“My mom does, yes. I’m an only child.”
“Of course you are.” I wave my hand to dismiss his perplexed look. Only children don’t understand they give offonly childvibes as soon as you meet them, and trying to explain it to them does no good. “What about Ryles?” It’s the name I’m most familiar with. “You’ve seen his family at games?”
“What do you know about Ryles?” Faust narrows his eyes.
I roll my own. “Answer the question.”
“Yeah. His little sister. His dad.”
I don’t ask about his mom. “Anyone’s parents you don’t see?”
Faust looks down at where we’re touching, like he’s thinking. “Swarvy, one of the back-up goalies. But his parents are in Russia. I guess… Only Connor’s.”
“And you don’t find that odd?”
“HeisAmerican.”
“He’s fromBuffalo.”That’s like a three and a half hour drive from here. Besides, I’m sure there are other Americans on the team.
Faust’s jaw jumps like he’s annoyed I remember.
I’m secretly pleased at the jealous look on his face, his lips turned down and brows furrowed, but I don’t push at it. “Do you find that odd? Have you ever asked why no one shows up for him?” I think back on the case study I did tonight.
Antisocial personality disorder. I’m definitely not armchair diagnosing Sylvan. In many ways, the disorder doesn’t seem to fit him, as far as I can tell. But in other ways… it does.
“No,” Faust answers, and there’s a quiet to the word that feels heavy. Like he regrets he hasn’t dug deeper. “But sometimes it happens. Guys don’t have close family. No one shows up for them. We just show up for each other.”
Unexpectedly, my heart feels as if it twists in my chest, thinking of cocky Sylvan Connor being lonely.Frostbite,Cyn said.
“Even if he has a bad family history, how would that connect him to Jackson and Will?” Faust is quiet for a moment as he studies me, trying to puzzle it out himself.
But I don’t have an answer. I’m just probing.
In the silence, he fills it again. “Why did you… like them? Will and Jackson?”
He uses the word “like,” but I can tell in his pause he meant to say “fuck.” He’s trying to be polite, and it annoys me.
“You can just call a thing a thing.”Slut D.The slur echoes in my head.
I glance at the pancakes on my plate, only a bite missing.
“You want to know why I fucked them both, just say that.” Even as I try to sound flippant, the bitterness seeps through my tone.
“Neve.”
Reluctantly, I look up into Faust’s dark eyes. That ring of silver around his irises is distracting, but so is he, on the whole. Especially when he uses that tone he just spoke in to say my name. Patient, forgiving.
I don’t know why it matters that I get either of those two qualities from him. Besides, I’m sure it’s all an act regardless.
“What.” Bratty and spat out as a statement rather than a question. This is me descending into my lowest self, but usually when it starts, I can’t stop it.
“I’m not judging you. What you did then is your business and I met you when I met you?—”
“Oh, do you think I somehow changed the moment I collided with you at Sky? Do you think you’re going toreformme? Because if you believe I’m anything other than what I was, you’re lying to yourself.”
“And what were you?” His tone is sharper now, but only slightly. Still patient, but on the edge.
“A whore. Nothing is different, Faust. Or do you not remember when I just told you to pinch my?—”
