Thirty-Seven
MALAKI
As soon asthe plane touches down, I turn my phone back on. My pulse thrums, eager to see a text from Reese. Surely she’s awake by now.
Last night will live in my head for the rest of my life. Hearing her get off over the phone was better than anything I could've imagined, and I have a pretty wild imagination.
Once my phone is back in action, I frantically search the screen for an incoming text, but instead, I see a doorbell notification.
I get a notification every time someone leaves or enters the house. When I replay the video, I watch a man stand on the front porch with something in his hand. The only comforting thing is that it isn’t Benedict, but I wouldn’t put it past him to send someone else to torment Reese, because he’s nothing but a coward in my eyes.
I wait until I’m in my car, away from my teammates, who are all just as eager to get home, to open the video again.
He says her name.
My spidey senses tingle.
“We’re not interested,” she says to him kindly.
He repeats her name, and I zoom in on whatever he’s holding.
She corrects him with skepticism. “It’s Ms. Moreno.”
I think she meansIt’s Future Mrs. Young, but I digress.
He shoves something into her chest, and my blood pressure rises. “You’ve been served.”
I grip the steering wheel. “Fuck.”
I quickly click my phone off and throw my car in drive.
My airy mood that carried on from our late-night phone call vanishes before I’m out of the parking lot. I have six days before we’re on the road to play the Coyotes to help Reese figure out whatever it is that Benedict just pulled.
I hope it’s enough time.
Better yet, I hope she’s willing to let me in instead of trying to figure it out on her own.
I waste no time climbing the porch steps and walking into the house. I drop my bag and kick the door shut with my foot. “Reese?”
Zoe appears at the end of the hall from the kitchen. The closer I get, the more my shoulders tighten. Charleigh is on her hip and smiles at me immediately.
I grin. “Hey, Charleigh-girl.”
Zoe tucks her lip beneath her teeth, just like her older sister does.
We make eye contact, but she says nothing.
“Where is she?” I ask.
Better yet, where is Benedict? I’d really enjoy finding him first.
“How do you–”
“Doorbell,” I say.
She inches her chin toward the stairs.
Zoe’s spunk is gone, which is unsettling to say the least. I follow her line of sight and see a manila folder on the bar top with a few scattered papers on top.
