Frostbitten: The Complete Series (33 page)

“And if you feel like venting—getting anything else off of your chest, just give me a ring.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Can I put my number in your phone, so you have it?” Andrew asked.

Brittany felt around for her phone. “I don’t have it on me. Give me yours.”

Andrew handed Brittany his phone. She began to put in her number.

“Just text me, and I’ll have your number.”

Andrew smiled. He meant every word he said to Brittany—she truly was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, and he’d seen a lot of girls in a lot of different countries.

“Have fun at your party,” Brittany said. She started to walk away, following Wade’s tracks.

“See you later,” Andrew said.

Andrew watched with a blushing smile on his face as his crush walked into the distance. He stuffed his cold hands into his pockets.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
BAD BLOOD

As every second ticked by, the air became noticeably colder.

“You shouldn’t stand out here for too long. You’ll get sick,” a familiar voice called out from behind Andrew.

Andrew turned around.

Tarun was standing with his hands buried in his coat pockets about twenty feet away from Andrew.

It wasn’t the first time they’d ran into one another since they met in India. There had been a number of run-ins, all of which ended on a sour note.

When Andrew’s parents made their property trade with Vish, they weren’t totally honest about their end of the bargain. Sure—they pulled some strings to get them Landing Papers, and they didn’t technically do anything illegal—but they did knowingly take advantage of the poor Indian family.

Vish wanted to take his son to a big city, where there was a good university, and they could live out the “American Dream”. Andrew’s parents told him that Snowbrooke was “a relatively big place” and had “a relatively great university”. Snowbrooke was a relatively big place—relative to a shoebox. And the university was great, relative to the other universities that were within four hundred miles.

Many generations of the Mumbar family history was in Vish’s hotel. It was a massive sacrifice to let it go—but he felt it was the right choice for his son, and the future of his family. He was leaving under the impression that he was going to a beautiful new building in a beautiful new city. Andrew’s father showed Vish pictures of Snowbrooke in the summertime—a season that was shorter than a month. He showed Vish pictures of the building’s original listing—from 1972. Vish didn’t realize that he was agreeing to that property, plus forty years of neglect and decay.

So naturally, after their first Snowbrooke winter, with broken windows, faulty plumbing, mould-covered walls and a sporadic heating system, Vish and Tarun were resentful. They’d been swindled. They gave up their priceless family history and their beautiful hotel for a rotting shack that wasn’t worth a dime.

Tarun could forgive ignorance, but he couldn’t forgive narcissism. As far as he was concerned, Andrew belonged to a family of sociopaths—the kind of people who tore down communities to build shopping centres—the kind of people who set up factories in third world countries to take advantage of legalized slavery—the kind of people who silently bombed small villages in Africa and swept the evidence under the rug, because it made a good place to set up diamond mines. 

“What?” Andrew asked.

“You’re just standing there. You should keep moving, or your joints will freeze.”

“Right,” Andrew said.

“You know—In the two years I’ve lived here, I’ve never really walked around this campus before. Hopefully I’ll get to come here one day,” Tarun said, looking around the dark, snowy campus.

“Hopefully,” Andrew said.

“I hear the physics program isn’t half bad, either.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Andrew said.

“It’s not the best in the country or anything, but they’ve had a number of successful students.”

“Okay. I should be getting home,” Andrew said, turning away from Tarun.

“How’s our hotel?” Tarun asked, walking over to Andrew.

Andrew stopped and turned around. “What hotel?”

Tarun laughed. “What do you mean, ‘What hotel?’ You know what hotel.”

“Sorry—It’s just that you said it was your hotel, but it’s not your hotel. You sold it.”

“We didn’t sell it—we traded it.”

“In that case, how’s our citizenship?”

Tarun looked unimpressed.

“What did I do to you?” Andrew asked.

“Your family cheated my me... My father—my family.”

“Look—I’m sorry that you don’t like the home that my dad gave to you. But I had nothing to do with it then, and I have nothing to do with it now. I haven’t been back to your hotel since the last time you were there.”

“Home? You call it a home? It’s four walls and a leaking roof. That’s no home. What your family took from us was a home.”

“Okay—Fine. You know what? I agree with you. I agree that my father is a slimy businessman. I agree that the hotel in India was beautiful, and that your place now is a dump. When my dad told you about the place, I would have said something if I knew it was a crap shack. But I didn’t know—It’s not like I was in on it.”

“But you know now, and you don’t even pretend to care.”

“Because there’s nothing I can do! I’ve told my dad about it—he doesn’t care. I’m sorry. On behalf of my family, I am sorry.”

“You can’t apologize on behalf of someone who isn’t sorry.”

“Okay then—I’m sorry on behalf of the fact I can’t do anything to help you.”

Tarun stared at Andrew. He knew that Andrew was telling the truth. He knew that he didn’t really have any reason to be angry with him. But he couldn’t help himself knowing that Andrew was about to go home to his beautiful house, with his platinum credit card, his stocked refrigerator, and his state of the art heating system.

Tarun took a breath, composing himself. “Well—How is it?” he asked.

“What?”

“The hotel—in India.”

“The last I heard, they were doing some updates,” Andrew said.

“Updates?” Tarun asked.

“Renovating. I didn’t ask them about it—but they wanted to open it up to more light. At least that’s what my mom said.”

“Open it up?”

“Like, open-concept. Make all of the rooms into one big room. It’s what people like these days.”

“Maybe here, but not in India, they don’t.”

“Well—They’re from here, and not from India, unfortunately.”

Tarun wanted to cry. Both his childhood home and his ancestral history were being crushed and demolished, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

“No Indian will want to stay in an ‘open-concept’ hotel,” Tarun said.

“I’ll be sure to let them know,” Andrew said, turning around to leave.

Tarun grabbed Andrew by the arm to stop him from leaving. Andrew pushed away the arm.

“Don’t touch me!” Andrew said swiftly, shoving Tarun back with a sudden shove to the chest.

Tarun grabbed onto Andrew’s collar and pulled him in close. “You say that you can’t do anything about it, but you can. You just don’t want to be bothered. You’re walking around like a blind giant—totally unaware of the lives you’re trampling beneath your feet,” Tarun said passionately.

“Let go of me,” Andrew demanded, his hand curling into a fist.

“For someone who’s been to India, and seen the way people live—how can you be so unsympathetic?”

“I’m not unsympathetic. There’s just nothing I can do.”

“Then you’re just an ignorant waste of life,” Tarun said, dropping Andrew down.

Angry, Andrew swung at Tarun’s side with his fist—making hard contact with his rib. The handsome Indian boy winced in pain for a moment.

“I’m ignorant?” Andrew shouted. “I was on your side! I told my dad not to sell you a place in Snowbrooke. I told him he was being a villain! He didn’t care. You think that I just let him take advantage of you?

“We got in a fight. I told him everything that you wish you could tell him—That he was nothing but a sewer rat decaying in a cesspool of his own ignorant self-importance. Do you know what he did? He told me to get out of his face, and to never talk to him again. I have to talk to my mother in secret, or the fat bastard will beat her half to death.” Andrew turned around and started to walk away.

“She’s got a boyfriend, so don’t bother,” Tarun said.

“Don’t bother? Don’t bother with what?”

“You were clearly hitting on her.” Tarun laughed, still hunched over in pain.

“Hitting on who?”

“That little black girl in your class.”

“No, I wasn’t. We’re just friends.”

“You’re drop-dead gorgeous and I’m not going to argue it anymore,” Tarun said, impersonating Andrew’s speech from before.

“What—Were you eavesdropping on us? Is that why you’re here?”

“Never mind,” Tarun said.

“No—Not ‘never mind’. What are you actually doing here, and how do you know she has a boyfriend—how do you even know who she is?”

“Forgive me for trying to be nice,” Tarun said.

“Are you stalking her?”

“No—Of course not.”

“Of course not? You just happen to be eavesdropping on her conversations in the middle of the night, across town from your house? And apparently you know everything about her personal life?”

Tarun shook his head, cold and tired of arguing. “Enjoy sleeping in your king sized bed, while you watch your big screen TV,” Tarun said as he began to walk away.

“If you lay a finger on her, I’ll have you and your father thrown out of the country.”

Tarun made no reply as he walked away.

CHAPTER SIXTY
THE FENNER FAMILY

Wade found himself sitting in his car outside of his house, staring out into oblivion as his brain mulled over the things Brittany said to him. All of the lights were on inside of his home, and he could see his wife walking around the kitchen, preparing dinner.

Upstairs, through Michael’s bedroom window, Wade could see Michael practicing his wrist shot, shooting pucks into his upright mattress. Michael was shirtless, dripping with sweat from hours of hard practicing.

Not only had Wade been letting down countless struggling students, but also he’d been letting down his son. Wade was Michael’s idol—his coach, his father and his mentor.

Had Wade not been such a know-it-all, who knows what kind of heights Michael could have reached?

Wade always had to be right, and when Michael did something different, Wade told him that it was wrong.

Because of Wade, Michael became an enforcer. It was the way Wade taught him to play. Because of Wade, Michael was no longer a professional hockey player.

What gave Wade the right to tell his son how to play? Wade was good in his day, but he wasn’t the best. Who was Wade to tell his son to respect him? Guy never muttered the word respect to Wade. Never once in Guy’s life did he mutter the words “respect me.”

As the icy cold air began to penetrate the car door, Wade decided it was time to head inside. He slowly walked towards the house—Brittany’s voice still ringing through his head. He opened up the front door and walked inside.

“There you are! I was worried sick about you!” Laura said as she stepped out of the kitchen.

“Sorry—I got caught up at work,” Wade said.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You look like a ghost.”

“Oh—I’m just tired.”

Laura turned back to the kitchen to continue preparing dinner. “Tired of dealing with those disrespectful little brats all day?” she said, impersonating her husband. She laughed.

“What did you say?” Wade said.

“Huh?”

“What did you just say?”

“I asked if you’re tired of dealing with the kids.”

“No—What did you say—Exactly?”

Laura stared at her husband. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I just want to make sure I heard you right.”

“Maybe you should lay down.”

“Did you call them disrespectful little brats?” Wade asked.

“Yeah—It was a joke, Wade. I was kidding.”

“Oh,” Wade said. “Right...”

“It was supposed to be a funny impression. I guess I should stick to housekeeping.”

“An impression of who?” Wade asked.

“It was that bad, huh?”

“Of me?”

“Yes—but it was a joke, dear. Here, let me get you a Tylenol. Go sit down.”

Wade turned around and walked over to the couch. Laura walked over moments later with a glass of water and two Tylenol pills. “Take these,” she said.

Wade stared at his wife in silence for a moment.

“You’re scaring me, darling. What is it?”

“Am I a bad teacher?” Wade asked.

“What? No—Of course not. Why would you say something like that?”

“A student told me that I was.”

“Let me guess—A student who happens to be doing badly in the class?”

“No—Well, yes. But she isn’t dumb. She’s actually not dumb at all.” There was a tone of surprise behind Wade’s voice.

“Wade—you’re the best teacher in the town. You’re doing something for those kids that no one else will—Did you tell her that?”

“That’s the problem! I did tell her that!”

“That’s the problem?” Laura asked.

“Yes. That’s precisely what is wrong with me. That’s what I need to change!”

“I think you might have a fever. Let me take your temperature.”

“I don’t have a fever, Laura. I’m just—I’m just tired of letting people down. I don’t want to let her down. I don’t want to let another student down.”

“Her?”

“Brittany—the student.”

“You aren’t letting her down, sweetie.”

“Yeah I am! Even though I know I’m wrong, I can’t change. I’m afraid of looking weak.

“Okay—Well, let’s get to the bottom of this. In order for Brittany to do well in your class, what needs to change?”

“She needs to respect me.”

“So tell her that.”

Wade threw his head back and his body went limp in defeat. “I need her to respect me without me caring about her respecting me.”

“After twenty-five years together, I still don’t understand you.” Laura smiled.

“If Brittany fails my class—or any other class ever—then I am a failure, and I don’t deserve to teach.”

“Is this a mid-life crisis?”

“No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s me waking up—me being born again.”

“I already have a newborn. I don’t need another one.”

“I’ve got it,” Wade said.

Laura walked over to the staircase. “Michael! Come downstairs for dinner!” she called out.

“I’ll be right down!” Michael called back.

“I’m going to cancel the next assignment. Instead, they’ll all write a paper about their idol—what makes their idol a good person, and how they could embody those qualities.”

“That sounds lovely, dear. Come get some dinner.”

Michael ran down the stairs. “Hey dad,” he said.

“Hey. You’re all sweaty,” Wade observed.

“There’s a Utica Comets tryout in Prince George in two weeks. They’re picking four guys to bring down to their training camp. I’m going to make the trip down.”

“Really?” Wade asked.

“Yeah. They announced it this morning. It’s totally private—Invite only.”

“Michael got an invite from the coach himself,” Laura said with pride.

“I’ll come,” Wade said.

Laura and Michael both turned and looked at Wade with surprise.

“Really?” Michael said.

“Yeah—I want to be there,” Wade said.

Michael laughed. “They probably won’t let you tryout,” he joked.

“I want to be there. Is that so strange? What’s so strange about that?” Wade asked.

“Yeah—It’s cool. It’s just—remember last time?” Michael said sheepishly.

“What last time?” Wade asked. “What happened the last time?”

“When I was fourteen, trying out for The Moose—you kept leaning over the boards and telling me the coach was an idiot. Then you yelled at the ref, and you kept telling me to shoot five-hole, because that was the goalie’s weak spot—even though the coach kept telling me to shoot the corners?”

“But you made the team,” Laura said. “Thanks to your father’s advice.”

“I know I did—but…”

“I just want to watch—see all those new skills you’ve got,” Wade said.

“Really?” Michael said, still not sure what to believe. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Really.”

“Cool. Yeah—I’d love for you to come.”

“Ready to eat?” Laura asked.

“Where’s Cassie?” Wade asked looking around the room for his daughter.

“She’s at another sleepover. I guess she’s finishing up some big assignment for school with her friends and they wanted to make a fun weekend out of it.”

“She’s sixteen. She’s too old to be having sleepovers,” Wade said.

“Every girl has sleepovers, Wade. I have friends my age who still have sleepovers.”

“Those aren’t sleepovers, Laura. Those are lesbians,” Wade said.

“For the last time, Jenna and Darlene are not lesbians!” Laura laughed.

“Who is Cassie sleeping over with?” Michael asked.

“Her friend Vanessa,” Laura said.

“Vanessa? The girl with the blonde hair and the lip ring?” Michael asked.

“Why?” Wade asked, noticing his son’s sudden worried apprehension.

“Oh—I don’t know. I just don’t know about that girl,” Michael said.

“She seems nice enough. Her parents are so funny,” Laura said. “I’ll go set the table.”

Wade could see that something was bothering his son. “What is it?” Wade asked, quietly enough that his wife couldn’t hear.

“I’ve seen that girl at frat parties,” Michael whispered.

“Cassie can handle herself around drunk frat guys,” Wade said.

“It’s not drunk frat guys I’m worried about.”

“What are you worried about?”

“I don’t know—It’s probably nothing.”

“What is it, Michael?”

“There’s this party that a bunch of bikers throw every year—it’s where some buddies of mine were headed tonight.”

“Bikers?”

“Yeah.”

Wade stared at his son for a moment.

“Come eat!” Laura yelled.

“Go get your sister. Don’t freak out your mother,” Wade said.

Wade looked his son in the eyes. Both men felt it—that strange pulsing shiver in their spine. Perhaps it was just the mutual worry for Cassie, or perhaps it was something else—or perhaps it was absolutely nothing at all.

Wade turned around and walked towards the kitchen, feeling that strange tingling in his body growing stronger.

“Let’s eat!” Wade said, forcing a smile.

“Michael, are you coming?” Laura called out to the living room.

“Sorry—I just remembered that I was supposed to meet the guys for nachos. You don’t mind, do you?”

Laura smiled. “No—go ahead.”

Michael smiled, and then took off.

On the table was a long rack of short ribs—Wade’s favourite food.

“Whoa,” Wade said, looking at the delicious dinner. “What’s the occasion?” he asked. “I thought we were having spaghetti tonight.”

“I don’t know. I woke up this morning, and I felt like we should have ribs. Maybe my wifely instincts told me that you were going to have a bad day.”

Wade smiled at his wife.

“Well don’t let it go cold!” Laura said.

Michael got into his father’s car, which was still warm from Wade’s drive home. He fired it up, and took off swiftly.

Michael hadn’t even noticed that he’d walked right underneath Brittany.

Brittany was sitting up in the Fenner’s tree, shrouded by the shadows of its thick branches. Her fangs were fully extended, and her eyes were a deep red colour. She was thirsty, and she couldn’t fight it any longer.

She watched Wade through the window, devouring ribs like a starving baboon. His blood would be fatty—and filling. Fat blood was a treat—like a desert. It was sweeter and richer than normal blood.

Anger and thirst are a deadly combination—especially with a vampire who never properly learned to control their thirst.