“What?”
I sit up on my elbows. “You play hockey?”
This makes him smirk. “I do.”
“You play the drums?”
He nods, reaching for a shirt on the floor.
“So how can you do something so evil?”
The question stops him. His back is to me, muscles tensing under his skin. He throws on a shirt and a pair of shorts, then hands me my clothes without turning around.
He ignores what I just said completely.
I take my clothes.
He checks his phone, reading something on the screen I can’t see. His jaw tightens.
I quickly dress.
“Something came up.” He finally looks at me. “Do you want to come or go back to your dorm?”
“What is it?”
He shrugs. “It’ll be quick.”
“Okay.”
On the drive, I watch him.
His hands on the steering wheel. The set of his jaw. The way his eyes scan the road like he’s calculating something I can’t see.
He grabs my hand suddenly and holds it. The gesture feels intimate in a way that makes my chest tight.
“Trust me?” he asks.
I nod. “Do you?”
He nods back.
We drive in silence for another ten minutes. Then he pulls off onto a side road I don’t recognize. Trees close in on both sides.
My heart starts racing. “What are we doing here?”
“You said you trust me, right?” He puts the car in park. “I’m testing that right now. Get out.”
My hands shake as I unbuckle my seatbelt. I look at the trees surrounding us—dark, dense, swallowing all the light.
“Koa—”
“Get out.”
I open the door and step into the cold. My breath fogs in the air.
He’s already at the trunk, pulling out rope.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trembling. Not from cold. From fear.
