Even though his words are light, dread curls in my gut.
THREE
FAUST
“Wait,” I call after him. “Why the fuck are you following me?” I don’t walk with Sylvan as he turns away, the sound of a pickup truck’s engine turning over from the main lot.
The guy we cornered. The one who smelled like liquor and definitely didn’t have good intentions for the girl he was chasing, just as I assumed.
But even though I said Sylvan was takingushome, I still believe this girl isn’t my problem and I don’t think we should look for her at all. Besides, she’s probably long gone.
And I don’t care how controlling and aggressive Sylvan sounded when he had the guy backed up against the wall. His blacked-out G wasn’t in the players’ lot so where the fuck was he all that time I was in the shower? Walking through the locker room? Where did he come from, and why is he still here? Sure, freshmen need to prove their worth but most of them are shocked stupid by a collegiate schedule that there is no way in hell they’d voluntarily stay until past ten at night, two days before an important game.
Sylvan glances over his shoulder. In a black bomber jacket, a red scarf around his throat, and what looks like tailored navy blue pants, not to mention the red leather gloves on his hands, he doesn’t look like he’s been here since practice ended. Then again, I don’t usually track his whereabouts.
We speak on the ice without words. We’ve managed it pretty well pre-season and the start of this month too.
Until now.
A grin pulls on his lips. They’re thick, pale red with a pronounced Cupid’s bow.
His eyes are light blue, circled by deep gray. In the lights from Sky Arena, I can see every shade clearly.
“I’m trying to learn you, Faust.”
It’s weird. He’s from New York, but he sounds different. Almost like the girl who was running. Maybe New York has parts of it that are like Northern Ontario. Country. Redneck.
I know Sylvan played juniors right outside of Buffalo. He made waves there, and part of me was surprised he wanted to come here at all. We’re a good program—the contract I haven’t signed makes my chest squeeze a second—but he could’ve gone pro if he stayed a bit longer.
We all have reasons though to delay heading into the pros, don’t we? Sometimes we’re not good enough.
But he is.
So am I.
“Don’t fuck with me, Connor.” I use his last name, my eyes narrowed. “Did you watch me in the locker room?” I take a step toward him. We’re nearly the same height, but where he might have an inch on me, I’ve got more muscle on him.
He turns to face me fully in the night, then pushes his gloved hands into the pockets of his black jacket. The smirk is gone. Something like steel takes its place.
“I didn’t watch you in the locker room,Captain.”He delivers the title with sarcasm. “I don’t do shit like that.” There’s ice in his words. It makes them sound believable.
Then again, I’ve found the world is full of people good at lies.
I don’t happen to be one of them. Half-truths and fibs don’t make sense to me.
So maybe he’s full of shit. But he didn’t do anything too weird unless he pulled back the shower curtain and he doesn’t look like he’s guilty of anything.
Fuck. I don’t know.
I was non-verbal until I was six. I have hazy memories of half a decade without words. All I recall is being focused while no one else was. Speaking less when everyone else spoke too much. But I never learned how to lie either, and while I’m suspicious of others, I still can’t quite figure it out.
“Let’s find her, Darling.” The sarcasm is gone. “It’s freezing.” A breath of cold air puffs from his cheeks as he says it, proving his point.
“Why didn’t you drive?”
His light brows pull together, then he sighs. “I needed a walk. After I got to the dorm. I had to get out.”
“Why? Isn’t your room private?” He’s twenty, but a freshman, so he has to stay on campus the first year. I heard Coach Wynon tease him about his privacy once. Not that I was paying attention.
