WE WON!
Valerie throws herself at me, shaking me as we jump. “Come on, let’s go meet the guys,” she shouts over the crowd. I laugh, still trying to catch my breath.
Then my phone buzzes. And the world tilts, the noise of the arena muffling like someone shoved my head underwater.
Unknown Number: Poor little Griffy. Always getting hurt.
Only one person called him that.
Roger.
Panic floods through my veins. When I look up, Valerie is gone. I shove through the crowd, scanning for signs as I run until I spot the medical wing.
Empty.
Another buzz.
Unknown Number: Lucy Goosey. You’re always letting your big brother get hurt.
It’s him.
I call Chase. No answer.
Griff. Nothing.
I leave Griff a voicemail. Logic screams at me to wait. The game just ended, and they’re probably still on the ice or heading to the locker rooms. They wouldn’t get my message just yet, but fear takes over when a third text lands on my lock screen.
Unknown Number: Hunter’s Pavilion. Come alone or he’s dead.
That’s all it takes.
I follow the exit signs until I’m out of the stadium and wave frantically for a cab. I shout the address over the roar of passing traffic and pedestrians. The driver grunts and pulls away from the curb.
My hands dig into the seat at every red light. My knee bounces uncontrollably. I can’t stop thinking of different scenarios, each one worse than the last.
Does Roger have my brother? If so, how did he get Griff out of the stadium? He was hurt and left the ice, but the game didn’t last much longer. How did he know Griff would get hurt? Did he plan it?
Thought after thought consumes me.
My phone buzzes again. It’s the same unknown number, and the text lists instructions. There’s no time to obey traffic signs. I will for the driver to go faster.
He doesn’t.
The cab pulls up to the curb, and I launch myself out.
At the front desk, I give the woman the details from the text. She hands me a keycard, her eyes lingering on me a second too long as if she senses I shouldn’t be here but doesn’t say a word as she gives me the floor and room number.
Eight floors.
I charge into the elevator, pressing the button four times as if that will get me there faster. The elevator hums, vibrating through my bones.
The doors ping open.
I shoot out, flying past each and every door until I find the one I need. The lock turns green from my key card, and I barrel into the room.
“Griff!”
He’s slumped in a chair. Zip tied, head down.
