“I’llpay for it. Get. One.”
“It’s nearly midnight. I don’t want?—”
“I don’tcarewhat you want. This isserious,Neve. They’re going to grill you tomorrow and you’re dealing with two high-profile hockey players?—”
“What do you mean,high profile?How do you know anything about them?” For a breath, my own question stops me cold. It doesn’t make sense. Nolan isbusy,and he was never into sports. Why would he know more about the hockey players at Drayton than I do?
I hear a long-suffering sigh on the other end of the line.
“Faust Darling and Sylvan Connor arethe next best things.One is the captain of a U Sports hockey team. The other has a rags-to-near-riches story so cute with his brand deals, he’s already earned respect north of the border. Get. A.Lawyer.”
I don’t say anything. The rage in Nolan’s voice is familiar, but I listen to him better when he’s not freaking the fuck out. After a moment, he seems to remember that, because all he says is, “I just want to keep you safe.”
SEVEN
NEVE
“Aren’t you late for something? Poetry?” Cynthia’s voice greets me before espresso does, which is a cardinal sin in my book. Only because Cynthia is usually late for everything and I never wake up after her.
But last night I didn’t fall asleep until around three in the morning and my dreams were plagued with boys I’ve slept with gurgling blood low in their throats.
I tug the red robe tighter around my shoulders and blink the sleep from my eyes as I pad into the kitchen, Cyn’s caramel eyes watching my every movement as she sips from her hot, homemade matcha latte in a unicorn mug.
“I’m not going to poetry.” My writing skills as a poet are decidedly lacking but I love writing verses regardless. This morning, however, the class will suffer a little less without me reading our mandatory rhyming couplet each day at the start of the morning.
Last night I found two hockey players and one dead body,
Why me?
Yeah, I’ll keep that to myself.
I pass Cyn in our dark kitchen and arrive at my destination: the shiny, gorgeous espresso machine that saves my life every single day. A gift from Nolan, whom I don’t want to think about right now.
My roommate—and best friend—is watching me. I can feel her gaze like an accusation.
Despite the fact I’ve known her for over three years since we had a French class together, and I trust her mostly with my life—unless she’s had too much tequila—I’m not sure how to tell her about… what happened last night.
I’m not sure I want to think about it. Not without caffeine injected directly into my bloodstream.
After I twist the portafilter onto the machine, then give it a nudge to grind the espresso beans, I turn to Cyn and cross my arms, grateful for my beige indoor Ugg slippers and the cloak-robe around my body. It’s chilly outside and despite our working heat, it’s drafty above Midnight Blackwell’s. With a quick glance through to the living room and the sliding glass doors of our balcony, I see snowflakes.
Mid-October, it’s early for snowfall but, clearly, not impossible in the GTA.
If I had only known.
Although Nolan did try to warn me. And so did my mom during the one conversation we had about college. Once her and her new husband, Marty, learned they wouldn’t be on the hook to pay for anything thanks to my scholarships and co-signed loans with Nolan, suddenly the perpetual cold, the horrible traffic, the lagging healthcare, the “socialism,” and everything else they’d heard about Ontario didn’t seem to matter anymore.
Truthfully, however, even I had underestimated the first two things.
It wasreallyfucking cold.
The espresso machine stops grinding and when I can hear again, I speak.
Cautiously.
“What do you know about Faust Darling?” I kind of hope she hasn’t heard of him and for some reason, that will make this story a little easier to break. My eyes shift past her and I catch sight of the black gilded bookshelves bracketing our windows. Psychology texts, old, worn volumes Casper Bennet—the older man who owns Blackwell’s beneath it, and gave me an excellent deal on rent for this apartment for the entire year—passes up to me when he knows I’ll want to dive into them.
I love my life. Usually.
