I kneel, balling his shirt in my fist and yanking him up. “You're a moron if you thought this was going to go any other way. How did you even find her?”
He shrugs. “There’s a guy on the football team—he’s good with computers. He, uh… figured out she worked for the party company. Didn’t really need to do much sleuthing. Did you know he lives next door to her?”
So the football team knows too?
I pull him closer, my knuckles whitening around his collar, knocking off his baseball cap.
Erik’s breath hitches.
Brooks steps in, laying a firm hand on my shoulder. “Scotty…let him go. He's an idiot. A huge idiot, but beating the shit out of him isn't going to fix anything.”
“You're right.” I let go of his shirt, and he falls back to the ground with a loud grunt. I don't care. I hope that hurts. “I need to find Laura.”
I shoulder past the rest of the guys, shoving the camera away when it swings in my face. “Stop filming,” I snap, and the cameraman flinches. Good. I’m two seconds from smashing that lens.
My eyes meet with Jerry’s, whose mouth is open in shock. “Delete every second of this footage, Jerry. It better never see the light of day.”
It’s something I’ve never asked for.
“Calm down, Scotty,” Jerry says calmly.
Too bad I’m anything but right now.
“No. I will not fucking calm down. You can make a shit situation out of my life, but don’t you dare fuck up hers.”
I don’t stay to see his response.
“I need to talk to her now,” I mutter under my breath. “Before she decides she never wants to see me again.”
I shove through the rec center doors and blow past the front desk, barely hearing the shouting going on behind me.
I take the steps two at a time down to the parking lot.
Then I freeze.
At the bottom of the stairs lies a broken blue sparkling shoe, and I know it’s hers because I’ve seen her in it them before.
The sight of it triggers a fresh wave of anger and guilt.
“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
She's gone.
She's fucking gone, and I fucked it up before we could even start.
“Laura?” I call out, earning the attention of a few bystanders. Unsurprisingly, she doesn't reveal herself.
I reach for my pocket on instinct, but it’s empty.
Right.
My phone is back at the rink.
I don't know what to do, so I search every inch of that parking lot, calling her name, but it's no use. She's not there.
Ten minutes pass.
Then fifteen.
