48. Rook
Chapter forty-eight
Rook
Cameras flash all around us as Rian and I step into the conference room to do our post-game interview. Coach and Dupont sit with us at the four-person table while the reporters fire questions at us. Thank God they start with Coach; gives me a few minutes to calm down and work out my thoughts after that epic win.
My heart still feels like it’s pounding in my chest. This win pretty much secures our Wild Card spot. With our lead in points and limited games left, the other teams don’t stand a chance. It’s playoff time.
The team went crazy when we got to the locker rooms. Rian’s hat trick and my defense kept us way ahead of LA tonight, but now I’m stuck in the last place I wanna be. I should be celebrating, buried deep in my girl, while I still can. My heart aches at the thought of her leaving in a few days.
A prickling sensation runs down my spine, an uneasy feeling of being watched. I scan the room of reporters. Cameras flash when they realize I’m looking at them instead of at my hands or at my teammates.
I almost miss him. The familiar face catches my attention from where he leans against the back wall. My body tenses, fists clench as his blue eyes stare back at me. He tilts his head questioningly as a smirk slides on to his face when he sees my reaction.
What is he doing here?
I stand, shoving my chair backwards to get a better view, but another camera flashes, momentarily blinding me. When my eyes adjust again, he’s gone.
“Sit down,” Coach’s voice cuts through the chaos as I desperately search the room, taking in the expressions on everyone’s faces. “Wills,” he barks and orders me to sit once more.
I do, but I continue to scan the crowd from my seat, although I know it’s pointless. He came to taunt me, and now I feel on edge, desperate to get back to Tilly as questions start coming my way.
I stumble my way through the expected responses. It wasn’t just me. The entire team played key roles in tonight’s success. Of course, my goal is to make it all the way to the cup . Honestly, who the hell thinks of these dumb questions?
When the questions turn to my relationship with Tilly, Rian jumps in, drawing the attention off me. “Doesn’t anyone want to ask me about the three goals I scored tonight?” He gives me a wink and I return a small nod before scanning back over the sea of cameras.
A wave of dread washes over me and I feel my anxiety building.
It’s been ten weeks with no sign of him, and now he’s here tonight.
He hasn’t appeared at a single game I’ve ever played in; he was never interested. Always vanishing for weeks on end or too wasted to be bothered.
Why now?
I try to pull my concentration back to the press conference when my phone buzzes in my pocket. The dread I feel urges me to ignore the no phones protocol and slide it out of my pocket.
I unlock it under the table and the blood drains from my face as I read the notification from Tilly. I have to reread the message three times before it sinks in. Oh God, this can’t happen, not again.
Othelia
911
Jumping up, chair grinding back on the floor as it tips backwards with a crash. I bump the table, sending water and paperwork flying. Everyone jumps at the sudden noise. Rian looks at me, and concern washes over his features. I hold out my phone over the coach’s head.
“What the fuck?” Coach spits, but we both ignore him as Rian scans the message on my screen, then he too is on his feet and together we bolt for the exit.
The coach yells our names as the door swings shut behind us, shutting out the noise of the conference room erupting in shouts from the reporters in the wake of our abrupt exit.
“What the fuck is going on?” Rian asks as we sprint down the hallway, dodging staff attempting to pack away gear.
“I don’t know.” I dial Tilly’s number, but my panic only increases when it goes straight to voicemail. We don’t even bother returning to the locker room to grab our shit. We bust through the staff-only doors out into the public area of the arena as we beeline for the nearest exit.
Thankfully, by now, most of the fans have exited and others take in the look on our faces and decide it’s safer not to interrupt us.
“Find us a car,” I bark at Rian before dialing the idiot Dominic left in charge of security tonight. His phone rings out too and I swear so loud at my phone, people startle as they walk past me.
I call Dominic who answers on the second ring. I don’t even let him get a word out before I’m growling into the phone. “WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR MAN?”
“What’s happening?” he asks sternly, not balking at my tone.
“Tilly messaged me 911 and now her phone is going to voicemail and your man’s is just ringing out. I swear to God, Dominic, if something has happened to her—” I don’t even get to finish my threat before he hangs up on me.
My hands rip into my hair as I try to work out what’s happening. It has to be connected. My father being here right as I get a message from Tilly. I can’t do this again.
I can’t lose her.
I clutch my chest as it heaves and a car beeps from the curb after it jerks to a stop. I sprint towards it, finding Rian sitting in the passenger seat, a young guy wearing a Hellhound jersey behind the wheel, his smile huge.
“What the fuck is this?” I gesture to the obvious fan that intends to drive us.
“Hey, I did what I could with short notice. This is Mark. He has offered to drive us to the hotel.” He points a thumb at Mark before I throw open the door and drop into the back seat.
“Hey man, nice to meet you.” He leans over to offer his hand.
“Just fucking drive,” I snap and he jolts back into the seat, hands at ten and two and throws on his indicator, a flash of hurt across his face.
“Sorry, man, he isn’t usually this much of a jerk. We just have an issue we need to deal with.” Rian attempts to soothe the guy’s hurt feelings. I would normally feel bad for snapping at a fan. I do sometimes try not to be a dick, but right now I can’t think past the pounding in my head and the fear that Tilly is hurt, or worse.
I dial the hotel, my leg bouncing as I wait for the concierge to pick up. After snapping at the operator, I request to be transferred to their head of security. I continue to wait as we weave through the streets of LA, slowly getting closer to our hotel.
While I wait, Rian dials the police and begins telling them what little details we know.
“Security, how can I help you?” a gruff sounding voice finally appears on the other end.
“Yes, my girlfriend. She sent me a help text. I need you to go up and check our suite, please.” I squeeze my hand into a fist as my heart pounds through my chest. She needs to be okay. I need her to be okay.
“Sir, are you sure she isn’t just playing a trick on you? I assure you there have been no security concerns this evening.” He sounds uninterested while my head spins with worst-case scenarios.
“Just go check the fucking suite!” I spit into the phone as I smash my fist into the back of Rian’s headrest. He jolts forward but doesn’t comment on the outburst. I know he shares my concern not only with his sister, but for his daughter.
“Of course, sir. Which suite are you in?”
“The Monroe.” The second I state the suite name, his demeanor changes.
“Mr Wills, I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it was you. We hope you are enjoying your stay.”
“I would enjoy it a hell of a lot more if you had your security team check on my fucking girl!”
“Right away, sir. I have a man on his way up now.”
Mark pulls into the hotel driveway, lights and sirens blaring in the distance. Rian and I jump out of the car, not bothering to close the doors.
I kick my slides off so I’m able to run faster. I sprint to the entrance with Rian right on my heels as police pull up behind us, blocking Mark’s car in. I don’t even bother with the elevators and make for the stairs, taking them two at a time.
I’m gasping for air by the time I hit the Penthouse level, pure adrenaline and fear keeping me going. Using my swipe card to gain access to the floor, I sprint out of the stairs at the same time security exits from the elevator on the other end of the hall.
His eyes widen when he spots my dramatic entrance.
I don’t care. All I can focus on is the suite door that sits ajar, no security in sight.
“Tilly!” I scream as I push the door wide.
Smashed glass crunches under my feet, cutting me, but I barely notice.
No answer.
“Tilly!” The sight before me forces another scream to escape my lips: tables overturned, vases reduced to shards, and the bedroom door marred by splintered holes and streaks of blood.
I run to the bedroom, screaming back for the security to find the cops and push into the bedroom where Tilly and I slept last night, where we made love this morning and I begged her to move in with me.
My eyes roam over the room, the rumpled bed and blood smeared on the sheets and floor before they stop on the bathroom door that’s been kicked in, and I race to it, praying to find her alive.
“Tilly,” I gasp as I push in the splintered door, only to find the room empty, blood smeared over the edge of the tub. Tilly’s phone lies face up in the middle next to Layla’s pink elephant and I pick them both up.
Layla . Fuck.
I bolt back out into the bedroom looking for the portable cot that Tilly set up next to the bed earlier, but it’s empty except for more blood smeared on the sheets.
“Where is she?” Rian is frantic, eyes scanning back and forth over the room, as his eyes land on the floppy elephant in my hand. “Where is my daughter ?” His voice breaks as he cries out the question.
I can hear something muffled, but with all the security and police coming in, I can’t make out where it’s coming from.
Dominic barges into the bedroom, takes a quick look around, and starts coordinating with the police. I turn on the spot, certain I heard something.
Voices echo through the room, police ordering security to move out of the now obvious crime scene. A muffled cry gets swallowed up by the sounds of the room.
“Everybody shut the fuck UP!” I yell and the whole room falls silent.
Every single person in the room, not even daring to take a breath.
The seconds feel like they’re dragging on forever while we wait for the noise. One of the security guards goes to speak, but I silence him with one raised hand as a muffled cry comes from the walk-in closet.
Rian and I scramble towards the closed double doors, swinging them wide.
Nothing.
The room is empty.
“Layla?” Rian yells out, his eyes now bloodshot. Blood continues to weep from my cut foot, but I don’t notice the pain.
Another muffled cry comes from inside the closet.
“The drawers,” I gasp out. Rian and I split up, taking half the closet each, frantically opening drawers.
I get halfway down my side when Rian cries out, “Layla!” and his screams fill the closet. “Baby girl.” Rian falls to his knees, scooping her out of the bottom drawer, hugging her tightly to his body. Laying her gently on the ground, he checks her over for injuries. When he’s certain she’s okay, he pulls her back into his arms, gripping her to him. He rocks back and forth as tears freely flow now, the relief clear on his face. Something in my chest releases as I take her in. She appears to be fine, apart from the blood that covers the blankets she’s wrapped in.
I search through the rest of the closet as an officer coughs at the doorway, trying to gain our attention.
I fling open any cupboard large enough for Tilly to be in, but when I get to the final set of doors and find nothing, something breaks in me and I crash to my knees, adrenaline failing me, unable to keep myself moving.
She isn’t here .
“Rook.” Rian places a hand on my shoulder and I turn to see him still cradling Layla as the police file in, removing unnecessary personnel from the room.
“We need to get out so they can process the scene,” he says softly. I nod, dragging myself to my feet, wincing at the sting.
As I walk through the doors of the closet, a detective stops us, one hand on my arm. “We’ll need a statement from the both of you. If you wait in the hallway, an officer will be out with you shortly.” I don’t look at him, I just stare at my bloody footprints covering the bedroom floor, the puddle of blood at the foot of the bed. I shrug him off and walk towards the front door.
Entering the hallway, I collapse against the wall, making room for police moving back and forth, their chatter becoming white noise to the thoughts in my head.
This is my fault. If she didn’t choose me, she wouldn’t be hurt, or possibly dead somewhere. I knew that this was the risk she took when loving me and I still let her do it, anyway.
Rian exits the room, Layla now snuggling into his chest half asleep. “Rook.” He walks towards me, but when I see Dominic behind him, I lose it and shove past him.
Slamming my fist into the side of Dominic’s face, I take him by surprise. It’s my only hit that lands as he grapples me, shoving me against the wall.
“Where the fuck was your guy?” I scream into his face. “You told me he was good. You told me she was safe!”
“I know, I’m sorry.” His eyes shine with sadness as his cheekbone flushes crimson, but I push the empathy away. How dare he feel sorry?
“Sorry? Fucking SORRY! WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?”
He shakes his head, defeat filling his face as he continues to pin me against the wall. “I don’t know. I’m searching. We don’t know where Wyatt is.”
“Get the fuck off me.” Shoving him off me, he lets me push him away as his arms drop to his sides. “You let her fucking down.” So did you. I walk back to Rian in a huff.
“Rook?”
“WHAT?” I yell at him, but he doesn’t balk at me.
“This fell out of Layla’s blanket.” He holds out a folded card addressed to me. I take it from him, my hands shaking at the familiar red script.
This is my fault.
He has her.
I stare at my name written on the front of the card, not wanting to read the taunt that I know is waiting inside but knowing it may be my only chance to save her.
I flip open the card and my eyes scan over the words and my blood turns to ice in my veins as I read.
You’re fast on the ice
but are you fast enough to beat me?
How many of her bones can I break
before you find me?
All beginnings must come to an
end, but will hers come
before you get yours?
Numbness settles over me as my path becomes clear. Tilly’s love is the only thing I think about as I slip my bleeding feet into a pair of sneakers. Rian nods in silent agreement to delay the police from catching me as I slide my phone out of my pocket.
“Bring her back,” he whispers as I walk past him and into the open elevator. I nod to him, his face stoic as he cradles Layla to him in the middle of the hallway. Police mill about, taking photos and dusting fingerprints.
The doors slide to a close, and I call the only person I can think of who has what I need.
“Hello?” The sound of thumping music and women moaning greets me.
“This is Rook. I need help. Tilly’s in trouble.”
“What do you mean, in trouble?” His panicked voice is clear through the speakers and the music gets quieter. “What do you need?”
“A plane,” I answer as I watch the numbers of the elevator slowly descend.
It’s time to go home.