Page 16

Chapter

Sixteen

I pulled on a ratty T-shirt and faded jeans, the uniform of the glamorous janitor's assistant. Rob waited by the door, his foot tapping an annoyed staccato on the tile. He smirked when he saw my expression.

He held the door open, and I swept past him into the frigid night air. It wasn’t until we were a block away that I realized I hadn’t eaten dinner.

We trekked across the quiet campus, street lamps casting gentle halos on the brick buildings of Douglas. The scent of ginger and soy sauce tickled my nose as we passed a little noodle shop kiddy corner to the bookstore, its neon sign buzzing “open.” My hunger pangs grew claws.

"Pit stop," I announced, veering toward the shop. Rob rolled his eyes but followed me inside. I paused. “Is this going to make you late?”

“I’m flexible.”

The cramped interior was a steamy cocoon of savoury aromas and clattering dishes. I slid into a booth and ordered a bowl of ramen. It came blessedly quickly, the broth fragrant with star anise and chilli oil. Rob slouched across from me, arms crossed. "You realize this detour is cutting into valuable practice time.”

I slurped down noodles. "Hey, I need sustenance to clean all night.” I motioned to the counter. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

Rob fidgeted with a loose thread on his sleeve. "I already ate."

I narrowed my eyes. I hadn’t seen any dishes. Another mouthful of rich umami broth. Heaven. “Is school stressful for you this semester?”

He dragged a hand over his jaw. “It’s not not stressful. Why?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. You always seem calm. In control.”

“We hardly ever cross paths.”

I dabbed my chin with my napkin. There was no way to eat this gracefully. “Yeah, well, up until a couple of weeks ago, I thought you wanted me to crawl into a hole and die.”

He huffed out a breath, staring at his hands on the table.

I twirled my noodles with my chopsticks. “I heard what you said. When you told Logan I wasn’t good for him. What did I do to make you think that?”

Rob considered for a moment. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”

“In the hall. Outside the rink. When we first started dating.”

Rob stiffened. “I didn’t know anyone was listening.”

“Does that really matter?” I drank broth from my spoon. “I just—you said you didn’t hate me. But then you were mean?—”

“I wasn’t mean.”

I looked up, my eyes wide. “You were a total asshole to me. Are you serious?”

A muscle in Rob’s jaw flexed. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

I shrugged, not able to hide my annoyance. “I don’t know. Will you give me an answer at some point?” I played it off like my heart wasn’t jackhammering in my chest.

“Sure.”

“For Christmas. It can be my present.”

The corner of Rob’s mouth lifted. “Who says I was planning to get you anything?”

The pounding of my heart transformed into a flutter. “See? Asshole.”

Rob shook his head. “Are you almost done?”

I nodded and pointed at my bowl. “You sure you don’t want any?”

“You drooled in that.”

My jaw dropped. “I did not drool!”

“You were licking the noodles.”

I barked a laugh and lifted my tray, transporting it to the bin of dirty dishes over the trash. I wiped my hands on my soon-to-be piss-covered jeans, then gave him a salute. “Alright. At your service.”

Rob reached out and smacked my hand away from my forehead. “You’re making a scene.”

I sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to grab my hand and feel the skin where he’d touched. Make sure it wasn’t on literal fire.

I followed Rob outside and we continued on toward the GRB. When we got to the side door, Rob pulled out his keyring and unlocked it. He held the door open with a mocking bow.

“Now who’s making a scene?”

He grunted. “There’s nobody here.”

“There were, like, two people in the noodle place.”

“Huge scene.” He led me down a hallway and stopped in front of a door marked 'Janitorial'. “Washrooms first. Hope you're not too delicate for that."

“Dude, you promised piss. Don’t get all soft on me now.”

He smirked and tossed me a pair of rubber gloves. Armed with mops, buckets, and a truly alarming array of cleaning products, we set to work.

It was every bit as disgusting as I'd feared. Stall by stall, we scrubbed toilets, wiped down sinks, and mopped floors that had seen unspeakable horrors. Rob seemed to be fully enjoying my misery.

"What's the matter, princess? Not used to getting your hands dirty?"

I flicked a sudsy sponge at him, and that earned me a genuine laugh. Rob moved to the next stall. "This is nothing compared to the messes I had to clean growing up. Six siblings in one washroom? That's a warzone."

I paused, arm deep in a toilet bowl. "Six siblings?" How did I not know that about him?

"It had its moments." His voice echoed off the tile.

I realized, with a pang of guilt, that I knew next to nothing about Rob's life outside of the Outlaws. "What about your parents? What do they do?"

"My mom works two jobs. At a local bank during the week and then staff at the hockey arena. My dad’s not really in the picture."

“So you come by the asshole stuff honestly.” I snapped my mouth shut, about to apologize when Rob laughed out loud. I straightened and walked out of the stall, peering past the door into his. “I was kidding.”

He turned, his hair falling over his forehead. He was in a washroom stall. In the science building. Wearing rubber gloves. And still, my heart somersaulted. “I laughed.”

“That was rude, though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you going to do to apologize?”

My throat grew thick, and I swallowed hard. “I’m already cleaning toilets for you. What else do you want?” My stomach swooped, not hearing how that would sound until it left my lips. “I—sorry, that didn’t come out the right way.” I turned and nearly smacked into the open door.

I rushed into the next stall, my face burning up. We didn’t talk much until the washrooms were clean. I wished I had my Walkman. A little Ace of Base would’ve gone a long way as I sprayed down the urinals.

We finished, threw away our gloves, and moved to the classrooms. On the fourth one, I had to break up the monotony of wiping down desks and sweeping floors.

“Why did you move in with Logan?” It seemed like an innocuous enough question until Rob didn’t answer right away. I glanced up. He reached high on the chalkboard, his shirt lifting above the waistband of his jeans. I quickly looked away.

“I didn’t have a place to live.”

I frowned, wiping the table in front of me for the third time. “Like your contract ended?”

“Like I was living in my truck.”

My hand froze mid-swipe. I lifted my chin. Rob was watching me, still holding his chalk-covered cloth. “Are you serious?” I asked.

He nodded, walking to the next board.

“How did that happen?” I crossed the aisle and started on the next section, my head starting to pound.

“I had money saved up, but then my truck needed some work done. I did some of it myself, but with the parts and everything, plus I had a lab fee I wasn’t expecting. I couldn’t pay rent.”

“They kicked you out?” I had no idea where he lived before, but I couldn’t imagine a landlord forcing someone out for a few missed rent payments.

“No, I left.”

I straightened. “You left? Why?”

He turned. “Because I couldn’t pay.”

I blinked, walking down the steps toward him. “Yeah, but you could’ve waited until you had the money.”

He drew a breath and shook his head. “I wasn’t going to live on charity.” He walked to our cart of supplies, grabbed a clean cloth, and dunked it in the bucket of warm water. “I got this job. Started to save up. Logan found out after practice and told me to move in. They needed painting done in the house. That was my first month’s payment.”

I stopped in front of him. “Logan didn’t tell me that.”

Rob wet his lips. “Probably because I asked him not to.”

I watched him. The flick of his dark lashes against his cheeks. The tiny twitches of his lips. “Why?”

He exhaled. “Because it’s embarrassing.”

I shook my head. “No. It’s not.”

Rob glanced down at the water dripping over his wrist, then back up at the last chalkboard. “One more.”

I nodded, then took my dirty rag to the cart. “You didn’t qualify for grants? Or loans?”

Rob reached up again. That time, I didn’t look away. “My dad used my name to push off some of his oil royalties in ‘93 and save on taxes.” He wiped the cloth over the slate, leaving perfect, clean streaks across the cloudy board. “On paper, it looks like I’m loaded.”

“Will you see any of that money?”

He let out a puff of air. “Not likely.” He finished with the top corner, then walked back to the cart.

“I’m sorry. About what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it.”

Rob dropped his rag in the cart. He adjusted his shirt. “Yeah. I know.”

After washing our hands and restocking the cleaning supplies, we crossed the square. It was ten-thirty, and I was starting to feel it. I yawned as Logan slipped his key into the lock on the front doors of the arts centre.

I stepped inside, my footsteps echoing in the empty foyer. The building felt different at night, the familiar spaces transformed into something dark and eerie. The perfect site for a futuristic dystopian novel.

I hurried through the atrium to the open rehearsal space, my heart pounding. But as I approached the table where I'd left my violin, my stomach dropped. It wasn't there.

"No, no, no," I muttered, frantically searching the surrounding area. "It has to be here."

Rob frowned. "Maybe someone moved it?”

“Who would move it?” I planted my hands on my hips, turning in a circle.

“Let's check the other rooms."

We split up, combing through the building with growing desperation. Maybe they’d turned it in? The admin offices were locked, and Rob didn’t have a key for those.

I walked down the hall to the concert hall and flicked on the backstage lights, and immediately saw my case. Sitting on the floor next to the podium behind the curtains.

“Rob!” I shouted, rushing forward. He wasn’t anywhere near the hall. I grabbed the handle and turned to exit the way I came in, when movement made me freeze. Ice slid down my spine, my chest tightening.

“Did you find it?” Rob’s voice. It was Rob. Of course it was. Nobody else would be in the building this late at night.

I nodded, holding up the case. Rob strode toward me, his hands in his pockets. He appraised my case. “Are you going to play me something?”

My eyes widened. “It’s almost eleven o’clock.”

He considered this. “You asked for your Christmas gift. This is mine.”

My mouth fell open. “That’s not fair.” My heart felt like it was pumping up a full-to-the-brim beach ball.

He gestured at the black, empty hall. “It’s only me.”

“That’s so much worse.” I walked forward to the front of the stage. “Normally, lights are blinding me so I can’t see anything.”

Rob ducked behind the curtains. “There. I’m not even here.”

“Rob—” The curtain rustled. I waited for him to appear, but he stayed hidden. “I don’t have my music.”

“There’s some on the stand.” His voice was muffled, and I couldn’t help but grin.

“I’m tired. This won’t be my best.”

“Excuses are for losers.”

I laughed and dropped into a crouch, opening up the clasps on my case. My hands were already clammy. Play for Rob? The idea was both thrilling and terrifying. I'd never played for anyone outside of rehearsals and concerts, not even Logan.

But there was that feeling again. The flip in my stomach at the idea of Rob’s attention on me. Of him noticing. Wanting to know more.

I shrugged off my coat and pulled out my violin, lifting it to my chin and checking the tune. Not too bad. I adjusted the G string and tried them all again, then rubbed rosin over my bow.

I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Nothing that had happened tonight was anything I’d be ashamed to tell Logan. On paper. It was the flipping of my heart that I had to keep to myself.

I positioned the bow, momentarily forgetting to breathe, then closed my eyes and started to play.

I chose one of my old recital pieces, and just like in the practice room, the notes poured out of me, filling the empty auditorium with a hauntingly beautiful melody. Within seconds, I’d forgotten that Rob was in the curtains, and the music flowed through me like a river, each note clear and resonant.

I finished at the end of the second A section without the repeats and stood there, letting the silence wash over me. After a few seconds, I lowered the violin. Only then did I see Rob in front of me, his expression unreadable.

I forced a smile. “There. Merry Christmas.” I dropped to the floor, nestling the violin back in its case.

“What’s this thing?” Rob pointed to a black piece of plastic in my case.

I glanced up. “Oh, that? It’s a mute.”

He crouched down, picking it up like it was some alien artifact. “And... what does it do? Is it, like, a silencer for a violin?”

I laughed. “Kind of. You put it on the bridge—here, like this.” I took it from him, slid it onto the bridge, and plucked one of the strings to demonstrate. The note came out quieter, more subdued. “See? It softens the sound and changes the tone. It’s more delicate, less intense.”

Rob nodded. “It looks like a weird plastic comb.”

I snorted, tucking the mute back into the case. “Well, this one kind of it is. I got it at a random music shop a couple years ago when I realized I’d left my old one at home. It does the job, but it’s nothing special.”

Rob stood and stepped back.

I continued, “Lily—my friend in orchestra—has this amazing handmade one. It’s carved out of this dark walnut, with tiny engraved details on the sides. It’s polished so smooth it almost looks like glass. And the sound it creates? It’s so warm and rich, it’s like . . . I don’t know, playing through honey.”

Rob tilted his head. “Sounds messy.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s hard to describe, okay? But it’s gorgeous.”

“Do you think Lily would play for me?”

My jaw dropped, and he dodged my arm as I tried to smack him. I clutched my case and walked toward the curtains.

“Hey.” Rob’s voice sent a shiver through me. “Can you look at me?”

A swoop low in my gut made my head spin. I slowed and turned back.

Rob hadn’t moved. His lips parted, and then he spoke in a rush. “I was kidding. That was incredible.”

A blush crept up to my cheeks. "Thanks.”

He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m serious. That was . . .” He trailed off. “Transcendent.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a big word, Thompson.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. “Not big enough.”

Again it felt like I’d hit the peak on a swing and was plummeting back toward the ground. I pulled my coat on one arm at a time. "We should probably go," I said, breaking the spell. "It's getting late."

Rob nodded, but he didn't take a step forward. For a long moment, we just stood there in silence, our eyes locked on each other. And in that moment, something shifted. After everything Rob had told me that night, this was the minute—the second—that I would never be able to see him the same way again.

I forced my legs to move, walking toward the exit. Rob followed, his steps slow. I flicked off the light, my hand hesitating on the door knob. I could stop. I could turn. I could ?—

I twisted and forced myself out into the hall, sucking in a lungful of air. We walked back down the hall and through the atrium. I frowned when Rob turned off in the opposite direction of the front doors.

“Be right back.”

I waited a moment, then followed and peered down the hall. Washrooms. He’d gone to use the washroom.

My ribs suddenly felt a size too small. I worried my lower lip until he reappeared. “You don’t have to do that,” I said when he got closer.

Rob shrugged. “Not a big deal.”

I put out a hand and stopped him. My fingers slid over his coat and snagged on his wrist. I quickly pulled back, my skin tingling. “You can use my washroom. Put your toothbrush in there. I’ll be fine.”

Rob circled his fingers over his wrist where I’d touched him. “I don’t want to—” He stopped. “I’m not going to make you feel that way again.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Rob was already walking toward the tunnel. I hurried to catch up and matched his stride. He unlocked the door, and we walked through the long hall to the GRB, then climbed the stairs and exited into the night.

When we passed the bookstore, Rob asked. "So, what's your big plan?" His hands were shoved deep into his pockets. At least he wasn’t only wearing a T-shirt this time. "With the violin, I mean. You're obviously talented as hell. Are you going to go pro or something?"

I let out a short laugh. "This isn’t hockey."

“Whatever you call pro then.”

I shrugged, feeling a sudden wave of uncertainty wash over me. "I guess I've never really thought about it. Music has always been a part of my life, but I never considered it as a career."

He chuckled, but didn’t respond.

I looked over. “What?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.” I shot him a look, and his grin widened. “That’s just interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

Rob picked up his pace and looked both ways down the road, then waited until I pulled up even with him to cross the street. “I just remember someone telling me I was a coward.”

I scoffed. “This is different.”

“Mm. So different.”

I smacked his arm, instantly regretting the contact with the way my heart jolted. I folded my arms across my chest. “It’s crazy competitive.” He turned, his face lit up like a Christmas tree, and I realized my mistake. “No, I didn’t?—”

“Ah, the exact same words.” He mimed a chef’s kiss.

“Shut up.”

“Hell, no. That was too perfect.”

I groaned. “It’s late. That wasn’t fair.”

“Sharla, are you afraid to go after your dreams?”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “I helped you clean toilets!”

He laughed and walked up the path to the front door and turned the key in the lock. “The toilets were for the violin. You have nothing on?—”

He stopped mid sentence, and I ran into the back of him. “Rob, what—” I froze when I caught sight of something—someone—over his shoulder. “Logan?”