Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Leo
I’ve never considered myself to be a nice man, but for Mina, I was willing to at least fool myself into being halfway decent. Good? No. Thoughtful, attentive, and moderately kind? Possibly.
I really am trying.
But she’s testing me.
Yesterday, by the grace of God, I just managed to stop myself from showing up at her apartment while she was awake because she spent the entire day ignoring me.
This morning, I gave her one last opportunity to give me attention before she suffers the consequences.
Here I was thinking she’d learn her lesson after I crashed her date with Sabrina, and yet, have I heard from her since? Absolutely the fuck not.
She’s pushed me. Whatever happens now is her fault.
“Duval,” Mitchell calls from behind me as I shove my gear into my bag.
“Not in the mood.”
We won the game. I warmed down. Took my ice bath. Showered. Smiled and waved at the cameras. Still, I’m being fucking ignored.
“Heard you did something stupid,” Mitchell says, coming to lean against the locker beside mine.
I huff, yanking the zipper. That’s a fucking understatement. Letting Sabrina witness my familiarity with Mina was a calculated risk. My sister might not be supportive of the inner workings of my relationship with Mina, but Mitchell couldn’t give two shits as long as Sabrina doesn’t get hurt.
Knowing what Mina’s intention is with her outweighs the risk of exposing our extracurriculars.
“I got what I wanted.” To see her. Face-to-face. Asking her the burning question was a bonus.
“You gonna spit it out, or keep being difficult?”
I finally look up at Mitchell just to level him with a withering glare. I feel like I’m fucking itching because I haven’t heard from her. Seeing her today wasn’t enough. I need to touch her.
“They’re genuine friends” is all I manage to get out as I shove my arms into my coat. He doesn’t need to know that the woman of the hour is MIA.
He nods and lets me depart without a word. I manage to find the strength in me to wave brisk goodbyes to the rest of the team before shoving open the door of the stadium and muttering a quick “night” to the security.
The drive seems to take a lifetime, and my desperation has made me careless because I park right in front of her apartment.
I frown at the driveway. Neither of their cars are there.
All the lights are off. The girls never do that. They leave the one in the bathroom on every night, and I can always make out the faint glow through the living room curtains. But not tonight.
Unease skitters down my spine as I inspect the side of the apartment, making my way to the back door. The curtains in Mina’s room are partially open. There’s no way she wouldn’t be home at this time, even if she’s been forced to go out to dinner with her parents.
My jaw twitches as I try to recall the last time I checked her messages. I’ve scoured her phone more times than I can count, and the only men she speaks to are me and that dead fucker, Thomas.
I swear, if it turns out she’s ignoring me to be with him, he’ll be roadkill before the sun rises.
My covertly copied key slides into the lock, and a crippling chill settles beneath my skin as I let myself into her place like I’ve done so many times before. Not once has there been this eerie silence.
Usually, beneath the hum of the refrigerator, there’s the barest inkling of life: soft snores, the rustle of blankets, insects chirping beyond the walls. Now, nothing.
I take another risk tonight and turn on the lights.
White floods the space to bring the carnage to life. My blood goes cold as my eyes roam over the broken furniture and shattered glass. The ice melts with each new piece of destruction I notice until I’m burning with a fury that I can hardly contain when I make it into her bedroom.
The rage rides me hard before it suddenly gives way to fear.
Mina hasn’t spoken to me since I left the café.
I rush back into the living room to search for blood. I can barely fucking breathe as I kick over furniture and push aside glass for anything red. I repeat the process in her bedroom.
An object goes scattering across the ground when it meets my shoe, and I stop. It’s the camera I hid in one of the ornaments on her shelf. The lens has been smashed, and part of the microchip is sticking out of the plastic casing.
I dig into my pocket for my phone and pull up the app. An error message pops up on the screen about a signal issue for one of the cameras. I ignore it to play the final captured footage, and the fury comes back tenfold.
It’s time-stamped at not long after Sabrina and Mina finished their date. She would’ve had to speed across the city to be here at the same time the intruder was. That knowledge takes the edge off enough for me to breathe and focus on what I’m seeing.
A figure comes into view, barreling into her room like he’s on a rampage. With a ski mask on, dressed head to toe in black, there’s nothing discernible about him beyond his height. He’s tall. Maybe as tall as me. Built.
The anger builds until it’s suffocating. What if Mina was here when he broke in—in broad fucking daylight?!
He pauses at the threshold of her room and casts his attention around the small space.
Then his sight lands on the mood board on her bedside table with pictures of me.
His perusal stalls for only a moment before he marches to the bookshelf and sends its contents tumbling, and the footage goes blank.
The moment I catch my reflection in the dark screen, an idea takes hold. A realization. It forms and solidifies until it becomes unshakable.
This game has gone on for too long. There’s no universe where she doesn’t spend every spare moment by my side.
She can have her last night of freedom tonight, but it ends the second she comes out of hiding.
After that? Whoever did this will fucking pay.
Sometimes I wonder how many times she sat parked in her car a few houses down from me before I noticed she was there. It wasn’t until she broke into my house and left her scent all over my sheets that I realized what she had been doing.
I’ll be honest. The text the private investigator sent me an hour ago has me in an even better mood. He says there’s been a string of robberies around the city with the same MO: snatch their bag then help himself through the front door.
If it’s him, the threat to Mina starts and stops there.
It’s hard not to be smug as I lock the door behind me and leisurely walk to my car wearing a hoodie I know damn well she recently bought too. I never cared to be a humble person, and it’s not about to start now. I puff my chest a little and stand straighter, knowing she’s watching me.
I always know when her sights are on me, even if I haven’t seen any tangible evidence of her presence.
It physically pains me not to be able to turn her way to see what she’s doing. Truthfully, I wouldn’t put it past her to have bought another pair of binoculars to use from within her dad’s car.
Because I have no issue playing into her fantasies, once I throw my bag into the trunk, I lift my arms up to stretch, giving her a view of the sliver of skin peeking out from beneath my sweatshirt.
And, just to give her a show like she’s—unknowingly—given me hundreds of times, I reach back and pull my hoodie off, letting it drag up the T-shirt underneath.
Fuck it. I grin to myself. She has no idea what’s coming. Today is going to be an excellent day. The cameras I installed throughout her apartment may not have led me any closer to figuring out who her attacker is, but I’m not one to waste an opportunity.
I slam the trunk, get into my car, then peel onto the street, watching her in my rearview mirror. The rest happens like clockwork. I turn left and right, doing U-turns and switching between various lanes until I make it onto the highway that’s already backed up with morning traffic.
And then my phone buzzes with a security alert.
Mina has entered my house.
I click into the cameras installed in the spare room and watch as she huffs and glares at the window.
A few weeks ago, I left her a spare key on the kitchen counter.
I tried three more times after that. Why she never took it any of those time is beyond me when she happily helps herself to the rest of my house, like her favorite processed snacks, and her medications I have just for her.
She doesn’t even hesitate to change into the clothes I leave out for her.
It’s her home too; I’ve ensured it.
My entire house was made to her liking. The décor, the layout, even the color scheme. It was all taken from her Pinterest board and made into a reality just weeks before she first came crawling through.
I take the first exit off the highway and go back the way I came, every so often watching her move through the house like she owns it.
She settles into my bed without an inkling of my plans. Mina seems rigid yet sluggish as she turns on the TV, then curls onto her side. I should feel better knowing I haven’t lost her and that she still wants to be in my space, but the lack of communication still pisses me the fuck off.
She has a phone. I saw it on her bedside table last night. She should fucking use it. Instead, she’s letting every one of my calls ring and ring, until voicemail answers.
Rationally, I acknowledge that finding her apartment in that state would have been upsetting. Still, I wasn’t any less irritated when I saw her safe and sound at her parents’ house last night, not speaking to me.
But like yesterday, she can’t pretend I don’t exist if I’m right in front of her.
I park on the street a couple houses down from mine and kill the engine.
Coach is going to be pissed at me for being late to practice, but right now, I couldn’t care less.
I’ve been on my best fucking behavior and am owed a little goddamn grace for being polite to Norton and his merry band of idiots.