Page 19

I frowned. Did someone have Ren’s phone? One, he didn’t drink in excess, and two, his spelling was irritatingly accurate over text, all the time. There was no way he’d sent that message.

who is this?

Is Ren

It had to be a prank.

whatever

I am Ren donpt kow where i am

I snorted and dumped the phone on the bedside table. Whoever it was probably thought they were hilarious.

My phone lit up. Then went dark. Then lit up again.

I sighed, scooped it up and read.

Cam

come please

I angrily thumbed back,

if this is Ren what did i say to you in conference room once before we danced together?

you askhed me if i could dancen eed you to come find me cant tell team is bad I am bad I don’t w=know why

Holy shit. It took me a few tries to decipher that mess, but it was Ren. I shoved on my shoes, grabbed my jacket, and left the apartment. My phone said it was gone eleven. I wasn’t even sure if security would let me out the gates.

where r u?

I stepped out into the cold and gasped, feeling the icy air squeeze my lungs, then shoved my collar up so I could breathe into the fabric and not freeze my lips.

a bar somehwe

I grabbed the bus and sat, typing.

open the location app and share your location with me

Nothing came back. No typing, nothing.

Goddammit. What the fuck was he doing drunk in Sapporo a few days before the opening ceremony? If someone saw him, recognized him? Fuck. When Hasegawa crashed and burned, he did it in style.

I used another app to hire a taxi, then mentioned Goro Hasegawa’s name at the Village exit gate, hoping it would loosen whatever rules they had about athletes leaving. The Village wasn’t a prison. I was technically allowed to leave. They just didn’t encourage it. Athletes off the Village attracted unwanted attention at a time when everyone needed to be focused on the Games, not getting wasted in local bars.

Finally, as I waited for the cab, Ren shared his location. I showed that to the driver, and fifteen minutes later we pulled up to a subtle little corner bar where Ren was slumped against the outside wall—still standing, so that was good. But his head was bent low, his shoulders slouched.

Snow fell readily now, big heavy flakes coming down in silent curtains through the glow from the single streetlight.

“Wait here,” I told the driver and hopped out. “Hey? You good?”

“I am very fine.” He lifted his head, and he was not fine. He was so fucking drunk he could barely keep his glassy eyes open. No wonder it had taken him so long to share his location. The wall was the only thing holding him up. I smiled over the shock of seeing my hero fall apart in front of my eyes.

“Okay, cowboy. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” I swooped in to get an arm around him, then peeled him away from the wall.

“Can’t go back.” He made a pathetic effort to push me off.

“Don’t worry, we’re not going back with you like this.” I opened the cab door and shoved him inside.