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Okay, he’s atleastforty-two. He’s got gray hair coming in at the temples, after all.
Does Melody dye her hair? She might not be going gray yet. Aurora’s definitely not, she’s younger than me by a year. Which means I’ll probably get wrinkles first. And I’m on my way to losing a tooth or two, but that’s life. It’s actually a sign of making it in the NHL, in a way.
I might’ve made that up. But she’s already lost a tooth, so she’s ahead of me. Damn it.
Focus.
His location loads, and it’s not fucked up by me being in the app. His ugly little character is across town from where I am now. Which means Aurora could be there, too.
I stuff my hands in my jacket pockets, and my fingers brush something cold.
When I pull it out, in my hand is Miles’ trusty folding knife.
The one that already has someone else’s life on it.
I don’t know when he might’ve slipped it into my pocket, but I do know why. He’s the smarter of the Whiteshaw brothers. And he already knows where my head and my heart are.
With Aurora.
So now it’s time to find her and teach Abernathy that there’s no one scarier than a Whiteshaw out for payback.
53
AURORA
My chest hurts. It’s probably from dangling, from repeatedly losing my footing on the now-slick floor. I’m so cold, I can barely feel my fingers anymore.
But after a while, my resolve comes back.
I had it before. The will to live, the lack of fear that came with facing death. I wasn’t afraid back then, but I’m scared now. I’m scared of not finishing this thing with Knox. I’m afraid of dying and leaving him to deal with his messy emotions on his own.
That wouldn’t work out for anyone.
So instead, I plant my toes on the floor one more time, adjust my wrists, and I propel myself upward as hard as I can.
The chains slip and catch on the tip of the hook. I have even less of an angle now, and I swing wildly for a moment. As soon as I slow, I try again. Heaving myself up, my arms and shoulders screaming in pain.
There’s apopin my shoulder, and fire flashes down my arm.
But then I’m falling, free of the hook that’s been tormenting me for thirty-six hours. They only let me down long enough to use the toilet twice, and even then it was a two-minute break. And by toilet, I mean bucket. With my hands still bound.
I hit the floor hard, and my vision goes dark.
“Get up, Sunny,” Knox calls. “You’ve been knocked down harder than that.”
I press my hands into the ice. Touch the helmet on my head, and the stick lying next to me. And the guy skating away like he didn’t just check me into the boards.
Knox digs his blades into the ice, showering me with snow. He has his hand on his hip. He’s young. Fifteen, maybe, with that goofy grin and floppy hair.
His eyes sparkle. “Get up, Sunny. No one’s going to pick you up when you’re facing Canada at the Olympics.”
I grit my teeth. Catch my breath.
And force myself up.
My eyes open. I wheeze, rolling on my side and coughing up blood. But on my side is easier, pushing my bound hands to the floor and getting my knees under me. Then standing. Slowly, shakily.
I can’t seem to get the trembling under control.
