“Jesus. That’s savage.” I shake my head. “And weird. Don’t worry, I’ll tell them it’s my fault. They can scratch me.”
Benny gives me awho are youlook.
Okay, yes, there may have been times in my life where I wasn’t the most responsible guy. Never when it comes to hockey, though. That’s the one thing I’ve always taken seriously.
I shrug. I don’t want to be scratched; no one ever does. But this is my fault and I’ll take the consequences of my decisions. I had to look after Nikki. I doubt Coach will consider that a good reason for being late. Or maybe he will if I tell him it’s Nikki Sullivan. Nah. He probably doesn’t even know who she is.
“You gotta stop trimming your beard over the sink,” Dilly tells Crusher. Then over his shoulder he adds for our benefit, “He plugged the sink yesterday.”
“Where else am I supposed to do it?” Crusher demands. “How about over your bed?”
“Fuck off.”
“Listen, when I cleaned out the drain, I found a lot of things that were not mine. A goddamn hair tie. Not mine. A condom! Not mine.”
“Wait. How do you know it’s not yours?”
Crusher goes silent. “I just know it.”
“I was afraid you were going to say you don’t use them.”
“Of course I use them. Let’s just say it was a… very small condom.”
“Well, it wasn’t mine!”
“Somebody put it there. Which is stupid. Also, there was a fuckingmarblein there. I don’t think it was a little facial hair that clogged the drain, buddy.”
I tune out the chirping, thinking of Nikki. I’m still pissed and hurt that she had a different perspective on our relationship. Such as it was.
How could she think that was just a one-nighter? Iknowshe felt the connection between us.
Fine. Whatever. I’m better off in the alone zone.
Right now it’s about keeping her safe and making sure she’s okay. I will be her goddamn friend and nothing more.
12
NIKKI
Well. This is weird.
I sit on Marek’s couch and look around at his apartment. It’s a nice place, I guess, but a little bland for me. He does have an amazing view of Manhattan from all the big windows, though. I stand and walk over to the window to gaze out. One window is actually a sliding door out onto a small balcony, which is wet and chilly looking.
It’s another overcast day, with low clouds and weak light. Some of the skyscrapers across the river have their heads in the clouds, and the choppy river is the color of graphite. Is it going to snow again? The idea sends a flash of heat through my middle.
I feel unsettled. I should be at home. My sanctuary.
Except it’s surrounded by media people with cameras.
When I saw those guys out on the street, my stomach lurched.
The attention over the last six months has been both wonderful and terrifying, but usually I’m okay with a smile and a wave. I live my life with careful adherence to rules and structure, so there hasn’t been any shocking gossip about me. Until now.
Now, I’m terrified of them. All I can think about is people crying and screaming and grabbing at me.
Even locking myself in my apartment felt unsafe with them out there.
I turn and wander back through the apartment. My suitcase is still sitting in the foyer, so I roll it down a short hall. I peek into rooms and find a bathroom, Marek’s room, and a spare bedroom that’s neatly furnished. I lug my case in there and lay it flat on the floor.
