“D-man. Talk to me. You okay?”
“Coop.” He shoves his phone at me. “I wasn’t supposed to look.I wasn’t supposed to look.”
I shouldn’t look either, but I can’t help myself.
Waverly Sweet, Princess of Puke, the headline reads.
“Jesus motherfuckingassholes,” I growl.
And I skim.
And it gets worse.
It gets much, much worse.
It gets worse enough that I shove Diego’s phone back at him and lunge for my own.
When Waverly doesn’t pick up, I call Levi. “Where is she?”
“Fucking hell, you weren’t supposed to see that,” he groans. “Tripp’s gonna kill me.”
“Where. The fuck. Is. She?”
“I don’t know.”
Los Angeles.
She’s somewhere in LA, and if she’s not in LA, she’s closer to California than she is to Virginia.
Fuck.
“She fired Zinnia the minute she walked off the set, texted me to make sure you didn’t know a thing, which is the only reason I know something happened, and she’s not answering and I can’t get anyone to tell me where she went after that, butI will,” Levi says. “Cooper. We’ve got her. I’ll find her. Play the game. It’s the World Series. This is your dream. We’ve got her. It’s okay. We’ve got her.”
Right.
World Series.
Play the game.
Play the—
“What thefuckis wrong with you?” I snarl. “Would you say that if some weird-ass dude showed up claiming to be Ingrid’s dad and then the tabloids covered her getting sicker than sick all over herself on a talk show set while people broadcast it live all over the internet?Jesus. Fuck.Fuck the game. Where the fuck is she?”
Luca stares at me from the other side of the locker room.
Darren slowly sits down on the bench two lockers down.
Max tries to look in on us, but Brooks is blocking him, frozen in the doorway.
“It’s the World Series, Coop,” Robinson breathes. I don’t even know where he came from.
“I love her and she’s hurting and I can’t fix it.I can’t fucking fix it.”
My eyes are wet.
My hands are shaking.
Whatever Levi’s saying on the other end of the phone doesn’t register, because it’s notthis is where you can find her.
