CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Crosby
I tipped back my bottle of beer, watching the hockey game on the wide screen in the bar. Chekhov, a five-time pro all-star, took off with the puck, dodging his opponents effortlessly on the screen. Unfortunately, the noise mixed with the music in the crowded bar made it impossible to hear the commentators calling the game.
“He’s a beast,” Xavier said from the stool beside me. “Who knows, bro, after your two goals tonight, you could be playing beside him next year.”
I may have scored a couple goals, but that didn’t matter if the people who mattered most weren’t there to see them. A tap on my shoulder had my head whipping over my shoulder.
A brunette from my history class stood there, her low-cut shirt leaving little to the imagination. “Hi there.”
“Hey.”
She slipped onto the empty stool on my right and spun to face me. “Who you here with?”
I ticked my head to the side. “Xavier.”
“Hey,” Xavier said, leaning forward so she could see him on the opposite side of me.
She gave him a cursory look before her eyes jumped back to me. “I love your ink.” Her hand landed on my bicep and drifted over my arm. “I’ve got a couple too. Wanna know where?”
I lifted my bottle to my lips and finished the rest of my beer.
“If he doesn’t wanna know,” Xavier said. “I assure you, I do.”
She huffed, obviously not getting the attention from me she hoped for. “Heard you scored tonight,” she said, seemingly taking a different approach.
I nodded.
“Twice,” Xavier added.
Her eyes never left mine. “If we take it back to my place, you might be able to make it three times.”
Xavier choked on the other side of me.
“Sorry,” I said to her. “I’m sure you’re a great girl, but I’m just chillin’ with Xavier tonight.” With that I focused back on the hockey game on the TV. I watched intently until I felt her leave my side.
“Dude,” Xavier said.
I looked to him.
“You’re either a rock star or a complete idiot.”
I laughed.
“The girl invited you home with her and you sent her packing.”
“I wasn’t interested.”
He snorted, his eyes searching the bar for wherever she’d disappeared to. “Who wouldn’t be interested in that?”
In the past, I assumed girls hit on me because I played hockey and had an impressive body. But now my father’s words played in my mind. And I hated the fact that anything he said stuck with me. But had he been right about girls’ motives? Would I ever really know why someone was with me?
Someone tapped my shoulder and my body tensed. I was in no mood to deal with any more drunk girls. I turned slowly.
“I thought that was you,” Caden said, standing there with his hands in his pockets.
Instinctively, I checked to see if the girls were with him.
“Sabrina’s not here.”
I nodded, realizing how obvious I’d made it. “How she doing?”
He shrugged. “Haven’t seen her. Finlay said she’s been disappearing a lot lately.”
“She seeing someone?” I asked, trying for nonchalance, though my gut clenched at the thought of it.
“Not that I know of. But listen,” his voice lowered, conspiratorially. “Finlay wanted me to come over here and check things out. You know, so she could report back to Sabrina.”
“Sabrina cut me loose,” I reminded him.
He chuckled. “I gave up trying to figure out girls a long time ago.”
Xavier held out his fist to Caden. “Congrats, man. Great game against Georgia.”
Caden bumped his fist. “Thanks.” His eyes jumped back to mine. “So, I can tell her you’re not seeing anyone?”
I nodded.
“Okay,” Caden said, looking to the TV as Chekhov shot and scored his second goal of the night. “I’ll let you guys get back to your game.”
“Later,” I said.
“Later,” Xavier called.
I glanced over my shoulder as Caden returned to the table with Finlay. She eagerly listened to what I assumed was Caden’s “report” before glancing over at me. I lifted my empty beer bottle in acknowledgment.
She smiled and lifted hers.
Sabrina
It was quiet on the third floor in the library as I slunk back in my chair surrounded by dusty scholarly journals most undergrads had no use for. For the third day in a row, I’d been tucked away at a back table. My eyes burned and I’d begun to question if I knew what I was even looking for.
My phone vibrated. I searched for it beneath the papers strewn across the table. I located it and found a text from Finlay. Where are you?
My thumbs pounded away at my screen. Library. Third floor.
On my way. Saw Crosby at the bar last nite. Need to talk to you.
A shutter rushed through me. What did she need to talk to me about? Was Crosby alright? Had she talked to him? Had he moved on?
A few minutes later I looked up to find Finlay standing there, her eyes moving over the articles covering the table.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I did what you said.” I grabbed a handful of papers and straightened them into a pile. “I looked past my anger.”
Confusion flashed across her face. “So, you’re burying yourself in schoolwork?”
“Not quite.”
Finlay slipped into the chair across from me. “What’s that mean?”
I didn’t know how to respond. I hadn't really found anything substantial. “What did you need to tell me about Crosby?”
“Some girl was trying to get his attention. Touching his tattoos and stuff.”
I grabbed more loose papers and neatened them into another pile, trying to remain unfazed by the unwanted image flashing in my mind. “So?”
“So, I had Caden go check things out.”
“Why? Crosby can do what he wants.”
She pegged me with her eyes. “He’s not seeing anyone, if you were wondering.”
I handed her a stack of papers, a small sense of relief spreading over me.
She flipped through them, looking them over curiously. “Why are these names highlighted?”
“They’re the people suing Crosby’s parents.”
“There are hundreds of them.”
I nodded.
She looked at me. “Why are you interested in who’s suing Crosby’s parents?”
“I’m looking for familiar names. Names that might tell me why he thinks he has to put up with what’s been happening to him.”
“Have you found anything yet?”
I shook my head. “No names stood out, so I started researching each of them. I’m not even halfway through the list yet.”
She stared across the table at me. “Sabrina.”
I met her gaze, hating the pity in her eyes.
“You should’ve told me. I would’ve helped you.”
I handed her a pile. “Then what are you waiting for? Get searching.”
She smiled.
“I’ve got more printouts,” Grady said, approaching the table with the stack of papers he’d fetched from the copy machine.
Finlay stared at him. “He’s helping you?”
“He has a name,” Grady said, tossing the papers down in front of me and sliding into the seat beside Finlay.
I laughed as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She jumped out of the seat and circled the table to sit beside me, avoiding Grady at all costs.
But regardless of their love-hate relationship, the three of us didn’t leave that table for the next five hours until we found what we were looking for.