Chapter 69: Just noise

The digital clock on my nightstand reads 12:14 AM.

Out in the living room, the regular sound of Leo’s breathing carries through the thin drywall. He is asleep on the pull-out sofa, his right leg propped up on a stack of pillows with the automated heating pad ticking softly in the dark. My mother left for her warehouse inventory shift forty minutes ago.

My phone vibrates against the mattress.

I don't startle. The suffocating panic that usually hits my chest when Raph calls isn't there tonight. I slide my hand under the pillow, pull the phone out, and look at the screen. The white glare lights up my fingers.

Raph: Miller saw you in the library basement today. He said Jackson Thorne was standing at your desk. Why were you talking to him?

I look at the words. Then I look at the bedroom wall that separates our apartment from the Masons'. Raph is sitting over there on his couch, wrapped in elastic bandages, unable to take a deep breath without his ribs locking up. He can't walk across the hallway. He can't follow me. Right now, he is restricted to a glowing screen.

The phone buzzes again.

Raph: Answer me, Maya. I know you're awake. Your mom's car left the alley. Send me a picture of your room right now to prove you're alone.

I slide my thumb up, swipe the notification away, and drop the phone into the pocket of my wool cardigan.

I pull my winter coat off the back of the desk chair, sliding my arms into the sleeves. I grab my sneakers from the floor, holding them by the laces to keep the rubber soles from clattering against the baseboards. Moving with slow steps, I crack my bedroom door open and slip into the dark living room.

Leo doesn't move. The blue indicator light on his heating pad casts long shadows across the floorboards. His aluminum crutches are propped against the refrigerator handle. I walk past them, slide the metal deadbolt back with a fraction-by-fraction turn of my wrist, and step out into the concrete stairwell.

I tie my laces on the top step, then move down the three flights of stairs without making a sound. When I push through the exit door, the freezing midnight air hits my face.

The alley is dark, illuminated by a single yellow streetlamp at the corner. The frost on the gravel crunches slightly under my soles as I walk toward the mouth of the alley.

A pair of low-beam headlights click from away.

The silver sedan is idling next to the brick wall of the auto shop, its exhaust forming thick white plumes in the cold air. I walk straight to the passenger side, pull the door open, and slide into the warm interior. The door shuts with a thud, cutting off the sound of the wind outside. The cabin smells of clean leather and heater vents.

Jackson Thorne sits behind the wheel, his hands resting loosely on the leather steering wheel. He is wearing a black hooded sweatshirt under his varsity blazer. He turns his head, his eyes tracking my face as I pull off my hood.

"You made it," he says.

"Leo is asleep," I reply, leaning back into the heated leather seat. "My mom is at work until six."

In my cardigan pocket, the phone lets out a double vibration. The fabric twitches against my thigh.

Jackson glances down at my pocket, then looks back up at my eyes. "Is that him?"

I pull the phone out. The screen is flashing with another incoming text from Raph. I flip the phone face down on the center console between our seats, letting the black plastic casing cover the glare.

"It's just noise," I say flatly. "He's been texting since midnight because Miller told him you came down to the library basement today."

Jackson looks at the face-down phone, then reaches out, his fingers moving the device an inch further away toward the dashboard, dismissing it. "What did he threaten this time?"

I look straight out the windshield at the dark alley. "The usual things. He wanted a picture of my room to prove I'm alone. Then a picture of my wrist to make sure I'm not hiding anything."

"Are you going to send it?"

"No," I say. I turn my head to look at him. "He's stuck on a couch next door with cracked ribs, Jackson. He can't do anything to me tonight. I'm tired of being afraid of a text message."

A faint line appears at the corner of Jackson’s mouth as the tension in his shoulders drops. He leans his elbow against the door frame, his eyes scanning my face under the faint amber glow of the dashboard lights.

"Good," Jackson says quietly. "Because his father is meeting with my dad tomorrow morning at nine o'clock."

I shift in the seat, my coat rustling against the leather. "About the tournament?"

"About the transit lease for the new showroom on the ridge," Jackson says. He reaches down, turning the heater fan down so the cabin is silent. "Mason's logistics firm needs that contract to clear their quarterly debt. My dad is the biggest client he has in the northern sector. If my dad tells him that his son's behavior at Oakwood is becoming a liability to the contract, Mason will handle Raph himself."

The phone on the console vibrates again, sliding half an inch across the smooth plastic. The screen lights up against the dashboard, showing three more unread messages.

I don't look at them. I keep my eyes on Jackson. "Raph told me his dad already bought our building. He said the eviction notice is sitting on the desk right now."

"It probably is," Jackson says, his voice unbothered. "But his dad is a businessman, Maya. He doesn't sign court orders because his son is throwing a tantrum over a girl from his chemistry class. He signs them when they make financial sense. Losing my dad's dealership contract over a three-month rent dispute in the lower sector doesn't make sense."

He reaches out, his hand wrapping around my left wrist. He pulls my sleeve up slowly, exposing the skin. The purple marks from Raph's fingers are fading around the edges. Jackson’s thumb moves over the bone, his touch light and warm.

"He's not going to touch you when he comes back on Monday," Jackson says, his eyes fixing on mine. "I'm going to make sure of that."

"You already broke his ribs, Jackson," I say, my voice dropping to a whisper. "The school board is already looking at the incident report from the rink."

"The coach tore the incident report up two hours ago," Jackson says flatly. "The principal isn't going to suspend the varsity captain forty-eight hours before the state qualifiers. On Friday, we play the district match. After that, Raph's dad won't have any leverage left to use against the athletic department."

The phone lets out a long, continuous rattle. It’s an incoming call. The vibration makes the device buzz against the hard plastic of the console, the sound filling the small car.

Jackson looks down at it, then looks back at me. "Do you want me to turn it off?"

"No," I say. I reach out, pick up the phone, and press the power button on the side until the screen screen goes black. I slide it back into my coat pocket, cutting off the sound. "Leave it."

Jackson lets go of my wrist, his hand moving up to touch the side of my neck, his fingers resting just beneath my jawline. The heat from his palm spreads quickly against my cold skin. He pulls me an inch closer across the console, his expression serious.

"You don't have to look over your shoulder at the gates tomorrow morning," he says. "Walk through the main entrance. Go to your locker. I'll be at the end of the hall."

"Raph will know," I say, looking at his mouth. "His friends will see us."

"Let them see us," Jackson says quietly. "Let them tell him whatever they want. It doesn't change anything."

He leans in, his forehead brushing against mine for a brief second, the scent of his clean cologne filling the space between us.

I stay in the passenger seat for another twenty minutes, our voices quiet as we watch the empty gravel lane. Jackson tells me about the ice rink on the ridge, the way the snow looks when it hits the stadium roof, and the play he intends to run during the first period on Friday.

At 1:45 AM, I reach for the door handle.

"I have to go back," I say, pulling my hood up over my hair. "Leo wakes up if the heating pad shuts off."

Jackson nods once, his hand sliding off my shoulder. "7:10 AM bus?"

"Yes," I say.

I push the door open, the freezing air rushing into the cabin as I step down onto the gravel. I shut the door until the latch clicks, then walk back across the frost-covered alley toward the entrance of my building. The silver sedan remains idling in the dark, its low beams cutting through the white exhaust plumes until I push through the door and begin the climb back to the third floor.

When I walk into my bedroom, the room is exactly as I left it. I pull my winter coat off, drop it onto the chair, and crawl back under the wool blankets.

I pull the phone out of my cardigan pocket and set it face down on the bare wood of the nightstand, leaving the black glass dark.