolation. The thin walls. The way everything felt just a little too close, while the team felt too far away.
I glanced from the door, to the bed, and back again. Then I paced the room, twice.
Finally I sat down on the bed. The very second I did, I jumped up again.
“Seriously?”
Yeah. Seriously.
This was stupid. And I was doing it anyway.
I grabbed my key, checked both ways, and stepped out into the hallway. It was empty now, but a fresh spray of something dark and red — that looked suspiciously like blood — now fanned out across the wall, as well as my door.
I shivered and got moving. Even on the disgusting carpet, every step felt way too loud. I kept moving, shaking off goosebumps, praying that no one would hear me. Eventually I stopped outside one of the doors.
Of course, I knew whose room it was.
I raised my hand. Hesitated. Then knocked, softly.
Five seconds went by. Ten…
The voices down the hall grew loud again. I heard shouting, followed by pounding…
Then the door before me finally opened, and relief flooded through me.