CHAPTER 39
Troy
STILL NOT DELIVERED.
That’s the second message I sent to Ana today that didn’t deliver. First, was this morning after practice. Second, was right before I left my dad’s house after dinner.
The bleak lights of the gas station I just pulled into shadow over my hands as my eyes stay glued to my phone screen.
Panic shouldn’t fill me by her lack of response. That tends to happen when messages don’t deliver. Her phone’s probably just off. But, maybe something’s wrong.
Something could be wrong.
The messages themselves aren’t that important. They were just about practice. Colette said tomorrow’s is cancelled since she had a family emergency that she had to take care of. And the following day is The Fourth of July, which gives us a rare full weekend off the ice.
I could just ask Karl to text Naomi to make sure Ana gets the memo.
Karl and Naomi aren’t on a texting level per se, but they’re cordial enough at their high school, where it wouldn’t be too awkward for Karl to reach out to her.
But my sudden anxiety, the one fidgeting all around my throat, is telling me I have to know for myself that Ana’s fine.
You’re being paranoid, I scold myself.
Remember when you did this with Xavier, and it was nothing?
Xavier’s phone was off this one afternoon during the first semester of our freshman year of high school.
He had forgotten to tell me this, which, yeah, that’s not a common thing to just casually warn someone about.
But there’s nothing casual about trauma, a poison that engulfed most of my bloodstream at the age of fourteen.
Xavier was carpooling with a few of his teammates that day, and they were supposed to return from their hockey game around 6 pm.
Conrad and I waited for him at school since we were all going to the movies after.
When Xavier didn’t arrive back in time, I texted him.
Then I called. And when the clock struck a quarter to 11 pm, my whole chest felt like it was closing off, barely able to breathe. I thought I lost my best friend.
Xavier arrived safely with his friends just twenty minutes later.
I overreacted. That happened a lot those few years. Because when the person I had cared about the most failed to receive my messages, I got home, looking for her…
And then I lost my mother.
At the reminder, the panic courses through my entire body.
I glance back at my phone. I’m almost by my apartment, about an hour away from her.
I call Ana.
The grim view of her street flashes in my head, embedded in my mind, ever since I saw it for the first time a few days ago. When the call goes straight to voicemail, I immediately input her address into my phone, and speed in the other direction toward her place.