“See you soon, Minnie,” Luca sneers. The line goes dead.
I lower the phone from my ear and cradle it in my palms, eyes unfocused on the dark screen. A few seconds later, it lights up with a new text from an unknown number. There are no words, just a photo of Kepler, pressed against the back of his carrier with his back hunched and his fur bristling.
I could call someone. I had a missed message from Tristan, probably asking me to reach out when I get home from the Puck Drop. I could call and let him know what happened.
To what end, though? The playoffs are coming. He’s busy. Not only is the postseason important to him, but he gets paid millions of dollars a year to play hockey, and he’s at the top of his game right now. Besides, if I get anyone else involved, if Luca even suspects that I’m going behind his back, Kepler will pay the price.
No, I have to go there and try to reason with him.
I turn my phone off and stuff it into my pocket. I know what I have to do. If I don’t leave now, I’ll never be able to live with myself.
First, I put Tristan’s condo back together.
Then I slide my bag out from under the bed and start packing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tristan
“Hey, Min?” I back through the condo door at ten past five in the morning, dragging my crap with me. I managed to sleep on the red eye once Viktor stopped yapping about his best plays of the game. “I brought you a present.” The minute I saw the sweatshirt that saidFerret Mom, I knew I had to get it. That was before I saw the paw design on the pocket, or the ears on the hood. She’s going to love it, and I’m probably going to die of cuteness, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
The condo is silent. “Minerva?” I keep my eyes on my feet as I enter. Kepler’s number one life goal recently has been to crawl up my pant leg, and he’s a constant trip hazard.
But there’s no Kepler, and no sign of Minerva. She’s probably still asleep.
It’s so damn quiet in here, it’s eerie.
I kick off my shoes. The pair I’m wearing belongs right next to Min’s favorite pair of worn-in sneakers, which go right next to her new sneakers, but neither pair is there. That gives me pause. If she left the house, she wouldn’t have taken both.
Something’s wrong.
My chest compresses sharp and fast—instinct before logic, like my whole body already knows she’s in trouble.
I whip my head up. Minerva’s insanely organized when it comes to her spreadsheets, but she has a habit of leaving things out where she’s most likely to use them next. Not today. There’s no hoodie draped over the chair. No textbooks on the counter. No Kepler. His ferret palace is empty, but his goggles are stillresting on top. I pick up the goggles. She wouldn’t leave without these, right?
Nothing else of hers is in the living room. On my way down the hall toward her room, I’m stopped in my tracks at the sight of the whiteboard. Her constellation of likes and dislikes has been wiped clean, except for one word written in red.
Sorry.
It hits like a punch: whatever happened, she didn’t want to hurt me. That’s the part that guts me. My phone is in my hand before I reach her bedroom. My call goes straight to voicemail. Her room, like the others, is clean. The bed is made, the floor gleaming, the space empty. It’s a guest space again, anonymous and bland, with nothing to give it character.
“Min?” I collapse against the doorframe. What happened? What did I do? We agreed I wouldn’t call last night after I got back to the hotel due to the time change. I’ve sent her plenty of texts, but now that I think to check, I see they’re all marked as delivered but left unread.
I try her number two more times, just in case. If she was declining my calls, it should at least ring. Is her phone off?
Damn, she must have wanted to get away from me. Maybe she got an apartment in secret and moved out behind my back. I thought things were going well, but I guess not. The thought tastes wrong the second it forms—I know her better than that. This isn’t her choosing distance. This feels like panic.
Like fear.
My fist tightens around something, and I realize that I’m still holding Kepler’s goggles. Of all the things to forget, this one makes the least sense. Kepler always wears his goggles when she takes him out due to his light sensitivity.
I press my back to the wall and scroll down to Marley’s number. She answers on the third ring.
“Hey Tristan, what’s up?”
“Sorry to bother you so early, but it’s important. Have you seen Minerva? Did she tell you where she was going? I just want to know that she’s safe. I swear I won’t look for her if she doesn’t want to be found, but—”
“Slow down. I haven’t seen Minerva since the Puck Drop last night.” A note of worry tinges her voice. “Did something happen?”
