Page 9

Chapter

Nine

The next week flew by in a blur of classes and pre-Christmas concert rehearsals. My violin became an extension of my body as I poured myself into the music. Even though we technically had Monday off for Remembrance Day, the orchestra played at the memorial in the morning, and then I was asked to join a smaller group of musicians to play for a private event and a dinner honouring veterans that evening across town.

I was glad to participate, but adding that to my regular schedule meant I barely had time to think, let alone go grocery shopping or see anyone outside the arts centre. Including Crystal and Maddie.

Logan called three times. Not enough that I got sick of him like he promised. From the sounds of it, they were working him hard. The second time we talked, he was drunk. Sad drunk. All I wanted to do was get on a plane and go to him. To crawl into bed with him and make him feel better. But then yesterday, he’d been his happy normal self.

All the emotional whiplash left me begging for Friday evening until I remembered I couldn’t sit at home with Logan like normal. The weekend before, Rob was gone most of the weekend for an away tournament, and I’d been too busy to enjoy it. I mentally cursed the scheduling gods.

I couldn’t veg at home this weekend, which meant these few days felt more like a prison sentence than a break. At least Crystal, Maddie, and I already had plans to go to the Outlaws game Saturday afternoon. That was something.

I finished up rehearsal and moved through my routine of packing up, then slung my backpack over my shoulders and grabbed the handle of my violin case. I left the building, my boots crunching on the slushy sidewalks.

“Hey, perfect timing!”

I turned my head to find Caleb leaning against the lamp post. He tucked his Gameboy into his backpack and walked toward me.

I laughed. “How did you beat me out of there?” No wonder I hadn’t noticed him when I left.

“I had to meet with my advisor.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And you came back over here because . . . “

“I was looking for you.” He grinned.

I planted a hand on my hip. “Caleb, if you need a fake date for?—”

“No, no, nothing like that.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I told you about this, don’t you remember?”

I frowned, scanning through my memory for recent conversations. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He sighed dramatically. "I got my new Nintendo set up! Convinced the 'rents to give me my Christmas present early. Super Nintendo with Super Bomberman 2. Up to five players at once!" His eyes gleamed with excitement. "Lily's in.”

I laughed out loud. “Okay, I do remember you telling me about this, but you didn’t say you were getting it early.”

He waved off my comment. “Neither here nor there. The important question is: Are you free tonight?”

I hesitated. Normally, I'd politely decline Caleb's game invites. This wasn’t the first time he’d invited me over, but I had zero experience. However . . . the thought of a solitary evening in the house with Rob made my stomach twist.

Crystal and Maddie were both busy tonight, so there wasn’t a chance I was giving up better plans. Not that Caleb was a fall back, just the video games portion of the evening.

"You know what? I'm in." I adjusted my violin case on my shoulder. "Let me just drop this off and change. Meet you at the bookstore in thirty?"

Caleb pumped his fist. "Yes! Awesome. Lily's gonna flip her shit. See you soon!" He took off down the walkway, practically skipping. How could I say no to that?

I walked home with an extra bounce in my step, helped along by Don’t Turn Around by Ace of Bass through my headphones. I burst into the house in a flurry, cold air nipping at my heels. I tossed my keys on the entry table and was already unzipping my coat when I saw him.

Rob sat hunched over the kitchen island, notebooks and binders spread before him like an academic buffet. He watched me, his dark brows raised. His hair was mussed. He was not wearing a shirt. "Oh. Hey."

"Hey," I mumbled, lingering awkwardly in the doorway.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be home.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re apologizing now?” I dropped my coat next to my shoes. I was going to put it back on in point five seconds.

“Don’t get used to it.”

The corner of my mouth quirked without my permission. I kept my eyes on the couch, the TV stand, anything but the tattoo on his left shoulder or the muscles in his back. “Aren’t you cold?” The fact that he and Logan walked around half-undressed was a mystery to me. I needed a sweatshirt and socks, even with the thermostat cranked to twenty-four degrees.

Rob cleared his throat, scooping up his study materials. "I don’t get cold."

Figured. “You don’t need to move. I'm heading out again in a sec anyway."

"Oh yeah?" His gaze followed me to the bedroom. I ducked in and dropped my bag and violin case. I thought about changing but settled on brushing my teeth and grabbing a toque. I grabbed my water bottle, too, and rushed back out into the kitchen. I’d told Caleb thirty minutes, and I was already going to be late.

"Where to?" Rob’s brow was pinched as he stared at his textbook.

None of your business , I wanted to snap. But I bit my tongue, reaching for the shredded cabbage and leftover rotisserie chicken. "Out.” I dumped the ingredients on the counter. Tacos would have to do—quick and easy.

I assembled my makeshift dinner, my senses heightened. I could feel Rob’s judgment radiating across the kitchen. He’d made enough comments over the months about my lack of cooking. Probably another reason he thought Logan could do so much better.

It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to cook. My mom made us dinner every night growing up. It was just easier to have my weekly taco ingredients, a few quick breakfast items, and grab-and-go snacks. Especially since Logan was rarely home for dinner anyway.

Truthfully, having Logan gone was going to save me money. That was one micro silver lining. I wouldn’t be tempted to go out to eat all the time with him and his friends. He was always willing to pay, but unless we were on an actual date, I felt guilty bumming off of him constantly.

It was good timing. I'd squirrelled away every penny from my summer job, allocating the bare minimum each month. November's portion sat in my account, and I needed as much as possible to be able to buy Christmas gifts for family and friends.

Scooping the cabbage and chicken onto corn tortillas, I ignored Rob's stare burning holes in my back. I took a bite of my taco, not bothering with a plate and keeping my back turned.

“I don't bite.” Rob spoke up behind me. "Unless you're into that sort of thing."

I nearly choked on a piece of chicken. Coughing, I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. Rob had cleared the counter space in front of the second stool. Okaaaaay.

When I could breathe normally, I took my plate and cup over and sat down, scooting it as far from him as possible without being obvious. As I settled onto the seat, his scent—the clean body wash or deodorant he used—tinged the air.

Unbidden, the memory of that night surfaced. Not pictures in my head since it had been dark. Just feelings. Sounds. The rush of his breath, the solid warmth of his chest. I don’t get cold.

My cheeks flamed as I jammed another bite of taco in my mouth. This wasn’t okay. Whatever was happening in my head felt like an absolute betrayal. Shouldn’t I be thinking about Logan? Imagining his hands? His chest?

I frowned, trying to draw from the hundreds of moments I had with him, scrambling for a moment to redirect the heat and ache building in my lower belly. Desperate for a distraction, I glanced at the textbook spread open on the counter. Complex equations and diagrams filled the pages, and my frown deepened.

"What's this?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity. "I didn't think hockey players bothered with anything beyond the basics." At least Logan didn’t. His priority was getting on the ice, and when he wasn’t lacing up, it was building muscle and agility to support his game. Textbook cracking was not a regular activity in his book.

Rob's gaze flicked to mine, his dark eyes unreadable. "You’re right. Us hockey players. Carbon copies."

I rolled my eyes. "You know what I meant."

He shrugged, his tattoo drawing my eyes like a magnet. "I'm not planning on being a hockey player forever. Gotta have a backup plan."

I raised an eyebrow. "You don't think you're good enough to go pro?"

Rob scoffed. “Doesn’t matter what I think.”

I gave him a look. “Okay. What does that mean?”

Rob's jaw clenched. “It’s competitive.”

“Yeah. So are most things.”

He turned, putting his lean muscles on full display. “You’re not taking a business minor? Just putting all your eggs in the orchestra basket?”

I blinked, my half a taco frozen on its path to my mouth. “Did Logan tell you I was doing that?”

A shutter seemed to draw over his eyes. He turned back to his books. “Logan has opportunities," he said, his tone clipped. "I need to be realistic."

I took a bite, chewing slowly, and then took a drink from my water glass. "Everyone should have a backup plan."

Rob tapped the end of his pencil on his notebook. "So you're Logan's, then?"

My jaw dropped. White-hot anger surged through me. “Nice.” I picked up my plate and glass, rounding the countertop.

“What. I’m serious.”

I shot him a look, my eyes flashing. I wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. But Rob didn’t stop there.

“You’re right, I’m being ridiculous. Logan Kemp always gets what he wants.”

I set my dishes in the sink and slammed on the faucet. “At least he isn't a coward who's too afraid to work for his dreams."

Rob recoiled as if I'd slapped him, his eyes widening. For a moment, we stared at each other, the air between us crackling.

“You know, this whole roommate thing would be a lot easier if you didn’t hate my guts,” I snapped.

Rob’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

My fingers trembled as I rinsed the dishes a second time. “I don’t know what I ever did to you. Besides take time with Logan, which I’m sure got your panties in a bunch, but seriously. I tried to be nice when I moved in and?—”

“I don’t hate you.”

I turned off the water and dried my hands. "What is it then? Am I just not dedicated or committed enough for you? Do I not understand the focus hockey takes, am I a distraction to Logan? Because right now, you don’t seem like you give a shit about his career.”

Rob’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

I shoved away from the counter, rounding it. “I heard what you said to him. Last year. So what did I do to deserve it?”

Rob’s nostrils flared. He took a step back, then turned and stalked toward his room.

“Mm. Good idea. Just walk away because?—”

Rob spun back to face me, and I froze. His breathing was heavy, his eyes dark. “I’m walking away so I don’t do something I regret.”

My throat worked, his gaze pinning me in place like a bug on a corkboard. I willed my legs to move. “I have to go.” I shoved my feet into my shoes and grabbed my coat.

"Where are you going?" Rob demanded again, his voice rough.

“Why the hell do you care?”

Rob clenched his pencil so tight I thought it might break. “Because you’re going out alone. We have a game tomorrow. You know how people get.”

I snatched my toque from the counter and stalked to the door, grabbing my coat. “I’m not going to a party. I’m just hanging out with my dorky orchestra friends. We’re playing Super Nintendo. I doubt it’ll get crazy. Probably home around eleven, so if you could finish up in the washroom before then.”

With that, I stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind me with a satisfying bang. The cool night air hit my face, and I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside me.

I was halfway down the steps when the door opened behind me. "Sharla!” I didn't turn around, even though Rob's footsteps pounded on the pavement.

"What do you want?" I quickened my pace.

He caught up to me easily, his long legs eating up the distance between us. "Logan called," he said, slightly out of breath. "He has a game tonight. Said he won't be able to talk until the morning."

I stopped short, my heart stuttering in my chest as I turned to face him. “Couldn’t have told me that ten minutes ago?” Rob shoved his hands in his pockets. "How did he sound?" I asked, hating the way my voice trembled.

Rob shrugged. "How does Logan always sound? Like everything's just peachy keen."

That clawing started up again in my stomach. I swallowed hard, blinking back the sudden tears that pricked at the corners of my eyes.

"Jealousy isn't a good look on you," I snapped, then turned on my heel and stalked away.