Page 177 of Top Shelf

Dylan

Of course.

Me

Mind if I come over?

Dylan

You know you don’t have to ask.

As quietly as I can so as not to wake them, I pull on a pair of sweats and grab a discarded T-shirt and hoodie that belong to one of the guys. Based on the smell, the T-shirt is Silas’s and the hoodie is Lucian’s.

With my sneakers in hand, I creep out of the room, closing the door soundlessly behind me.

It’s a quick walk to my old apartment, where Dylan now lives. She took over the lease when I moved to Valehurst. I get a strange sense of déjà vu as I stand outside my old building. Partof me is excited to be back here; I had so many happy times in that apartment. And yet, a part of me is strangely disconnected, like I’ve moved on from this place.

Dylan opens the door wearing sweatpants and a Steelhawks hoodie. Her hair is a disaster. She takes one look at my face.

“Movie and hot chocolate?”

“Movie and hot chocolate.”

Half an hour later, we’re curled up on opposite ends of the couch while an older romcom that I’ve seen a hundred times plays out across the TV. As is usual for us, neither of us is watching it.

“So.” Dylan smears cream over her top lip as she takes a sip from her oversized mug. “What the hell happened with Lucian? Did he go berserk for no reason or…”

I chuckle, a broken little sound. “I wish. No.” I absorb the heat from my hot chocolate before confessing, “It was Isaac.”

“What was Isaac?”

I give her a look. I give herthelook.

She gets it immediately, eyes going wide as she abruptly sits up straighter. “Oh.Oh!Wait. How do you know?”

Then I tell her everything. I tell her about the coin Silas has held on to all these years. How Isaac recognized it as his. The flashback I just had. All of it.

By the time I finish, the movie is halfway over, my hot chocolate has gone cold, and Dylan looks ready to commit murder.

“Well, now I’m annoyed I tried to pull Lucian off that fuckwit instead of helping him mush his brain matter into the ice.”

Despite everything, a laugh escapes me.

“He’s going to be in deep shit tomorrow, so just as well you didn’t dive in to help.”

She shrugs, clearly caring about repercussions as much as Lucian does.

Hockey players,I think with a roll of my eyes.

Dylan’s expression softens. “What are you going to do now?”

The question settles between us.

“Part of me wants to scream,” I admit aloud. “Or break something.” I laugh without humor. “And another part of me just wants this to be over.”

I pause, sighing heavily, before confessing, “But the truth is, what can I do?”

There won’t be a trial. There’s no evidence. There won’t be any justice. So what does that leave?