A week ago, I would have laughed if anyone told me Tate was doing recreational drugs, but now I’m not so sure. If I’m being honest, I don’t give a fuck if he’s mortified over this. I want him to be mortified for what he did to me. Virginia starts to cry, and my chest squeezes. His parents are good people and they’ve already beenthrough so much.
“I’ll call you back,” she says quickly. “I’m going to try calling now.”
She hangs up before I can say another word, and I wait with my heart in my throat.Fuck.Dame, Livie, and Finn were right. I am too nice, and I do care too much, but I refuse to believe that’s a bad thing. The world is full of assholes and I refuse to be one of them. Besides, Virginia is the kind of person who cries during commercials. I may get emotional about some things, but not even I do that. When my phone buzzes with a call, my stomach sinks. That was too quick for a phone call.
“It went straight to voicemail,” she says. “I don’t know what to do. I’m going to take the first flight available.”
“I think we should call the cops,” I say.
“He’d hate that. You know he’d hate that.”
“I know, but what if something happened to him?” I ask quietly, not wanting to stress her out more.
Of course, that makes her cry harder. I hate it. I can’t even imagine being a mother and having to deal with this.
“Can you go by his house?” she asks. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you after what happened, but?—”
“I’ll drive there right now.”
“Please call me back,” she says, her voice breaking.
“I will.”
There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I drive to Tate’s townhouse. I know he won’t be there, unless … I shiver and push the thought aside. Please God, don’t let this be a repeat of my father. Please,please,I plead internally as tears fill my eyes. It’s been a while since I believed in anything, which horrifies my mother, but right now, it’s the only thing I can think to do. Everything in me is telling me to call the cops, but I’m going to honor Virginia’s wishes. For now. I get to his house and park behind his car. After Ilocate the hidden key, I take a breath and walk inside quickly. It’s not like I have time to mentally prepare myself for anything.
“Tate?” I call out as I walk around. “TATE?”
I look everywhere and find nothing, which brings me comfort and unease. I even check the shower but it doesn’t look like he’s used it today. His bed is perfectly made, but it always is unless he’s in it. Thoughts of me in bed with him immediately lead to thoughts of Mallory in bed with him and I get that sick feeling in my stomach again. I rush down the stairs, but something catches my eye when I walk toward the door and makes me pause. I was in such a rush, I didn’t even notice that he still has pictures of us together hanging on the wall. I’d framed them one night and put them up myself, because his walls were so bare and he was waiting for the "perfect painting." In one picture, we’re both smiling at the camera with our snowsuits on. It was taken during a family trip to Colorado.
My mother got a big cabin and didn’t allow us to share a room. As if that was going to stop Tate from sneaking in at night. Below it, he’s spinning me around in the middle of a dance floor at a wedding we attended. The last is from his grandfather’s farm. I’m dressed in overalls and a red, plaid shirt, donning pigtails and a cowboy hat I borrowed from his grandpa.
Despite everything, it makes me smile. I’d never been to a working farm before and I recorded some of my time there, which of course meant I needed to dress the part. It’s the same picture I’d posted on social media and took down when the Gracie thing surfaced. A quick calculation tells me he was already hooking up with Mallory when we took this, and that instantly sours my mood again. I tear my eyes away and start calling his mother as I walk back to my car.
“Are your parents home?” I ask Virginia, after I tell her I found nothing here.
She gasps. “They’re in Florida, but Tate could be there! Sometimes he goes over there to decompress!”
I’ve been parked in the driveway staring at his car for the lastfive minutes. He normally keeps his red truck in his one-car garage, but it’s empty. And he never drives his beloved Porsche to the backcountry.
“I’ll call Joe,” she says and hangs up.
If I remember correctly, the farm has about twenty employees and they’re usually around. Unease continues to grip my gut. Even if Tate went over there, it’s not like him to stay. It’s definitely not like him to disappear. I shut my eyes and lean back in my seat. I look at the time and curse. I can’t miss practice today, but this feels important. Too important.
I think about the last conversation I had with him and panic rises in my chest again. Mostly, he recounted what he remembered about the night those videos were taken of him and Gracie. It wasn’t something I necessarily wanted to hear, but he did clarify that nothing had happened between them before, and that he didn’t think he would have done anything that night if he’d been sober. Obviously, that’s bullshit. I look at the time again, slam a hand on the steering wheel, and start driving toward the farm.
56
JOSSLYN
Practice starts in four hours, which gives me plenty of time to go to the farm, look around, ask the employees about Tate, and come back. For everyone’s sake, I hope he’s there. I try to think of places he could be. Maybe Onyx? My stomach twists at the thought, but I push it aside. I can be angry after I know he’s okay. It takes about thirty-five minutes to get there. The cows and most of the other animals are about half a mile from the house itself. I spot two trucks that I assume belong to employees and keep driving until I see the road that leads to the main house.
I turn into the driveway, but stop when that uneasy feeling coils in the pit of my stomach again. I look at my phone. Finn and Damian are at their game, which is only about an hour away. I grab my phone to text Finn, but my fingers are shaking so hard I don’t even know what I type, so I call Olivia instead as I drive further in. Goosebumps ripple through me when I see the familiar red truck. Part of me wants to leave and let Virginia deal with this, but my gut tells me I can’t.
“What’s up?” she says. “You wanna ride?—”
“Livie.” I cut her off sharply, the phone shakinghard in my hands. “I’m going to share my location with you right now. If I don’t call you in thirty minutes, call the police and have them come here.”
She doesn’t speak for a moment. “Josslyn, what the fuck are you talking about?! Where are you?!”
