“Frostbite?” she quips, and my eyes widen at the nickname. “What?” she asks. “You had to have seen some of the signs the girls bring to the games.Frostbite, I’ll melt you. Frostbite, let me freeze.”She mocks the words I’ve definitely never seen—but I’ve only been to two games and I was a little distracted at both of them—then laughs at herself as she takes another bite of her food.
“That’s not actually his nickname.” I don’t ask it as a question, because it’s fucking absurd. It does make sense, which makes it more annoying.
“You’re stalling. So you dry fucked Frostbite after dry fucking another guy… What was his name by the way? He was hot, but not as hot as Sylvan Connor. Those tattoos on his throat though, hmmm.” She makes a groaning sound, and I can’t disagree with her attraction, but I fucked that up.
“Ace,” I supply.
“Ace!” Cynthia snaps her fingers. “I think he was in my photography history course last year. I thought those tattoos looked familiar.” She gives me alook,wiggling her eyebrows. “Does Connor or Darling have any tattoos the public can’t see?”
I take a dramatic breath. “Cynthia.” I need to tell her at least some of the truth. “I don’t know what’s going on with me and them, but that’s not why we were in a room together.”
She must notice the nerves in my voice.
She sets down her fork, swallows, then swivels on her stool to face me, and I do the same to her, our knees brushing.
Reaching for me, she grabs my wrists gently in her hands.
“Tell me what happened, Neve. If they hurt you, I swear toGodI will?—”
“They didn’t,” I say quickly, although I think of Sylvan cornering me last night and wonder if I’m being entirely honest about that. I inhale. Exhale. Meet her gaze.
Then I tell her about Will Barbour, leaving out the part where he came here, which makes the truth seem less spooky, but I can’t have her involved.
Not until I know exactly whatI’minvolved in.
TWENTY-TWO
NEVE
The moon is beautiful and the stars are bright despite the lights around Drayton as I head down the steps of Salvatore Hall, leaving Dr. Patrick’s seminar behind.
We analyzed a clinical case study and tonight’s was unsettling.
The patient had many bipolar features but he was actually antisocial. Not a mood disorder, but a personality disorder. The overlapping symptoms of impulsivity and aggression threw me off, but the lack of remorse when he was jailed for picking apart a rabbit—his sister’s pet—at least threw antisocial personality disorder into the mix.
Eventually, I understood precisely what his diagnosis was and why. He never had episodic behavior. He was constant in his disregard for rules and decency.
My mind flickers to Sylvan.Frostbite.I roll my eyes to myself, but I can’t help thinking over everything I know about his patterns. It’s not much, but the way he showed up at my place unexpectedly, how he stalked me to get my number, the manner in which he casually broke Will’s nose, then there wasthe cornering me in public at the bar… Something isoffabout him. Or maybe he’s just vain, selfish, reckless, and immature.
Not everything is a diagnosis. Some people are just assholes.I repeat the words from a past professor inside my head, willing myself to believe it.
I shiver beneath my white wool jacket as I stand under the dark sky. It’s cold and quiet but not deserted. Still not enough people to make me feelsafe,but considering everything, I guess my paranoia is warranted.
I blow out a breath of condensation, ready to get back to my cocoon of a bedroom, close my eyes, and zone out.
But I nearly jump out of my skin when I reach the last step and someone bumps into me.
Putting distance between us, I whirl around and find Edmond.
Edmond Donaldson,I remind myself. The one who tried to speak to me at the game. The guy in my class who I was kind of an asshole to.
“Fuck,” I say, letting another cold puff of air leave my mouth at the same time. “You scared me.”As if that’s not obvious, Neve. Get it together.I clear my throat and clench my fingers around my cell in my coat pocket, my red leather school bag hiked up on one shoulder.
“Sorry,” Edmond says with a smile as the few other students in our class disperse around the two of us at the bottom of the steps.
I glance up at the towering gray stone building to my right, tipping my head back to take it in. There’s a light on in the top floor. I wonder if Dr. Patrick is up there. For some reason, it feels like someone is watching me, and truthfully, I’d be relieved if it was her.
After spilling most of my guts to Cynthia on Sunday, three days ago, I’ve done my best tostopbeing so wound up. She toldme that my connection to Jackson and Will was so tenuous it could mean nothing, and if Will was hanging around on campus, he was clearly messing with someone else.
