“I was. But I didn’t get the chance to get to know him.”
“Right. Did you have any issues with him?” He glances down at his notes. “I understand he was on track to be a starter soon. Was there any concern that he’d take over your spotlight?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? We don’t…didn’t even play the same position. And if he was on track to be a starter, as you say, I didn’t know. There are hundreds of guys waiting for their shot, but the only people who discuss that are the coaches and maybe the GM. We don’t all sit around as a team drinking tea and chatting about the upcoming roster.I had no idea. That thought had never crossed my mind. Let’s not forget the big issue with Landon, that you haven’t mentioned today… He was stalking Hayley…and Reed. He chose to attack them. This wasn’t premeditated by me.”
“But it’s opportunistic.”
“The fuck?” I pound my fists on the table, and mustache Holt leans back in his chair, smirking.
“It seems you’ve got an anger issue, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
“No. I’ve got an issue with being accused of something I didn’t do.”
“We’re not accusing you,” Officer Nelson says, subtly glancing toward her partner. “We’re just trying to get all the facts. Can you remember anything else?”
“No. That’s it.”
“Thank you.” She smiles but I’m too pissed off to smile back. “We just have a few more questions about Landon’s behavior in the lead-up to that game and then you’re free to leave.”
“For now,” the douchebag adds.
“I told you, I barely knew him. I can’t even remember seeing him before the game.”
“We’d still like to ask you. Just in case.”
I sigh, giving in, and I spend the next thirty minutes locked in that stuffy blue room before they finally release me.
When I walk outside, my eyes water in the bright sunlight as though it’s been hours since I saw it. Honestly, it feels that way.
And it’s not even over.
God only knows how long this nightmare will go on.
But what’s worse is that I’m stuck here until tomorrow, just in case they have any follow-up questions, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Blair
It takes me fifteen hours to get to Jacksonville, and I spend every second of those hours with my heart lodged in my throat and a tingling in my chest.
After my Uber driver decided to take the scenic route to the airport, my late-night flight was delayed because a passenger left their carry-on bag in the fucking McDonald’s eating area and the airline decided to wait for them because their bags were already loaded. Then to add to that joy, we had to wait in line for a gate when we finally landed two hours later than scheduled.
I’m a mess. Not just mentally for all the fucked-up thoughts running through my mind, but physically too. My hair’s falling out of my braid, I have mascara caked under my eyes from my thoughtless rubbing, and I threw on a T-shirt that I thought was clean only to find it’s not, and now it’s ninety degrees so I have to take off my sweater revealing the hot chocolate stain on my boob.
So yeah, I’m a hot mess, minus the hot.
Thank God the car rental ran smoothly because if I’d been forced to take an Uber or cab to get around, I would have lost my mind.
Why the hell won’t he answer his goddamn phone?
The familiar sights of my hometown come into view, but instead of the comfort I expect it to bring, my anxiety increases.What if he’s not here? What if Nathan was wrong?
As I stress, I search the obvious places that Zane might go, like the bar in the city where he said his team went to celebrate when they were here—which is of course closed. I check Halo’s pub where he used to hang out with my brother, and one of two expensive hotels he told me he was going to stay at when he turned pro. I try the police station—but don’t go in—and the park between our houses. I even drive past Cade’s, not that Zane’s ever been there, but I figured if he knew where it was and knew Cade wasn’t going to be there, he might use it as a place to hide away.
I’m running out of ideas when my family home comes into view. I don’t stop, but the urge to call in reinforcements is strong, and before I’ve thought it through, I’m dialing my dad.
“Hey, Princess, how are you? Are you finally going to tell me what’s going on? Your mom won’t even give me a—”
