“Would you rather it was someone else who found her?” Derek asked, his words hanging in the air between us.
As the thought bounced around my mind, I didn’t really know how to answer. Did I wish someone else had stumbled across Zoe that day? Fuck no. Did I wish the images of that day would stop haunting me every hour of every day? Abso-fucking-lutely. Surely there was a happy medium.
“No,” I spluttered through gritted teeth.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Just surprised.”
“At?”
“How long it took you to answer,” Derek explained, a satisfied smirk on his lips.
“Asshole.”
“Yep. Anyway, all that I knew. What’d she do that has you wound tighter than spring?”
“She isn’t talking to me.”
“What?”
I didn’t want to get into this. If just thinking about it churned my stomach, surely talking about it wouldn’t be any better. “When she left she was a mess. And not just normal emotional girl mess, but she was a walking talking train wreck. She did it. I followed her out to the road to make sure she made it?”
“Stalker much?”
“Do you want to hear this or not?” I snapped. Derek was not making this easy.
“Sorry,” he apologised, raising his hands in surrender.
“And all I asked is that she text me when she got home. Let me know she made it okay. That was on Sunday night. She should have been back by early evening, but I don’t know. Now she’s avoiding me. She won’t answer my calls. She’s not returning texts. I’ve even taken to Facebook stalking but she hasn’t so much as liked a damn cat picture in more than a week. That damn woman loves those stupid cat photos.”
“You’re really worried, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. I am.”
“What are you gonna do?” Derek asked, all traces of taunting gone from his voice. He was on my side. I should never have doubted he’d be anything but.
“Short of driving down there and checking on her myself, what can I do?” I’d already asked myself the exact same question over and over and over again in the past couple of days. I was embarrassed to admit how many hours I’d spent already debating my options.
“So…why are you still here?”
His question seemed so simple. So simple, yet I didn’t have an answer. I’d considered it and dismissed it so many times I didn’t know if it was a good idea or not. Hearing Derek question why I hadn’t already left put everything in perspective. I wouldn’t relax until I knew she was safe, and getting a text message wasn’t going to satisfy me. I needed to see she was okay.
“I…I don’t know,” I admitted sheepishly, looking down at my hand. I’d made a mess of that. Even though I owned a construction business, these days I spent more time in the office than I did on site. When I did make the occasional site visit it was usually in a suit to get something signed off, or meet someone or to solve some issue. But by Wednesday I was itching to beat the shit out of something. Nailing bits of wood together seemed like a good idea. Twenty minutes and more than a dozen bent nails later, I’d smashed the hammer down on my thumb and completely missed the nail sticking out from the timber. Now my hand was a mess of blue bruises, blood blisters, and red, raw angry skin.
“Leave Saturday morning. Play tomorrow night. You owe the guys after tonight’s shenanigans. Then head to Melbourne and check on our girl,” Derek instructed.
I just nodded. He was right. I owed them. As soon as I’d made it up to the team, I’d go check and make sure Pippi was okay. If she wasn’t…well, she would be. She had to be.
***
After three hours of driving, my body was cursing me. In accordance with Derek’s instructions I’d played last night and I’d played like shit. I’d taken more hits and bumps than I’d had possessions. At one point I’d ended up buried under a pile of fifteen fully grown, sweaty, dirty men at a bounce. I’d copped a foot directly to the thigh, which was now sporting an interesting spur pattern. Right now all I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and sleep it off. I couldn’t sleep, no matter how much I wanted to. My plan had been to leave around dawn, but after three after hours of tossing and turning, I’d given up. I took a scalding hot shower before jumping in the car and heading off.
Spotting a McDonalds up ahead, I took the next exit and pulled in. As soon as I stepped from the car, every pain I’d been trying to ignore came back with a vengeance. Wincing at the bright sun, I slipped my sunglasses on and made my way inside.
“Morning, sir. What can I get for you?” a bright, bubbly pimple-faced girl asked.
