“She took her stuff. And she’s not answering her phone.”
“Oh. No, she didn’t say anything to me.” She clears her throat. “Although, um, given the conversation, I’d be surprised if she’s avoiding you. Maybe she’s just out? Could she have an early morning appointment?”
“Maybe.” Though that still doesn’t explain the goggles, or the note on the whiteboard. “Do you know who she left the Puck Drop with?”
“She walked with Violet and Knova. Do you want me to call someone? Is she missing?”
“I’m trying to figure that out. She must have made it home from the bar, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Let me know what you figure out. I worry about her. She’s, like, super smart, but she’s kind of innocent in some ways. Vulnerable.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I know. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
As soon as we hang up, I call Knova.
“Christ, DuBois, can’t you just text like a civilized person?” Knova sounds frazzled. Viktor’s voice hums in the background. “This had better be an emergency, because I was ten seconds away from post-road-trip coital bliss.”
“TMI.” I crack a wan smile in spite of everything. “Marley said you walked Minerva home last night. Did she mention going away somewhere?”
“Hey, one sec.” Knova’s voice becomes muffled for a moment. “Don’t lick me there, Vik, I’m on the phone.” She returns to normal volume. “No, she didn’t. Why do you ask?”
“When I walked in my front door this morning, she wasn’t here.”
“Is her car there?”
I head back to the living room and peer out the window. “No, actually.”
“Looks like I just solved your mystery, Sherlock. I’m sure she’ll be back.”
“Right.” I swallow hard. “Thanks. Sorry to bother you.”
The silence of the condo settles around me, oppressive and thick as a shroud. since I don’t have a better idea, I collect my bags and drag them all to my room. I have this buzzing, nervous need to do something, though I have no idea what my options are. Still, the idea of unpacking and acting like everything is normal makes me want to scream. But what am I supposed to do? Call the cops and tell them that the woman who was living at my house has moved out and isn’t taking my calls. I have no evidence of foul play and every reason to believe that Minerva chose to leave.
I abandon my bags in the corner of the room and walk to my dresser. I pull out the box that I hid at the back of the shirt drawer. A week ago, I ducked into a local jeweler with Camden, heart already made up. I knew which ring I wanted as soon as I saw it—a simple silver band with a rose-gold filament and a princess-cut center diamond, understated and brilliant. Just like her.
I drop down onto the edge of the bed and open the box to let the ring catch the light. Everything about my relationship with Minerva has happened out of order. She moved in before I got to know her, I fell for her before she realized I was even interested and was tracking my macro intakes before she knewanything about me as a person. It only made sense to skip straight past asking her to be my girlfriend and launch right into an engagement.
Minerva tries so hard, and yet she has so little faith in herself. I’d burn the world down to keep her safe. And she just… left?
Maybe I scared her off. If she wants space, that’s fine, but my gut says that there’s more to the story.
There’s only one other person I can call for help. He’ll take my spleen, possibly by hand, if he thinks I hurt Minerva, but so be it. Swiping through my contacts, I find an emergency number I have never used. I gird my balls and dial Dante’s cell.
I swear to God he picks up before the phone rings. “This better be good,” he snaps.
“Minerva’s gone,” I said. “She took all her crap.”
“What the fuck did you do?”
“Nothing.” I take a deep breath and reconsider. “Nothing I know of. I just got back home from our road trip, and she’s gone. I’m not sure if she left me, or if something else happened, and I can’t reach her.”
“Oh. Shit. This is going to fuck with my leading scorer right at playoff time.” Dante huffs out a breath.
“She left Kepler’s goggles. She never takes him outside without them.”
Dante’s voice hardens to steel. “Cannoli doesn’t have his goggles? You’re right, she spoils that little furball rotten. Something’s amiss. Let me make a few calls.” He hangs up without another word.
“Tabarnak,” I breathe. It slips out raw—my mother tongue always surfaces when I’m scared.
