I stumble back, slamming my hand over my mouth. It does nothing to stop my cry. Clothes and random junk are strewn around the living room. The couch is upside down, the leg of the coffee table has been broken off and is lodged into the middle of my computer screen. Shards of glass decorate the rug around the fallen TV. My books are ripped up, the pages exploded around the room like feathers. Joyce’s room is just as disastrous. My laptop is?—
It’s not here.
My laptop isn’t fucking here.
No.
No.
The officer’s thundering steps slap against the brick porch.
“Stay outside?—”
I dodge him and dart for my room, trying to remember whether I put my laptop on my bedside table or on the kitchen counter. Either way, it’s in neither of those places.
My stomach sinks below my feet as I survey my bedroom. The contents of my drawers are on the floor, so I can’t tell what else has been taken. Leo’s hoodie I left on my pillow, gone. The poster of Leo I stuck on the inside of my closet door, ripped.
The officer says something behind me, but I can’t hear him above the blood rushing through my ears and the scream lodged in my throat. Today wasn’t a bad stroke of luck.
I was targeted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Leo
I’ve never considered myself to be a nice man, but for Mina, I was willing to at least fool myself into being halfway decent. Good? No. Thoughtful, attentive, and moderately kind? Possibly.
I really am trying.
But she’s testing me.
Yesterday, by the grace of God, Ijustmanaged to stop myself from showing up at her apartment while she was awake because she spent the entire day ignoring me.
This morning, I gave her one last opportunity to give me attention before she suffers the consequences.
Here I was thinking she’d learn her lesson after I crashed her date with Sabrina, and yet, have I heard from her since? Absolutely the fuck not.
She’s pushed me. Whatever happens now is her fault.
“Duval,” Mitchell calls from behind me as I shove my gear into my bag.
“Not in the mood.”
We won the game. I warmed down. Took my ice bath. Showered. Smiled and waved at the cameras. Still, I’m being fucking ignored.
“Heard you did something stupid,” Mitchell says, coming to lean against the locker beside mine.
I huff, yanking the zipper. That’s a fucking understatement. Letting Sabrina witness my familiarity with Mina was a calculated risk. My sister might not be supportive of the inner workings of my relationship with Mina, but Mitchell couldn’t give two shits as long as Sabrina doesn’t get hurt.
Knowing what Mina’s intention is with her outweighs the risk of exposing our extracurriculars.
“I got what I wanted.” To see her. Face-to-face. Asking her the burning question was a bonus.
“You gonna spit it out, or keep being difficult?”
I finally look up at Mitchell just to level him with a withering glare. I feel like I’m fucking itching because I haven’t heard from her. Seeing her today wasn’t enough. I need to touch her.
“They’re genuine friends” is all I manage to get out as I shove my arms into my coat. He doesn’t need to know that the woman of the hour is MIA.
