31. Zane
31
ZANE
“You didn’t actually need your spare keys, did you?” Daniel asks. “Because I did not grab them.”
I shift my phone between my chin and my shoulder so I can keep signing the unreal stack of team posters in front of me. There’s some kind of fundraiser for the children’s hospital coming up. The first thousand people to donate twenty dollars get an autographed poster, I guess. I don’t know the details; I just know I’m supposed to put my name on all of them, and this beats doing more press.
“I did not need my keys.”
“Ha!” Daniel crows. “I knew it. I told Mira that.”
“You were supposed to be discreet.”
I could tell Mira was more freaked out about a possible Dante appearance than she wanted to admit, and I didn’t want her to be alone all day. Since all the girls were busy, I sent in my fourth choice: Daniel.
“Then you should’ve said that when you sent me over there instead of making up some stupid excuse. But it’s fine. I handled things like a pro.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I slide a finished stack of posters to the end of the table and reach for another one. Jace and Davis were in here signing with me, but they left to check out the catering spread the owners called in. I’m holding off on eating in hopes I can wrap up here and be home in time for dinner.
“It means that I distracted your girl until it was time for her to do school pickup while simultaneously finding out top-secret info about mine.”
“About Taylor?”
“What other girl would I be talking about?” he snaps. “Yes, Taylor. I now know that she is super into me.”
I pause, waiting for Daniel to say something groundbreaking, but apparently, that is it. “Right. Everyone knows that. What else?”
“Well, I didn’t know it! But now, I do, and I am going to go seal the deal.”
I’m reluctant to ask what deal he’s planning to seal and what part of his anatomy he intends to seal it with, but I’m saved the trouble when my phone rings.
“Other line,” I tell him, trying to remember where I recognize the number on my screen from, but it hovers somewhere in the back of my mind, just out of reach. “I’ll call you back.”
I answer and a soft, musical female voice greets me. “Mr. Whitaker, it’s Aiden’s teacher, Mrs. Wilson.”
“He’s not in trouble, is he?” I’m teasing, but Mrs. Wilson doesn’t laugh.
“I’m calling because it’s getting late and no one has come to pick up Aiden.”
My brain buffers. It takes way too long for me to respond.
“No, my—His mom should have come to get him by now.” Mira should have been there thirty minutes ago. Daniel just said that she left to do school pickup.
“The parking lot is empty and Aiden is the last student here,” she explains. “Is there anyone else who can come pick him up?”
My mind is spinning off in a thousand different directions, but I need to focus. One problem at a time.
“Yes,” I tell her, the plan forming as the words are coming out of my mouth. “My best friend will be there. Daniel Patterson is his name.”
“Is he on the approved list of family and friends who can pick up?”
“He’s the first name on the list. Don’t release him to anyone else except for Daniel Patterson,” I reiterate, already feeling something ominous stirring in my gut. “He’ll be there soon.”
I hang up with Mrs. Wilson and call Daniel back.
“You said Mira left to get Aiden, right?” I bark the second the line connects.
“Yeah. Right after I did. Actually, I was across the street grabbing an iced latte for my lady—you should never show up empty-handed—and I saw her and Evan pull out of the garage.”
Shit.
“I need you to pick up Aiden.”
Daniel hesitates. “From school? Why? Mira went to get him. Can you hear?—”
“Can you get him or not?” I snarl. My fingers are itching to punch in Mira’s number. To hear her voice. To feel her body against mine. I need to get off this phone now. “Can you do it, yes or no?”
“Yes! Yes, obviously. But what the fuck is?—”
“I’ll fill you in later.”
I hang up and dial Mira’s number. Before the first ring, I’m already on my feet and heading towards the locker room.
Something is wrong.
Something is so fucking wrong.
The phone rings and rings and Mira never answers. I don’t even wait for her voicemail before I hang up and call Evan instead.
Evan has never not answered my calls. First thing in the morning, middle of the night, hell or high water—he always answers.
Until today.
Someone says something to me as I pass, but I don’t hear them; I’m too busy scrubbing through the cameras at the house. I see Mira and Daniel watching TV for a long time before they get up and… there she goes. She grabs her phone and her purse and walks calmly through the front door. She wasn’t running or panicked.
She left… and now, she’s gone.
I open my locker and am reaching for my duffel when a hand clamps on my shoulder.
Instinctively, I throw my elbow back to shake them off.
Nathan jumps back, hands raised. “Shit, man. I’ve been saying your name. Someone is here to see you.”
“Who?”
He shrugs. “I have no idea. Coach told me to come get you. They’re in the media room waiting for you.”
I shove past Nathan, ignoring his grumbling complaints, and sprint down the hall to the media room.
I have no idea what to expect when I open the door—maybe Dante, maybe Mira and Evan here to surprise me with the worst prank in the world—but a police officer never crossed my mind.
The officer has his thumbs hitched in his pockets, a gun gleaming on his hip. Coach is standing off to the side, arms crossed, mouth tense.
I’ve seen this movie.
I know what it means when an officer comes knocking on your door.
She can’t be gone.
I storm into the room, all racing heart and pumping adrenaline. “What in the hell happened?”
“Easy, Whitaker.” Coach presses a hand to my chest, and I swipe his arm away. He holds flat hands in front of me, steadying me like I’m a raging bronco. “Listen.”
I don’t want to listen.
She is fine.
She has to be.
Mira has to be okay.
The officer tips his head to Coach in thanks and turns back to me. “You’re Zane Whitaker?”
“Yes,” I bark. “Who the fuck else would I—” I swallow down the frustration and nod. “I’m Zane Whitaker. What’s going on?”
“Mr. Whitaker,” The officer speaks slowly, like he’s getting paid by the second, and I want to shake the rest of the words out of him as much as I want him to never finish his sentence.
But he does. He gives me a tense grimace and says, “I’m sorry, but there’s been an accident.”