Shutout (Rules of the Game, #2)(88)
Seraphina still hasn’t written me back by the time I pull in. Entering the keycode, I go through the garage to put away my gear. Her SUV is sitting parked inside. My worry ramps up another notch. If she’s not in class, why hasn’t she answered any of my texts? Is she upset with me? Is she okay?
The house is silent when I step inside.
“Ser?” I call.
No answer.
With my duffel bag on one shoulder, I go down the hall to check her bedroom and find it empty. Could she be out with someone else? Maybe Chloe picked her up for school today.
I open the door to downstairs, greeted by the sound of water rushing through the pipes. Cautious relief sets in. If she’s in the shower, that would explain why she didn’t hear me come home. Still doesn’t explain why she hasn’t answered any of my texts all day, though.
My gut says something is wrong, and I no longer think it has anything to do with her being angry at me. I can’t explain it. I just know.
Adrenaline spiking, I take the stairs two at a time. When I reach the bottom, I ditch my bag and jog to the bathroom. The door is closed when I reach it.
Placing my ear to the door, I knock softly. “Tink?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Ser.” I knock harder this time, but I still don’t receive a response.
Give me something. Anything. Tell me to go away. Yell at me. Be mad at me. Just answer me.
Growing desperate, I try the handle and find no resistance. It isn’t locked.
“I’m going to come in for a second, okay?” I say through the door. “I want to make sure you’re all right.”
When I open the door, it’s like a knife to the gut.
Seraphina is sitting in the tub next to the faucet with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her gaze is fixed down, and her eyes are vacant. Above her head, the running shower pours down on the tiled surround. The shower curtain is half-closed like it was an afterthought, and there are puddles all over the floor.
Panic courses through my veins, and cold water seeps through my socks as I rush over to her. As I draw closer, a few stray droplets from the spray hit my face and bare forearms. Even though the dial is set to warm, the spray is cold too. Our hot water tank lasts for three or four showers, sometimes more. That means she’s been in there for at least an hour.
How long has she been in there under the cold water?
Kneeling by the side of the tub, I shut off the faucet and try to catch her eye to no avail. Her fair skin is dotted with goosebumps all over, her lips are pale, and she’s shivering. I’m fairly certain she’s in shock, and I have no idea why.
I’ve never been more scared in my entire life, but I need to stay calm for her.
“Ser.” I touch her shoulder to get her attention, finding her skin chilled to the touch. Her eyes lock onto mine, but she doesn’t react. “You’re frozen, baby. I’m going to dry you off and get you warmed up, okay?”
She nods silently, but she doesn’t look at me.
Turning away, I grab a stack of fluffy white towels from under the sink, draping one over my shoulder. While she doesn’t resist my efforts to dry her off, she doesn’t help me, either. It takes some maneuvering, but eventually I manage to wrap her in two of the towels before I lift her up, bridal style. She sags against my chest as I carry her into my room.
Holding her up with one arm, I rearrange my pillows and prop them at the head of the bed before I set her down against them. “I need to get you into some clothes, Tink.”
I get her dressed as quickly as possible, narrating everything as I go even though it feels like I’m talking to myself. She wordlessly cooperates as I tug my black T-shirt over her head, then lay the spare towel over her shoulders to stop the cold water in her wet hair from dripping onto her shoulders and back. Then I help her into the warmest pair of sweats I own and slip on a pair of thick socks for her feet. It’s all several sizes big for her, but at least she’s insulated.
Taking the extra towel, I gently blot as much moisture from her hair as I can, trying to make sure I don’t pull it.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” I murmur, but I know she won’t. She’s like a zombie. I have no idea what’s going on. I suspect no one does; Chase would be here if he did.
Once her hair is dried to damp, I grab a newer Falcons hoodie that still has lots of its fleece lining left from my closet and put that over her head. Her skin is slowly warming, and she isn’t shivering anymore. She looks better—but she still hasn’t said a word.
Nearly out of my mind with worry, I lower to my knees on the floor in front of her. A million scenarios are flying through my brain, ranging from terrible to catastrophic. All I want is to know she’s okay. I need to know she’s okay.
“What happened, Ser?” I take her hands in mine, relieved by how much they’ve warmed since I got her out of the shower.
Her eyes glitter with unshed tears as she looks at me. My clothes drown her, and the combination makes her seem especially vulnerable. She looks so small; fragile.
“Did something happen with your mom?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
This eliminates the most obvious explanation, leaving me more confused than ever.
“Then what is it? Talk to me,” I beg. “Please.”
Seconds pass, and she doesn’t reply. She draws her hands into the sleeves of my sweatshirt, hiding them, and wraps her arms around her body, hugging herself.