Don’t think of Jackson.
Do. Not. Think of Jackson.
I don’t, just barely, and Sylvan’s bravado seems to wilt before my eyes. He doesn’t do anything different, really, it’s just… there’s no smirk, his shoulders seem lower, and he glances at the ground.
But is it an act? To get what he wants?
His eyes find mine once more, and he looks like he wants to say something, but another glance at Faust, and he falls silent.
FOURTEEN
FAUST
“Don’t you have your own elite parking in the back? A secret future millionaire’s club?”
I glance at the blond woman by my side and I don’t know if that was a joke but it makes me want to laugh.
The front parking lot for Sky Arena is mostly deserted now; no more snapping photos or filming footage that will be dissected for hours on social media. I don’t actively scroll through my accounts, but when I get on to approve brand posts, there are always so many notifications I want to throw up. I never look, but I hear whispers from the guys about the shots of us people post, the memes they make, the videos that objectify or stupidify us.
Mostly, I’m indifferent, since I avoid all of it.
Now I find myself wondering if Neve Devine, age twenty-one—same as me—a senior (not the same as me), a psych major, and an American, has social media. If she’d post me for clout, or worse. She’s got this edge to her that makes me think she’d use anyone or anything to get ahead, and you’d thank her for it.
But she hasn’t taken any photos. Oddly, I haven’t seen her phone out at all so far.
Then again, I doubt she’d want any memory of attacking Connor, spitting on him, then watching as he put her spit in his mouth.
But maybe it’s something else. Like the way the paranoia is quiet in my mind now, being with her. Same as it is on the ice, but it’s better, because it doesn’t feel like a thing Ihaveto do. Just one I want.
I squeeze my hands into fists at my side, the key ring to my BMW biting into my palm as we stride to the backed-in red car at the far end of the lot.
My mind fills with Sylvan again. How he spoke to her. How he touched her.
If he wasn’t my teammate, I would have hit him and I don’t think I would have minded at all who saw me.
But heismy teammate, and hitting him could cost me too much.
He isn’t worth it, even if his gloved finger in his mouth was hot. But as Neve sighs by my side and I think of how confused she looked when I told her what Sylvan had implied, I wonder if she could be.
Tired thoughts. My brain is moving too slow because I’m exhausted and while a win like that one is absolutely incredible—I know for a fact there were several scouts in those stands and while I have an offer, it’s good to be noticed—it doesn’t make the ache in my bones and my mind lessen.
If anything, it feels heavier.
More pressure.
More expectations.
Now we need to do it again. Always the cycle. It never ends. I love it, most of the time. But sometimes I wonder if Dad is proud of me, and sometimes I want to quit just to spite him for it.
“We do have aneliteparking lot,” I say quietly as Neve’s heels echo on the asphalt, her arms wrapped around her body in herbrown wool coat. It looks good on her, and I like she’s wearing heels, too. Unusual for a game, but she’s really classy. Or high maintenance. Either way, I’m into it. “As I recall, you were running in it just the other night.” I glance at her as I speak, but I didn’t need to. The hitch in her breath confirms it all.
She’s unsettled.
I’ve come to understand since Wednesday the scope of her relationship with the dead boy. Jackson Merit was twenty-nine years old and had a prior warrant out for his arrest years ago for domestic assault but for some interesting reason, never was brought in.
And Neve knew him exactly two weeks to the day he died.
All of this information gleaned from Drayton’s general counsel. It makes sense. Sylvan and I are star players, but we can’t ruin the reputation of the team, and thus, the university, so lawyers are sticking their hands in things just in case.
