Quickly, I lift my gaze back to his.
All three of us—him, Neve, myself—were questioned separately two nights ago about the dead man.Jackson.Even thinking it makes me twitchy, but I refuse to show that, and definitely not in front of Sylvan.
We haven’t been called in for further questioning since, but they’ve got no suspects, which is going to circle back around to the three of us. Coach Wynon dealt with the press, or had someone deal with it, so we weren’t named in Drayton’s paper or in the press release from the university.
But sooner or later, someone will find out something. Social media is always good for that, even if I only post and run. Sponsorship deals that keep me comfortable.
Sylvan’s gaze reminds me of it. What we have to lose.
A slow smirk spreads on his face, but I see his hand at his side, tapping out a rhythm from whatever it is he’s listening to. He’s jittery, although he does his best to hide it. And when he sees me staring at his hand, he clenches his fist, and I realize it’srare to see that hand without a glove. On the ice and outside, he’s covering himself up. Even now, with the long sleeve. It’s not unusual; about half the team is wearing longer compression shirts. But it’s interesting.
No bomber jacket to hide in here. No black leather gloves. No mitts.
He drops his gaze and I feel him looking at the chains around my throat. Gold and silver. I mostly leave them tucked in, but I don’t check until right before the gloves go on.
His blond hair furls beneath the backward cap as he lifts his chin, his neck stretched taut.
Earlier today when we both walked into the locker room, he suggested we meet up with Neve tonight.
I’m not sure I’m going to go. I don’t even know how to find her, unless Connor has something up his sleeve.
Either way, I’m his captain,thisis my future, and I don’t need to be involved in this shit any more than I already am.
Even if I can’t stop fucking thinking about her.
He winks at me as he stretches his neck.
I do another lunge, closing the space between us.
Then I shoulder check him as I walk past him, reminding him between us, I’ve got more muscle.
Sylvan isunder my arm in the huddle.
I didn’t want it to work out that way, but he did.
After I go over the game plan—puck control, because if we have that, the Lynxes get angry, they get penalties, they fall apart—I turn to him directly and say my last words, although every eye from every man in a black and red Dragons’ uniform is on me.
“Don’t try anything new tonight.”
He’s not smirking now.
“And don’t get too fucking cocky.”
TWELVE
NEVE
“Ilovethe metallic cups.” The words come out of my mouth and I’m not lying. I bring the huge drink to my lips, the lime bumping my mouth as I gulp down Diet Coke and sweet, dark rum. The burn down my throat isexactlywhat I need, and thankfully, Cynthia and her “friend,” Tasia—the one who was allegedly in some sort of shallow relationship with Sylvan—are each drinking from their own cups so there’s no room for post-murder judgment here.
No one has left flowers around Sky, either.
Jackson didn’t go here. If anything, he was a predator on campus. The lack of a memorial makes me feel good, which in turn makes me feel like a devil, but less reminders of that day, the better.
It’s Friday night and the arena ispacked.Tasia—with her long, jet-black hair and big green eyes, could be a model—said it’s even more chaotic when the Dragons play Queens, but apparently, the Lynxes are a bitter rival of theirs so the tension is thick. Since Hamilton isn’t a far drive, there are plenty of blue and white jerseys in support of our enemy, but for the most part, the stadium is filled with red and black.
Tasia is wearing one of the latter, and the surname “Connor” is etched on the back of hers.
Sylvan is a right winger and, thanks to her jersey, I know his number is 13.
