“You look pressed,” Reid remarks.
“Little bit,” I mutter, peeling the label off my beer.
“You going out with the team later?”
“Nah,” I say. “Not feeling it tonight.”
“Wish I could say the same. I could use at least ten drinks after today’s practice.”
My brows lift because I’m usually pretty dialed-in, and I didn’t notice anything on the ice. “Coach Miller up your ass?”
“Miller’s fine. Better than fucking Grady.” He rolls his neck, reaching for his bottle. “It’s hard coming in mid-season like this. A few of the second and third liners haven’t exactly been welcoming. They seem to think I’m the reason they’re not starting.”
Of course they do. Some of the guys on our team are such entitled fucks. They wouldn’t last a day with the pressure of being goalie.
“They’re not starting because they’re not good enough.”
“You and I know that but try telling them.” Reid smirks.
I snort. “I will if you want. I have no problem bringing them back down to reality.”
On the counter where it’s charging, my phone rings with an incoming call. I glance over my shoulder, confused. No one calls me, and for good reason—I never answer.
“Sorry. Hang on.” I push back my chair to retrieve my cell, expecting a wrong number. When I pick it up, the display says Tinker Bell.
Nerves rattled, I swipe to accept the call. “Ser?”
“Ty? Are you there?” Seraphina’s voice is nearly drowned out by pounding bass in the background. It’s hard to tell, but it sounds like she’s crying.
“Tink.” I plug my other ear in an attempt to hear better. “I can’t hear you. Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry…” She cuts out. “…loud…” The call cuts out again. “…more quiet.”
Reid catches my eye and jerks a thumb to the front door, giving me a questioning look as if to ask whether he should leave. Grateful he picked up on it, I nod and silently mouth “thank you”。
Trailing behind him, I lock the deadbolt and pace circles in the kitchen, waiting for Sera to continue. Seconds crawl by that feel like hours. The music slowly fades to a more manageable volume, and a door clicks shut on the other end of the line. All I can hear are her gasping breaths, interspersed with sniffles.
“Ser?” I prod.
Seraphina draws in another shaky breath. “I smoked part of a joint, and now I feel weird. The room won’t stop spinning. I tried to text you but I’m seeing double and it’s too hard to type.”
Icy dread grips me, and I come to a screeching halt. “Just weed, or?”
“Um… I-I think so. That’s what Rob said.”
I bite my knuckle, holding back a string of expletives. Of course. Should’ve known that fucking guy had something to do with this.
Not to mention, Rob’s connections are probably about as trustworthy as he is. It could’ve contained anything.
Frantically scanning the room, I grab my keys off the counter and barrel down the hall into the garage. Before I can think twice, I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my car. I don’t even know where I’m going.
“Where are you? I’ll come get you.” I press the control on the overhead console to open the garage door and watch it creak open in the rearview mirror.
Seraphina hiccups. “Rob’s p-penthouse downtown.”
Oh, so he supplied and hosted. My grip on the steering wheel tightens until I think it might disintegrate beneath my fingers. Not because I’m upset with her, but because I want to pummel Rob into next week.
“Send me a pin with your location. I’m leaving right now.”
Something clatters on the other end of the line. “…shit!” There’s rustling. “Sorry, I dropped my phone. M-my dying’s battery. I mean, my battery’s dying, but I’ll try. Gimme a sec.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I draw in a slow, deep breath to calm myself. The good news is she’s talking to me, and she’s safe—for now. But she’s having a bad trip, and she’s in a potentially dangerous situation surrounded by a bunch of strangers. I don’t trust the people she does know there, either.
A few seconds later, a link to her location appears in our text thread.
“Got it,” I confirm, backing out of the garage.
“I’m scared, Ty.” She whimpers, triggering some kind of primal instinct I’ve never felt before. Testosterone, adrenaline, it’s a biochemical cascade. All I want is to fix whatever is making her feel this way.
“You’ll be okay.” The reassurance is for myself as much as her. “Just stay on the phone with me until I—”
Suddenly, the background noise on the other end of the line vanishes.
My Bluetooth beeps, and the display reads, “Call Failed.”
Heart racing, I call her back. It goes straight to voicemail, and I receive an automated message informing me hers hasn’t been set up yet. I try again. Voicemail.
I can’t do anything until I get there.
I’m completely powerless, and it’s one of the worst feelings I’ve ever had.
CHAPTER 14
GRAVITY
TYLER
I make what should be a twenty-minute drive in less than ten and pull up to the curb of a swanky apartment building, leaving my Audi running in a no-parking zone. They won’t have enough time to tow me, and I don’t give a flying fuck if I get a ticket.
Cold winter air whips at my cheeks as I slide out of my SUV, the wind biting my bare forearms. In twenty-two degrees, a coat would’ve been a smart idea, but I wasn’t exactly thinking when I left. When I step onto the sidewalk, I spot a uniformed doorman standing outside the glass double doors, and trepidation seizes me. Damnit. Getting past him might be an issue.
Like I predicted, saying I’m here to see “my friend Rob who lives in the penthouse” gives me zero credibility in the eyes of the middle-aged building attendant, who side-eyes my tattoos and refuses to let me pass without Rob’s last name. In my mind, it’s Pieceofshit, but this guy won’t buy that. When I try to argue, he tells me to “call Rob” if I have a problem with it. If I had his fucking number, I’d do that in a heartbeat. In fact, I’d tell him to come downstairs so we can have a chat fist to face outside.
After more unsuccessful attempts to negotiate, I resort to bribing the doorman to get upstairs—and it isn’t cheap. A private elevator whisks me up to the penthouse on the twenty-fifth floor. Rap music tumbles inside as the doors spring open, unveiling bachelor bro central. Everything is chrome, and I do mean everything.
Side-stepping a couple making out in the entry, I scan the room for Seraphina’s distinctive rose-gold hair. A cluster of well-dressed people are lounging on white leather couches in the living area. Another handful of partygoers have gathered around the coffee table in the center of the room, snorting lines off the glass.
Abby spots me in the crowd and sashays over, clutching a martini glass in one hand. Her eyes are glassy, and her expression tells me she’s more than a little fucked up. I guess Seraphina isn’t the only one.