Chapter Thirty
Alex
“Let’s goooooooo! Bro, that was sweet!”
Shane claps me on the back as the game in front of me flashes, the bright lights accompanied by some garbled electronic cheering.
The jackpot number lights up at the top—apparently, my amazing expertise at being stupidly lucky at arcade games has won me two thousand “tickets,” which is possibly the biggest single haul of anyone in our group so far tonight.
I grin and shake my head as Shane steps up to take a turn spinning the monster-sized wheel.
Jenna stands on the other side of him, her arms crossed over her chest, and Leela hangs off of her, giggling at something on her phone.
It’s busy and loud, and everything’s bright and obnoxious.
But it’s fun, and everyone seems to be having a great time.
A bunch of others are back at the three tables our large group commandeered, sharing nachos and pizza and wings, and across the arcade, there’s another round of loud, overzealous shouting from the basketball shooting game.
“Guess Cooper did it again,” Leela says on a laugh.
“Show-off,” Jenna adds, though she’s laughing now too.
“The one-arm backwards no-net shot?” Shane reaches up as high as he can on the wheel and grasps one of the pegs. “I’d be showing off, too, if I could do that.”
He sends the wheel spinning as hard as he can, and it speeds up, electronic beeps sounding when each slot passes the marker at the top.
I pull my phone out of my pocket as the beeps start slowing.
“Come on, come on, come on . . .” Shane grabs my shoulder again, and I glance back up at the wheel, which slows more as it approaches the jackpot slot.
“Not a chance,” Jenna taunts, though she leans in closer.
Shane’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and we all watch in disbelief as the wheel stops in the same spot it had the turn before. The lights flash, the cheering sounds, and Shane jumps up in the air, pumping his fist.
“No way! Awesome! Yessssss!”
There’s much more cheering and much more laughing, and when the group starts to move away to join the others at the basketball shooting game, I excuse myself to head back to the table, tapping the screen on my phone to check the time.
It’s after seven thirty.
Nico should have gotten home a while ago. And he said he’d message me when he did.
But I haven’t gotten any notifications. No Discord messages, no texts, no calls. Nothing at all.
My stomach drops, and I glance up so I can navigate faster through the arcade into the dining area.
When I reach our tables, they’re mostly empty except for two guys I recognize but don’t really know.
I nod at them, and they go back to their pizza and conversation as I slip into one of the end chairs and open my phone again, tapping on the icon for my Discord app.
Alex 4:50 PM
im leaving for Omaha
be home late
call if u need to
Alex 5:39 PM
everything go ok?
how does it feel to officially own ur car? lol
Alex 6:23 PM
nico
bro ur making me worry lol
text me back
I stare at my messages, frowning, and an uncomfortable heaviness settles on my chest. He was supposed to head straight to his mom’s from work. Give her the money and leave. He should have been home by five thirty or six at the latest.
It’s not unlike him to ignore his phone, especially if he’s upset or having a bad day. And I know he hates having to use Discord, since he hasn’t had a chance—or the money—to reactivate his phone with a new number.
So maybe I shouldn’t be as worried as I am.
But something about this just doesn’t feel right.
I glance up at the arcade and see Jenna watching me. She gives me a thumbs-up, but from her expression, I can tell it’s a question. I frown and shake my head, and she purses her lips and narrows her eyes. Then she leans over and says something to Leela before starting on her way over to me.
With another glance back down at my phone, I push myself slowly to my feet, willing those three little dots to appear by his name. But still, nothing happens.
“Hey, what is it? What’s wrong?” Jenna’s hand settles lightly on my arm.
I lift my eyes and try to force away my unease long enough to give her a small smile. “It’s probably nothing. Nico was supposed to text me, and he hasn’t. I think I’m gonna head home, uh, you know, just in case.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I get the sense she’s reading every word I didn’t say from whatever expression is on my face. With a soft nod, she says, “I’ll tell everyone you had to take off.”
“Thanks.”
“Of course.” She smiles tightly and adds, “I hope everything’s okay. I mean, with Nico and all.”
“It’s probably fine.”
She nods in agreement and then tilts her head back toward the arcade. “I’m gonna get back.”
As soon as she leaves, I pull out my wallet, drop a ten-dollar bill on the table as my portion of the server’s tip, and then spin around and start jogging through the maze of tables toward the entrance.
Outside, the air is warm and humid, the sun still shining as it dips down toward the horizon.
I stop for only a few seconds to send Nico another message (im on my way home plz call me!), then I stuff my phone back into my pocket and hurry the rest of the way to my mom’s truck, which is parked near the back of the huge parking lot.
A minute later, I’m pulling onto the highway, headed south, my phone sitting on the passenger seat.
I crank up the air conditioner and turn on the radio to distract myself. Still, the thirty-something-minute drive home seems much longer than it is, giving me too much time to imagine all the worst-case scenarios.
They cling to me, burrowing into my thoughts even as I tell myself over and over that he’s fine. He’s probably just hiding out in my room, playing video games or something. That would make much more logical sense.
If only my brain was listening to logic right now.
I glance over at my phone just before my house comes into view, expecting to finally see the screen light up with his name and the little Discord icon.
But it’s blank. Frowning, I look back up and put my blinker on as I start to slow down to turn onto my street.
And my stomach twists into a tight, painful knot.
The lights inside the house are all off.
And the driveway is empty.
And there’s no little silver sedan parked along the curb in front of the house.
And so all of those worst-case scenarios start blasting through my mind again, playing in full-color, HD on repeat.
I park and hop out of the truck, and a few seconds later, I push open the front door to a heavy silence.
The living room is empty, the TV is off, and everything’s so still and quiet that it almost feels cold despite the oppressive heat outside.
I shut the door behind me and slip my shoes off, and I pause as I glance around again.
Nothing is different from when I left earlier, and there’s no sign that Nico was ever home, not even a note sitting on the kitchen table or stuck under one of the magnets on the fridge.
I’m not sure what I expected. His car’s not here, so he must not be here. I’m not sure where he could have possibly gone, though, and really, I can’t see him going anywhere, especially not after the long, stressful week he had.
He’d have come right home. I’m sure of it.
I check my phone again, but again, there’s nothing.
And I’m suddenly terrified. Because all of those worst-cases don’t seem so hypothetical anymore.
Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I turn and jog up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
I stop right in front of my bedroom door, my breath catching and my hand hovering just over the door handle.
It was open when I left earlier.
I’m certain of it.
I hadn’t shut the door all the way. And yet, the door’s shut now.
Slowly, I close my hand over the handle and turn the knob, then I push the door inward.
And there he is.
The relief is instant and strong, hitting me like a wave, and I grasp the doorjamb to keep myself steady.
Nico’s curled up on the far side of my bed, his back to me, the comforter tugged up to his chin.
His shoes and socks are strewn across the floor, like he shucked them off as he came in, and his slacks and work polo lie in a heap in the corner, just next to the dirty laundry hamper.
His cell phone sits on the nightstand, face down. And next to it is a huge pile of cash, the bills crumpled and disorganized.
I suck in a breath as my stomach lurches. He’s got the cash but no car. Something went wrong.
“Nico?” I ask softly, stepping into the room.
There’s no movement or noise or response, and I can’t tell from over here if he’s asleep or not. I turn around and close the door behind me, making sure it’s as quiet as possible. Then I cross the room slowly, stepping over his shoes and socks, and I lower myself to the bed.
The second the bed creaks, Nico flinches, and he turns over and hastily pushes himself back against the wall, his eyes wide.
He looks . . . terrified.
Of me.
That’s not something I’ve seen in a very, very long time. I’m usually the one person he’s not terrified of. I’m usually the only person he seems to be able to even tolerate being close to him. I fight the urge to back off and give him space, because I’m not sure that’s what he needs right now.
Not that I know what he needs.
“Hey,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice level, even as my heart breaks. I don’t know what else to say or do or how to act or what to think. So I just shift a little, slowly, and ask, “Would it be okay if I lie down with you?”
His eyes close, but the tension doesn’t leave him. “Yeah.”
I blow out a quiet breath and nod, even though he can’t see me.
Then, moving carefully, I take my phone, wallet, and keys out of my pocket, set them on the nightstand, and turn to crawl under the covers with him.
Maybe I should take a few minutes and get ready for bed, but honestly, I don’t want to leave him right now. Not before I know what’s going on.
He turns back onto his other side, facing away from me, but there’s still so much tension in him I can feel it, sharp in the air between us. Then he inches away even more until he’s scrunched up against the wall, like he really doesn’t want me here.
I lie there and watch the blanket shift slightly with each of his stilted breaths, and it’s several minutes before I work up the courage to scoot closer.
He flinches again as soon as I move.
And god, that makes my heart hurt even more. I freeze and close my eyes. “I can leave . . . go to the downstairs room . . . if you need me to.”
“No.”
Desperation. That’s what I hear in his single-word answer. Desperation and panic. I don’t even want to think about what it all means.
I swallow tightly and nod. “Okay. I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”
“Thank you,” he says on a breath.
But he makes no move to scoot closer, no request for me to hold him. He gives no reassurance that he’s okay or that he’ll be okay.
So I just lie there on my back, staring up at the ceiling, not daring to make any other moves myself. Instead, I listen quietly as his breathing first slows and then becomes steadier, and finally, by the time the sun is down outside and the bedroom is dark with night, he starts snoring softly.
I close my eyes and will my heart to stop aching long enough for me to fall asleep as well.