25. Avery
Chapter 25
Avery
“Solid fucking practice,” Talon says, smacking my back.
“You too, man,” I say.
“We’re gonna take it all the way this year,” West Crawford predicts. “Especially after we crushed Houston!”
“Shh! Don’t fucking jinx it,” Jag shoots back.
Gage chuckles. “Can’t jinx raw talent. We got this!”
“You just want to go out on a high,” Jag tosses back, teasing him.
As Gage is nearly thirty-eight years old, and his contract is up after this season, the entire team is wondering if—when—he will announce his retirement.
“Wouldn’t be a bad way to finish,” Gage replies, not committing one way or the other.
West chuckles. “We hitting Corks?”
“Hell yeah,” Talon agrees. “Leni is visiting her sister in London. The last thing I want to do is go home and be bored. House is too damn quiet without her. I’m fucking happy our next game is out of state just so I can leave.”
Fuck. I know that feeling. Since I left my condo to crash at my sister and Cohen’s place over a week ago, I’ve felt that restlessness again. The one I used to fucking run from. It’s back, with a vengeance, making me realize how much I miss my wife.
Now that Lena is gone, I’ve returned to the condo. I read her thoughtful sticky note. It should have put my mind at ease, but all it did is kick up more questions. With her gone, there are no answers and so, the restlessness clings to me.
Again, I’m apart, even when I’m at the center of things.
I only felt truly connected when Valentina was at my side. I think about her constantly, wondering how her research is going.
I hate that she hasn’t reached out. It’s been five fucking days since she walked into the Great Smoky Mountains and other than a text that first day letting me know she was straight, there’s been no communication.
It’s like she’s off the grid and I can’t help but worry about her, about us, and what her silence means for our marriage. An icy tentacle wraps around my limbs, tightening with each passing hour, as my concern for her heightens. Why hasn’t she called? My nervousness morphs into paranoia, and I can’t stop the intrusive thoughts that filter through my mind.
“Hey,” Cohen says.
I look up and note the concern that flashes in his eyes.
“You straight?” he asks, lowering his voice.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
“No one would blame you if you begged off drinks,” he adds.
I give him a look. Of course, the guys would blame me. Or, at the very least, flip me shit. I’m the team captain and we just had a solid practice ahead of our next playoff game. We’re boarding a plane to Detroit in two nights and need to be one-hundred percent focused.
Cohen sighs. “What’s going on? You’ve been in your head all day and while I know, better than anyone, that you can lock into football when you have to, it’s more than that.”
I roll my lips together and rock back on my heels, placing my hands on my hips. How much do I confide? I mean, he’s my best friend and I spent a handful of nights on his couch last week; he obviously knows shit between Valentina and me is fucked right now. “I haven’t heard from her.”
Cohen frowns. “Isn’t she in the mountains? There’s probably no cell service.”
I shake my head. “It’s been four days since she texted. I don’t know, man. Something feels off.” I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. That there’s too much space—too much silence—between Valentina and me.
“I know things with you and Vale are complicated,” Cohen hedges quietly.
I meet his eyes and know that he knows more than he lets on. He’s my best friend, we have a lot of history together, and he’ll always have my back. But I won’t confide that Valentina and I married for the wrong reasons.
“It doesn’t mean I love her any less,” I say.
“Of course not,” he agrees. “But do you think you’re being paranoid? Or?—”
“I’m not.” I shake my head, cutting him off. “I’ve had this feeling for the past two days. We may be taking a break and figuring things out, but we never stopped speaking. Sure, it was fucking awkward, but I never thought she’d ghost me. I still don’t. I’ve called her twice, Cohen. I’ve sent her three text messages. She would answer me.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have service.”
“All this time? She’s in Tennessee.”
“In the middle of nowhere,” he counters.
“It doesn’t feel right, man. Something is wrong. I know it in my bones. And you know what? Say I’m wrong—what’s the harm in a husband making sure his wife is okay?”
Cohen is silent for a beat. “Nothing. Is there someone else you can call?”
“Dr. Mendoza,” I say, wondering how I can get her number.
“Yo! We’ll see you at Corks?” Talon asks.
“See you soon,” Cohen says, waving the guys ahead.
I sit down on the bench and hunch forward. Scrolling through my phone, I realize I have no contacts for any of Valentina’s colleagues or friends.
I frown, wondering who her circle is.
Other than the one night I went to her presentation and met Dr. Mendoza, I haven’t connected with any of the team members she’s on this trip with. There is no one to fucking call.
I’m about to ring the department to inquire about a way to connect with Dr. Mendoza when my phone buzzes in my hand.
It’s an unknown number, yet the second I see it on my phone’s screen, my stomach pitches. And I know it’s connected to Valentina.
“Hello?” I answer quickly.
“I’m looking for Avery Callaway,” a woman replies, her voice clipped.
“I’m Avery,” I confirm.
Cohen’s eyebrows draw together, and he sits beside me.
The woman sighs. “Avery, I’m sorry to call like this. It’s Dr. Mendoza. We met?—”
“I know who you are. I was going to get ahold of you. I haven’t heard from Valentina. Is everything okay?”
There’s a beat of silence. It’s short and yet, it feels like eons. In that one blink, my heart stops, my stomach bottoms out, and nausea swirls.
“No. It’s not. Valentina is missing,” Dr. Mendoza explains.
“Missing?” I repeat.
Cohen swears beside me. I feel his heavy hand on my shoulder.
“What does that mean? When was she last seen? What are you doing about it?” I rattle off questions as soon as they filter through my mind.
“It’s been close to twenty-two hours since she broke from the group. She was conducting research in a well-known area, but a rainstorm and heavy winds swept through the region. We think she got lost, or took a fall, but she hasn’t been located yet. There are teams looking for her—teams from the university as well as emergency personnel. Considering you’re her husband…” Dr. Mendoza’s voice hitches. “Well, I thought you should know. I would have called earlier but Valentina didn’t have you listed on any of her emergency contact information.”
I grip the phone tighter as that nugget of information lands in my gut.
She didn’t fucking list me on her papers. Because when she filled them out, our marriage was still an arrangement. Or we were on a fucking break. Either way, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is my wife didn’t trust me to have her back, to step up for her, the way I promised I would. And that fucking scrapes me raw.
“What can I do?” I whisper.
“You can come down to the area, if you’d like. But it’s best to leave the search and rescue to the professionals. I’ll call you as soon as I have any information.”
“Anything. Please call me with any update,” I bite out.
“I will. You can ring this number too. It’s my personal cell phone,” Dr. Mendoza adds.
“Thanks for calling, Dr. Mendoza.”
“We’re going to find her, Avery.”
“I know,” I say. Because what the fuck is the alternative?
The call disconnects and I look at my best friend.
“She’s missing,” he confirms.
I nod, feeling the panic swirl through me. I blink rapidly, grains of sand burning my eyes. “I need to find her.” I stand quickly, reaching into my locker to gather my shit.
“Hang on.” Cohen’s beside me. “You don’t have enough information. You’re hardly a fucking camper, Ave. Your idea of hunkering down is staying at an Airbnb.”
“My wife is missing in the fucking mountains, Cohen. What would you do if it was my sister? Would you sit here and wait for some other fucking person to figure it out?”
Cohen rears back at the venom in my voice, but I know he reads my panic too. How can he not? I’m fucking spiraling right now. I’m scared out of my mind.
“I need to do everything I can to help Valentina,” I say, my voice a little more restrained.
“Okay,” Cohen agrees. “Then I’ll call Cooper,” he says, referencing his brother, an avid mountain biker. “We’ll put a group together. A group of people with actual experience and necessary skill sets,” he tacks on, lifting his phone to his ear. “Cooper will know who to tag to assemble a group in no time.”
I hear him converse with Cooper, but I don’t make out the words. I can’t. My mind is a fucking vortex. A roar of nonsensical thoughts and suffocating fear.
“I’m going to check in with Raia,” Cohen says. “She’ll talk to your parents. We’re meeting my brother at his place. You want to loop in the team?”
I shake my head. Cohen is my best friend, my family, and I trust him. But I’m not bringing anyone else into this shit.
“I got you, man. We’re going to find her,” Cohen says reassuringly. “The flight to Detroit—right,” he says, correctly reading my expression.
I don’t give a fuck about the flight, about the game in Detroit, or about the playoffs.
I don’t give a shit about football or anything other than making sure Valentina is safe.
Three hours later, with Cohen, Cooper, and some of their friends, I drive down to the meeting point and enter the Great Smoky Mountains, determined to do just that.