Chapter Twenty-Two
Tristan
“Hey, Min?” I back through the condo door at ten past five in the morning, dragging my crap with me.
I managed to sleep on the red eye once Viktor stopped yapping about his best plays of the game.
“I brought you a present.” The minute I saw the sweatshirt that said Ferret Mom, I knew I had to get it.
That was before I saw the paw design on the pocket, or the ears on the hood.
She’s going to love it, and I’m probably going to die of cuteness, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
The condo is silent. “Minerva?” I keep my eyes on my feet as I enter. Kepler’s number one life goal recently has been to crawl up my pant leg, and he’s a constant trip hazard.
But there’s no Kepler, and no sign of Minerva. She’s probably still asleep.
It’s so damn quiet in here, it’s eerie.
I kick off my shoes. The pair I’m wearing belongs right next to Min’s favorite pair of worn-in sneakers, which go right next to her new sneakers, but neither pair is there. That gives me pause. If she left the house, she wouldn’t have taken both.
Something’s wrong.
My chest compresses sharp and fast—instinct before logic, like my whole body already knows she’s in trouble.
I whip my head up. Minerva’s insanely organized when it comes to her spreadsheets, but she has a habit of leaving things out where she’s most likely to use them next.
Not today. There’s no hoodie draped over the chair.
No textbooks on the counter. No Kepler. His ferret palace is empty, but his goggles are still resting on top.
I pick up the goggles. She wouldn’t leave without these, right?
Nothing else of hers is in the living room. On my way down the hall toward her room, I’m stopped in my tracks at the sight of the whiteboard. Her constellation of likes and dislikes has been wiped clean, except for one word written in red.
Sorry.
It hits like a punch: whatever happened, she didn’t want to hurt me.
That’s the part that guts me. My phone is in my hand before I reach her bedroom.
My call goes straight to voicemail. Her room, like the others, is clean.
The bed is made, the floor gleaming, the space empty.
It’s a guest space again, anonymous and bland, with nothing to give it character.
“Min?” I collapse against the doorframe. What happened? What did I do? We agreed I wouldn’t call last night after I got back to the hotel due to the time change. I’ve sent her plenty of texts, but now that I think to check, I see they’re all marked as delivered but left unread.
I try her number two more times, just in case. If she was declining my calls, it should at least ring. Is her phone off?
Damn, she must have wanted to get away from me. Maybe she got an apartment in secret and moved out behind my back. I thought things were going well, but I guess not. The thought tastes wrong the second it forms—I know her better than that. This isn’t her choosing distance. This feels like panic.
Like fear.
My fist tightens around something, and I realize that I’m still holding Kepler’s goggles. Of all the things to forget, this one makes the least sense. Kepler always wears his goggles when she takes him out due to his light sensitivity.
I press my back to the wall and scroll down to Marley’s number. She answers on the third ring.
“Hey Tristan, what’s up?”
“Sorry to bother you so early, but it’s important. Have you seen Minerva? Did she tell you where she was going? I just want to know that she’s safe. I swear I won’t look for her if she doesn’t want to be found, but—”
“Slow down. I haven’t seen Minerva since the Puck Drop last night.” A note of worry tinges her voice. “Did something happen?”
“She took her stuff. And she’s not answering her phone.”
“Oh. No, she didn’t say anything to me.” She clears her throat. “Although, um, given the conversation, I’d be surprised if she’s avoiding you. Maybe she’s just out? Could she have an early morning appointment?”
“Maybe.” Though that still doesn’t explain the goggles, or the note on the whiteboard. “Do you know who she left the Puck Drop with?”
“She walked with Violet and Knova. Do you want me to call someone? Is she missing?”
“I’m trying to figure that out. She must have made it home from the bar, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Let me know what you figure out. I worry about her. She’s, like, super smart, but she’s kind of innocent in some ways. Vulnerable.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I know. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
As soon as we hang up, I call Knova.
“Christ, DuBois, can’t you just text like a civilized person?” Knova sounds frazzled. Viktor’s voice hums in the background. “This had better be an emergency, because I was ten seconds away from post-road-trip coital bliss.”
“TMI.” I crack a wan smile in spite of everything. “Marley said you walked Minerva home last night. Did she mention going away somewhere?”
“Hey, one sec.” Knova’s voice becomes muffled for a moment. “Don’t lick me there, Vik, I’m on the phone.” She returns to normal volume. “No, she didn’t. Why do you ask?”
“When I walked in my front door this morning, she wasn’t here.”
“Is her car there?”
I head back to the living room and peer out the window. “No, actually.”
“Looks like I just solved your mystery, Sherlock. I’m sure she’ll be back.”
“Right.” I swallow hard. “Thanks. Sorry to bother you.”
The silence of the condo settles around me, oppressive and thick as a shroud.
since I don’t have a better idea, I collect my bags and drag them all to my room.
I have this buzzing, nervous need to do something, though I have no idea what my options are.
Still, the idea of unpacking and acting like everything is normal makes me want to scream.
But what am I supposed to do? Call the cops and tell them that the woman who was living at my house has moved out and isn’t taking my calls.
I have no evidence of foul play and every reason to believe that Minerva chose to leave.
I abandon my bags in the corner of the room and walk to my dresser.
I pull out the box that I hid at the back of the shirt drawer.
A week ago, I ducked into a local jeweler with Camden, heart already made up.
I knew which ring I wanted as soon as I saw it—a simple silver band with a rose-gold filament and a princess-cut center diamond, understated and brilliant. Just like her.
I drop down onto the edge of the bed and open the box to let the ring catch the light.
Everything about my relationship with Minerva has happened out of order.
She moved in before I got to know her, I fell for her before she realized I was even interested and was tracking my macro intakes before she knew anything about me as a person.
It only made sense to skip straight past asking her to be my girlfriend and launch right into an engagement.
Minerva tries so hard, and yet she has so little faith in herself. I’d burn the world down to keep her safe. And she just… left?
Maybe I scared her off. If she wants space, that’s fine, but my gut says that there’s more to the story.
There’s only one other person I can call for help. He’ll take my spleen, possibly by hand, if he thinks I hurt Minerva, but so be it. Swiping through my contacts, I find an emergency number I have never used. I gird my balls and dial Dante’s cell.
I swear to God he picks up before the phone rings. “This better be good,” he snaps.
“Minerva’s gone,” I said. “She took all her crap.”
“What the fuck did you do?”
“Nothing.” I take a deep breath and reconsider. “Nothing I know of. I just got back home from our road trip, and she’s gone. I’m not sure if she left me, or if something else happened, and I can’t reach her.”
“Oh. Shit. This is going to fuck with my leading scorer right at playoff time.” Dante huffs out a breath.
“She left Kepler’s goggles. She never takes him outside without them.”
Dante’s voice hardens to steel. “Cannoli doesn’t have his goggles? You’re right, she spoils that little furball rotten. Something’s amiss. Let me make a few calls.” He hangs up without another word.
“Tabarnak,” I breathe. It slips out raw—my mother tongue always surfaces when I’m scared.
Okay, then. I don’t have any idea what else to do, and I have the strong sense that I’ve done the right thing. I leave Dante to do whatever he thinks is best and head downstairs to make some herbal tea.
Twenty minutes later, Dante calls back. “You need to come to the arena now.” If his tone is any indication, my gut was right. “I’ll meet you at my office.”
I leave my half-finished cup of chamomile and bolt for the door.
* * *
On the way up to Sergio’s office that Dante has commandeered, I run into Violet. She’s holding a prototype in one hand, a flash drive in the other. “Tristan! Is everything okay? I tried to call Minerva with the good news about her device, but her phone is off.”
“I don’t know, but Dante does.”
“Mind if I come with you? Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t care as long as Dante doesn’t.”
We take the elevator up to the executive offices. Neither of us says much. Violet is relatively calm, but I can’t stop shifting from foot to foot. If anything happened to her…
No. I can’t even think about it. I could accept a breakup, even if it left me in pieces. But if she’s hurt, I’ll never forgive myself for being away when she needed me most. Not even for hockey.
Hockey is only my career. Minerva is my future.
Dante’s door is open when we arrive. He waves both of us inside, past the empty desk in the front office, since most of the employees don’t even start work until eight or nine.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind us, he starts talking.
His voice is steady, but cold. I’m used to the blustering asshole version of my boss, not this stony demeanor.
His eyes are like ice chips. Even his posture is different.