“You think he could’ve done it.” Neve’s words aren’t an accusation. They feel like a weight between us instead. I can pickit up and throw it aside like it’s nothing—not true, or I can let it settle between us—true.
I don’t know the answer, though. It’s not like I’ve seen him walking around covered in blood. And that first night we met Neve, running away from her loser boyfriend? When would Sylvan have had time to stab him? He wasn’t carrying a blade. Or was he?
“My brother didn’t know him, by the way. Sylvan.”
I nod once. I never expected he did, but it was worth exploring, if only to see if his name was notorious outside of the rink.
I blow out a breath, glance at her empty water-chocolate, then meet her gaze. “You eat dinner?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s close to midnight.”
That’s not quite true, but it’s also not an answer. I don’t say anything. I just look at her. Those big eyes, the little line between her brows that seems to pop up when she’s stressed, which it feels like she always is lately.
Who was she before?
Oh, that’s right. Fucking idiots who didn’t deserve her attention.
She glares at me when I let my silence speak for itself. “I don’t need you to take care of me.” The words sound bitter.
“So, no?” I press. “Youdidn’teat dinner?”
Her cheeks flush hot and I don’t look away first.
She does, hiding her hands in the sleeves of her hoodie.
I’m getting her one of mine tomorrow before we leave for the game. Sylvan can blow his shot again for all I care.
Don’t be fucking stupid.
That relentless voice in the back of my head that tells me constantly when I’m not doing good enough, pushing hard enough, nearly exhausting myself to ensure Mom is taken care of for eternity. Rachel, too.
They don’t need the money at the moment, but who wants to rely on their ex-husband the rest of their life?
And maybe there’s someone else I’m thinking I want to take care of, too.
“I’m not hungry. Seeing a corpse for the first time will do that to you, I guess.” She mutters the words under her breath but for once, it’s not an angry reflection. At least, that’s not all it is.
I push all thoughts of Jackson from my mind.
It’s not the wound in his side, or his wide eyes staring up at nothing that bothers me.
It’s the factshestood right there, so close to him.
I know I shouldn’t care. But I’m consumed.
She can keep her skipped meals, but I know one thing for certain.
“You can come to my place, or I’m staying with you tonight.” I lean back in the booth and lift one shoulder nonchalantly.
She narrows her gaze at me, lifting her chin in defiance. “I just said I don’t need?—”
“Yeah.” I smile at her; an expression I don’t feel, because this shit should be the last thing on my mind. “I heard you. I just don’t care.” I tap my knuckles to the table. “Hurry up, because I need a snack.”
FORTY
NEVE
Itilt my head lazily back against Faust’s leather passenger seat, a smile curving my lips. In one hand, I grip a blue raspberry slushy in a Styrofoam cup, and in the other, I’m twirling the ends of my hair, strands come free from my bun.
