Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(32)
Javi pinched the bridge of his nose as he sank onto Vero’s mattress.
“So you saw the Aston?” I asked. “Can you get rid of it?”
He lifted his head. “I made a few calls. I know a guy who knows a guy who says he can unload it.”
“How fast?” Vero asked.
“It’ll take me a few days to arrange to have it moved.”
“A few days!”
“I can’t exactly strip it in Ramón’s backyard, V! Not if we’re keeping this a secret from him.” They locked eyes in a silent standoff.
“Fine,” she said, gesturing to the window. “Get as much as you can and let me know when it’s done.”
Javi stood. “So that’s it? You’re just going to hide out here with a bunch of cops until I get the money?”
Vero crossed her arms.
“Great. No pressure,” he muttered. He moved to the window and put a finger between the slats in the blinds, peering at the campus below. Voices drifted up as students began migrating from the dorm to the mess hall. “Can’t leave now. Not until all those people clear out. Mind if I crash here for a while?”
Vero made a show of studying her nails. “I don’t mind. Do you, Finn?”
They stole furtive glances at each other from opposite sides of the room.
“I was just going to go find a hot shower and grab something to eat. Will you be okay here?” I asked her as I reached for my coat.
Javi leaned back against the wall beside her bed, one foot hitched behind him, his face a mask of casual disinterest as she surveyed him coolly and nodded.
“Good,” I said. “Try not to kill each other until I get back.” I grabbed my hair dryer off her bed and tucked it in my gym bag. It was probably safer not to leave anything to chance.
* * *
I set my gym bag in an empty shower stall in the shared bathroom at the end of the hall and tested the faucet. The pathetic trickle ran tepid for a moment, then abruptly cooled to a temperature that could probably preserve a body. Remembering the dense fog I’d seen earlier that day in the women’s locker room, I collected my things and made the trek to the gym, weaving around crowds of students who were on their way to dinner. Judging by the quality of the offerings I’d seen in the lunchroom earlier, a hot shower alone seemed preferable.
I followed the signs to the locker room, relieved to find it empty. I turned on the shower and checked my phone as I waited for the water to warm.
Still no news of a squashed, tattooed wrestler from New Jersey turning up in any headlines.
I sifted through my notifications. Steven had sent a video a few hours ago while I’d been in class. I tapped it open. Delia was grinning in the back seat of his truck, his heavy tool belt draped across her lap. Zach brandished a plastic hammer with a maniacal laugh. The camera pulled back, catching Steven in the frame with them. He smoothed back his hair, adjusting the angle of his phone to capture his good side.
Wave hi to Mommy, he said.
Zach shook his hammer and squealed, Mommy!
A wide smile stretched over my face as Delia waved at me. Daddy’s taking us out to lunch and then we’re going on an adventure to—
The video cut off. A text from Steven had followed: We miss you. How about family dinner at my place on Friday? Just you, me, and the kids.
I frowned at my phone. Was this an olive branch to co-parenting or was he asking me on a date? I texted back a quick reply: Family dinner sounds great. Let’s plan for next week at my place. Vero and I will cook.
I tossed my phone in my gym bag, pushing thoughts of Steven from my mind as I stripped off my workout clothes and stepped under the lukewarm spray. By the time I finished scrubbing, the locker room was thinly veiled with steam. I toweled off and dried my hair, my stomach rumbling through my sweatshirt as I dragged it over my head. I packed my dirty clothes and hair dryer into my gym bag and stepped out into the hall in search of a vending machine.
Voices rose from the basketball courts, the squeak of sneakers punctuated by the steady thump of a ball against the gymnasium floor. I slowed as I recognized one of the deep, booming voices through the double doors. Rising up on my toes, I peeked through the small window.
Joey was light on his feet, hunched over the ball as he defended it from Roddy. Roddy towered over him, making grabs at it until he eventually swiped it and pitched it to Charlie. Charlie dribbled it down the court for an easy layup. Nick leaned against his cane behind the court, catching the balls that flew under the backboard and pitching them to his friends. He smiled, throwing out the occasional trash talk along with them, but as the play moved to center court, Nick’s attention drifted toward the door. I ducked out of sight, hoping he hadn’t noticed me.
The promising glow of a vending machine guided me down the hall. I fed what little cash I had into one of the snack machines. My fingers hovered between the buttons that would release a pack of Oreos or a Twix, but it was only seventeen days into the new year, and while there wasn’t much to be done about Ike, I was determined to salvage this one resolution. I opted for the Cheez-Its instead.
The coils inside the machine turned on, spinning its meager offerings closer to the ledge, but apparently not close enough. The cheese crackers tipped, catching on the glass. With a swear, I threw my shoulder against the vending machine. The Cheez-Its didn’t budge. I dropped to my knees and thrust my arm into the receptacle, feeling for the opening on the other side.