Thirty
There’s somebody inside my head, chipping away at my skull with a jackhammer.
I blink my eyes open with a groan, wincing at the harsh light streaming in through the window. It takes a few seconds to realize that I’m in my bedroom, sprawled out across my bed with only my underwear on, the sheets twisted around my legs.
I’m sweaty and groggy, every single one of my muscles aching. And, Jesus, that pain in my head is damn-near crippling.
What the hell happened last night?
Somehow, I manage to slide out of bed, hitting the floor like a sack of shit. I can barely move, don’t have the strength to stand. How did this happen? I’ve never been hungover like this, never even really had a hangover. I don’t get drunk. Two beers is my limit, always has been. Especially after seeing first-hand what it did to my mom.
My eyes fall shut, and when they open again - what could be minutes or hours later - I’m finally able to rise to my knees, my vision clearer than before. My stomach lurches and I crawl to the bathroom, emptying my guts into the toilet. I feel mildly better after, though my body still screams at me like I’ve been hit with a Mack-truck. I collapse against the wall, eyes closing again.
I can’t even remember going to bed, or anything that happened before that.
The last thing I recall is winning the game and speaking to the Golden Bears scout, feeling a high like no other when he told me they were a hundred percent interested in signing me. Celebrating with the team in the locker room, Coach shaking my hand and congratulating me, then convoying back to my place for the party. After that, it’s all a blur.
Loud music, a flash of blonde hair, red and blue lights. Feeling upset then being tired as fuck.
That’s it.
It’s not how the night was supposed to go, not how I wanted to celebrate the day that has shaped my entire future. It should have been exciting, telling everyone my plans with Oakley beside me and—
Shit, Oakley.
Is he here? Did he come last night?
I struggle to my feet and make my way back into my bedroom, gripping onto the walls for balance. My phone’s sitting on the nightstand, the charger plugged in. I snatch it up, brow furrowing as I scan the missed text messages from Oakley right after the game, telling me he needed to talk. That it was urgent. But, there’s nothing after that. No sign that he was coming here or that he made it at all.
Heart in my throat, I hit dial and hold the phone up to my ear, my stomach cramping with unease as it goes straight to voicemail.
Something doesn’t feel right. Not at all.
I throw on some clean clothes and go downstairs, my eyes widening at the destruction left behind from the party. Empty bottles and cups litter every surface. The floor is sticky from spilled drinks, the kitchen counters covered in… I don’t even know what. I need to schedule a cleaning crew to come and fix this mess, but my brain hurts just thinking about having to organize that.
There’s more important stuff to deal with first.
When I make it to the living room, a half-naked redhead I recognize from my biology class is on her way out. She ducks her head when she sees me, before rushing down the hall, the front door slamming shut behind her. I should’ve guessed that Chad was the one she was hiding away with in here all night.
“Morning, bro,” he chirps from his position on the couch, arms crossed behind his head. His obvious lack of hangover has my irritation spiking. “Did you see that spicy little thing sneaking out of here just now? Who knew nerdy chicks could be so hot?”
“Always the player, Matthews.”
He grins. “You know it. Hey, what happened to you last night, man?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly, my voice raw.
“You’re telling me. You disappeared for like half the night. More than that, even. Peyton said you were sick or something, but I didn’t believe it. What happened? Did she tie you to the bed? I always knew she was a crazy bitch.”
I frown. “Peyton was here?”
“Oh, yeah. She wouldn’t let you out of her sight for a second. Then all of a sudden, you were gone.”
I guess that memory of blonde hair makes sense now. Peyton’s hair is as blonde as they come, after spending hundreds on getting it colored every month.
I clear my throat, edging closer to the couch, hesitating a beat before asking, “Was, uh… was Oakley Farrow here, do you know?”
Chad’s brow furrows. “The loner kid? No, I don’t think so. Not that I remember, anyway. Why?”
“No reason. Just thought I might have seen him at some point. That’s all.”
“Well, I definitely don’t. What would a guy like that be doing here, anyway? He’s not really part of our crowd, if you know what I mean. Besides, I thought you fucking hated him.”
Anger rushes through me at his words, hot and consuming, but I tamp it down, my concern for Oakley far more overpowering. Where the hell is he? He said he’d come to the party, and judging by his text messages, he’d needed to see me. To tell me something, something that couldn’t wait. But, now he isn’t answering his phone? It doesn’t make any sense.
I dart out of the room, throwing an excuse to Chad over my shoulder about needing to take a shower. I find my car keys on the table by the door and haul ass out of the house, reversing down the driveway so fast that I almost crash into the wall at the end.
I’m panting, breathing like I’ve just ran ten miles, my heart and my mind working overtime, conjuring up all sorts of scary as shit scenarios about what could have happened to him. Did that guy get to him again? The one that kept hurting him before? Jesus, if he’s… Fuck, I can’t even think about that. He’s fine, he has to be fine. I just need to find him. Now.
When I get to his house, it looks empty. Deserted. There’s no car parked outside, no signs of life through the windows. Still, I bang on the door for almost ten minutes, hoping and praying he’ll appear on the other side of it, pissed at me for waking him up.
He never does.
I try going around the back, knocking on that door until my knuckles feel raw, but there’s still no response. I finally give up and head back to my car, my confusion growing higher when I do.
“What are you doing here?” somebody shouts.
I whirl around, recognizing the girl standing at the end of the driveway. She works at the diner, was pretty good friends with Oakley. Sienna, I think her name is. And standing beside her, looking at me with a contemplative expression, is his little sister.
“I said, what are you doing here?” she repeats, marching closer. “Where’s Oakley?”
“I, uh… I don’t know. That’s why I came to—”
She charges at me then, both hands shoving me in the chest. Hard. “What did you do to him?”
“Whoa, hey!” I lift my hands in surrender, moving out of her reach as she tries to go for me again. “What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything to him!”
She scoffs. “Right. I’m supposed to just believe that? I know who you are, what you’re capable of. You found out, didn’t you? About him and your girlfriend? That they’re sneaking around together.”
“Him and my girl— You mean Peyton? No. Wait. Listen to me, you’ve got it all wrong.”
“No, I don’t think I do. What did you do to him? If you hurt him, so help me I’ll—”
“Stop,” I snap, making her freeze. “Oakley’s not been sneaking around with Peyton. Okay? And I would never hurt him. Ever. I’m as in the dark about where he is as you are.”
Her forehead lines with confusion. “You are?”
“Yes.” I lower my voice, flicking a wary glance toward April. She already looks scared and I don’t want to make this any worse for her. “And I’m worried. When’s the last time you saw him? Why’s his sister with you?”
Sienna’s lips part, her eyes filling with tears. “Last night. After the game. He said he had to go do something, so I offered to have April stay with me for the night. He was supposed to drop a bag of her stuff off, but he never showed. I thought that maybe he got sidetracked or fell asleep, but…”
She doesn’t have to say the rest. Now she’s worried that something happened to him. The same as me. Hearing it from somebody else, all I want to do is scream. To fall to my knees and break down and pray to a God that I don’t even believe in that he’s okay. But, I can’t do that. I need to find Oakley, even if I have to tear the whole damn world apart to do it.
“What are we gonna do?” she whispers.
I move closer, resting a hand on her arm. “I’ll find him. I promise.”
“How?”
“Maybe we should call his uncle. He’s the Chief of Police. If anyone can find Oakley, then it’s him. And he should probably be here for April too—”
“No,” Sienna blurts, shocking me. Her gaze moves to the house, the fear on her face morphing into another expression I can’t quite decipher. Disgust, maybe? I don’t know. “April can stay with me until you find him.”
I’m so confused, but who am I to argue? It looks like Sienna knows April pretty well, and Oakley must have been comfortable enough to let her spend the night with her last night.
“Okay,” I say, nodding.
She lets out a shaky breath. “Let me know if you find him. I’ll call around town, find out if anyone’s seen him.”
“I will.”
They leave, April looking back at me over her shoulder the whole way down the street. As soon as they’re out of sight, I fall back against the side of my car, mentally trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do.
It’s pretty clear that Sienna knows more than she’s telling me. About what though, I’m not sure. Still, I meant what I said. I will find him, even if that means needing a little help.
And who better to help me than his uncle?
Right?