“I’m good.” I laugh as I give his little brother a high-five. “You guys ready for the game?”
“More importantly, are you?” Mr. O’Brien says, giving me a couple of fake punches in greeting. With graying hair, he’s shorter than Boone, his frame solid and thick.
“I’m pumped,” I say, smiling. In fact, things have been damn good. I’m going to law school. The Lions are kicking ass. Julia and I grow closer each day.
Sylvia looks up the staircase. “Where is our boy, anyway?”
“He’s not here, but, um, let me check and see where he is.” I’d been wondering the same thing myself. I dig my hand into the pockets of my jeans and pull out my phone. Reece has already left for the stadium to get some extra work in, and I plan on leaving in the next few minutes. Usually Boone is back from the Kappa house by now.
Where r u, I send, but he doesn’t reply.
Worry niggles at me.
I haven’t seen him since last night when he went to the Kappa house, but I don’t want to rat him out to his parents. Sometimes he stays over at the house with a girl in one of the extra rooms.
I glance at his parents. “Maybe he’s already at the stadium.” It’s a possibility, but his duffle is sitting in the kitchen.
His father nods. “Always nose to the grindstone, shooting for perfection. He’s a good boy.”
Shit. Yeah. I nod to them as I motion out the door. “Should we go? I’ll drive you all if you’d like.”
Mr. O’Brien shakes his head. “We’ll head over ourselves. We’re going to stop and grab something to eat first. See you there.”
I watch them as they pile into their minivan and head out in the direction of the arena.
The second they leave, I jump into action, gathering my stuff as I keep checking my phone. I double check with Reece to make sure he isn’t at the arena and somehow missed getting his duffle. Reece replies back that he hasn’t seen him in the locker room.
When I saw Boone last night, he said it was going to be a chill evening at Kappa. We’re gonna kick back with some beers and have a PlayStation tournament. His exact words. He was loose and in good spirits.
But he missed our morning run.
I open another text to him: Are u alive?
Nothing.
The alarming thing is that the messages show as read. It’s not like him to not respond.
I grab my keys and head out to the truck, that sinking feeling growing.
I drive around to the front of the Kappa house. There are empty kegs piled up on the porch, but that’s par for the course. It looks deserted, which means the brothers are probably inside, recuperating from partying.
But it’s after three.
I’m captain, and it’s my responsibility to keep the team together. If he doesn’t show up for this game, we’ll struggle. We have a freshman, Donaldson, on the second line, and he’s good, but not as skilled as Boone.
Slamming the door to my vehicle, I cross to the house and take the steps two at a time and bang on the door.
The door finally opens and Scott’s there, scowling. There’s a frozen bag of peas pressed to his forehead and his eyes are half-open. “What the hell do you want?”
“You look like shit. Where’s Boone?”
He manages a smirk as he tosses the peas on a table by the door. “Shouldn’t you be at your game? Word on the street is, they can’t live without you.”
I stiffen, my fists clenching. I lean in the doorway and glance around. The smell of beer and sweat lingers in the air. Solo cups and pizza boxes litter the hallway, and I think I hear the sound of someone vomiting. “Where are the pledges?”
He leers. “The smart ones are home sleeping it off. The dumbasses . . . who knows.”
Is he calling Boone a dumbass?
Nah, nah.
I throw open the door and march him inside a few feet as I get in his face. His breath is rotten, like something crawled into his mouth and shit. I shove his chest and he skitters across the floor. “Answer my fucking question. Where? Is? Boone?”
He flinches, his face reddening, and I think he’s going to talk, then several of his brothers stalk into the foyer and surround him, asking what’s going on. They bump against me, their eyes stormy. Fine. I hold my hands up as I back out onto the porch.
“Boone has a game,” I tell them.
Scott smirks as he pushes through his brothers. “Great, but it looks like he ain’t gonna make this one.” He slams the door.
Blood rushes through my veins. Is this on purpose?