11. Jax #2
“Ah, then that makes sense as to why I would see your photos in Chanel… if I ever went.” Ava and Brayleigh laugh, but Marlena doesn’t seem amused. In fact, she basically looks down her nose at them.
“Markovi?, that’s Bosnian, is it not?” Pavel Domachev, one of our forwards, asks her and then proceeds to say something to her in a language I don’t understand. Marlena’s eyes widen in surprise, and he now has her full attention.
“Your Bosnian is terrible,” she tells him in English.
“That’s because I’m Russian.” He gives her a smirk, and I watch her eyes light up before gazing up and down his body. A tentative smile slowly plays on her lips, and I have a feeling Pavel might be the only person she warms up to tonight.
“Gentlemen, I hate to interrupt your fun, but it’s time for you to go back to the catering station, grab your aprons, and start your duties for tonight,” Rebecca Garvey, our Community Relations Director, tells us.
I turn to Marlena to give her some guidance on what to do while I’m working. “Why don’t you grab yourself a drink and go see what you might want to bid on at the silent auction table? We’re sitting at table number twelve, and I’ll just meet you there when I’m done.”
She glances at me with indifference and shrugs, “Whatever you say,” and turns her back on me to order her drink.
I shake my head at her rudeness and follow Harry to the catering station.
“Where did you pick up that one from?” Kinner asks while walking beside me.
“Creed set me up with her. It seems to me just breathing offends her.” Kinner laughs and claps me on the back.
“With the way Domi was looking at her, I think he would be more than willing to take her off your hands for you.”
I chuckle. “She might skin him alive.”
“Yeah, but he loves to be tortured.” Pavel is the silent, brooding type. We call him the Russian Dominator for his domineering presence on the ice.
“Hey, was that Ginny I saw earlier?” Ginny is Kinner’s PR manager, and while he claims their relationship is strictly professional, I call bullshit on that. I see the way those two look at each other when they think no one else is looking; it’s anything but professional.
“Um, yeah,” he confirms with hesitation. “She’s just here to keep me in line.”
“Isn’t that what your date is for?” Kinner’s date, Sofia, is some social media influencer. Since my social media accounts are run by someone else, I have zero clue who she is.
“Yeah, but like your date, she’s just for show.” He smirks while nudging my shoulder, and I grin.
“This will be the last time I let my agent set me up with anyone.”
We walk through the tunnel to the back-of-house and make our way to the catering station. I grab an apron from one of the community relations coordinators, who then hands me a tray of food. We’re instructed to rotate between serving hors d'oeuvres and drinks for one hour.
I get to work and as the event starts filling with patrons, it takes me longer than expected to hand out the hors d'oeuvres due to signing autographs and taking photos. I hustle back to the station and pick up a tray of champagne and make my way back out to the guests.
The hour goes by quickly, and when the emcee announces for everyone to take their seats for dinner, I return to the catering station and hand in my tray and apron. My stomach growls in anticipation of food.
Upon arriving at my table, I see Pavel sitting in my seat, leaning close to Marlena.
Whatever he is saying must be to her liking because she has a coy smile on her lips.
I decide to first say hello to the other people sitting at our table, which entailed more autographs and photos.
I chit chat for a little bit, circling the table before I land at Pavel.
“Enjoying yourselves?” I ask, making my presence known and giving Pavel a questioning look.
“Ah, Morrow.” Pavel stands and leans in to whisper in my ear. “Trade tables with me.” He hands me the card that has his table number on it.
“Why would I do that? I don’t want to be rude and leave my date,” I question with a glint in my eye, knowing damn well why he wants to trade tables with me.
“Let’s just say it would make for an enjoyable evening for everyone involved.” He lightly punches my shoulder, and his lips spread into a wicked grin.
“Marlena,” I call out to her while holding Pavel’s gaze. “Pavel is asking me to trade tables with him. Are you comfortable with that, or would you like for him to leave?”
“I prefer that you leave,” she answers bluntly and looks up at Pavel. “He can stay,” she purrs, and Pavel gives me a satisfied smile.
“Well, I can tell when I’m not wanted.” I nod to Marlena and turn back to Pavel. “You’ll make sure she gets home safely?”
“Of course.” He clasps me on the shoulder and squeezes. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” I emphasize because Pavel doesn’t realize it, but he just did me a solid by taking her off my hands. Clearly she wasn’t interested in me, so I’m happy that she will enjoy herself with him.
I stop first at one of the bars to get myself a drink before making my way to my new table.
Similar to what I did before, I greet everyone there, sign autographs, take photos and then sit down and answer all the questions that the guests seem to want to pepper me with.
My phone goes off numerous times in my pocket, but I’m too engaged in conversation to check it.
The four-course meal begins, and conversation winds down while we eat our salads and listen to the emcee discuss the auctions that are up for bidding.
I feel my phone vibrate again and decide that this would be the most ideal time to check my texts.
I pull my phone out and see that I have two missed calls from Chloe and three calls from Gretchen with a text that says EMERGENCY in it.
My stomach drops and my heart pounds with the fear that something horrible has happened.
I excuse myself from the guests at my table and walk briskly to the back of the floor. I tell Rebecca that I need to make a personal phone call and continue walking toward the dressing room in order to have some privacy. As soon as the locker room door closes behind me, I call Gretchen.
“Chloe is missing,” she answers hysterically.
“What do you mean she’s missing?” I question in numbness, not quite believing this is happening.
“Her volleyball coach called and said she ran out of practice, crying. They thought she might’ve gone to the locker room to calm down, but when she didn’t come back after five minutes, they went searching for her and so far, haven’t been able to find her.”
“Why didn’t they run after her?” I pace, not being able to sit still as my mind is racing with all the possibilities as to where Chloe could be.
“Maybe because they didn’t see her at first? I don’t know,” she huffs in exasperation. “I just know they can’t find her, and Chloe isn’t picking up her phone because she turned it off.” This explains why no one can find her location then.
“I need you to try to calm down, Gretchen, and think rationally. Did they check the security cameras?” I ask because that helpless feeling of being thousands of miles away is kicking in, and I need Gretchen to be thinking straight.
I hear her take a deep breath before answering. “Yes, they did, but it wasn’t helpful. It just showed them the direction in which she ran.” A car door slams, and I’m assuming Gretchen is taking matters into her own hands. “I’m going to drive around the area of the school to see if I can find her.”
“I’ll call my parents and see if they can help.” I stop pacing, tilt my head toward the ceiling and close my eyes. “Did you call the police?” In Canada, you don’t have to wait twenty-four hours to report a missing person like you do in the United States.
“Yes, I gave them everything they needed to know, and they’re sending some patrol units out.”
“Good.” I feel a little relieved knowing there are more people out there looking for her, but this is the type of moment when I wish I was in Kelowna. Guilt slithers through my veins at not being there for her.
“I need to go,” Gretchen says. “I’ll update you as soon as I know something. Call your parents so we can get more eyes out.”
We hang up, and I immediately call my parents and fill them in on what’s going on. My dad agrees to go out patrolling while my mom decides to stay home in case Chloe shows up. I text a couple of my buddies and they all agree to go out and help search for her.
I take a few moments to compose myself and try to calm my racing thoughts. I glance at my watch to see it’s seven p.m. If Chloe is not found in another two hours, then I’m declaring a family emergency to my coach and asking Creed for help in securing a private plane for me to fly home.
Since there’s nothing more I can do right now to try to help in the search for Chloe, I go back to the gala and take my seat at the table.
It’s hard to engage with the fans when all I can think about is my daughter, but I try my best. I keep my phone on the table right in front of me to make sure I don’t miss any texts or calls.
Another hour goes by, with me in constant turmoil before I receive a text from Gretchen.
Gretchen: THEY FOUND HER! The Police picked her up walking to the airport. They’re bringing her home now. Her phone is dead. We’ll call you as soon as she arrives.
The relief I feel is so intense that I want to cry. The airport? What was she doing at the airport? I frown at the text, not understanding why Chloe would go there. The airport is not far from her school and their house, but that is the last place I would think to go searching for her.