Chapter 13: Shutout: Chapter 13

Seraphina must have been the last one in the kitchen again.

I set the groceries on the counter and unload the first bag, closing the open cabinets as I go. With a fourth person in the house, I made a point to order more than usual. We’ll see how long it lasts this time. Sera consumes normal quantities of food, but Chase and Dallas are total wildcards.

Moving on to the next, I get the frozen items into the freezer before they start to melt. This includes two pints of Seraphina’s favorite Haagen Dazs to make up for my unintentional theft, plus a third pint for me. I have another cheat day soon and that cheesecake ice cream was next level.

Behind me, the front door creaks open and slams shut. My body comes alive with anticipation as I catch a glimpse of Seraphina through the kitchen doorway. Seeing her is the high point of my day lately, followed closely by our constant back and forth texts.

She kicks off her shoes and reaches up, hanging her coat on the rack. It immediately slides off the hook and falls to the ground, but she doesn’t stop to pick it off the floor.

“Hey Tink,” I call, putting a box of cereal on the shelf.

“Hey.” She breezes past in a blur of pink and denim, avoiding my attempt to make eye contact.

“Do you—” I start, but she’s gone before I can finish.

Guess that’s a no on wanting dinner, then.

Confusion overtakes me and I lean a hip against the counter, mentally replaying our interaction. What the hell just happened? There was a bit of weirdness between us earlier this week after our close call in the kitchen, but we moved past it pretty quickly. We were messaging today like everything was fine. I have no idea what changed.

Chase steps through the door a few minutes later and slips off his winter boots in the entry. “Is Sera here? She was supposed to text me after my mom’s checkup, but she never did.”

My stomach drops to the floor. Shit. Maybe the appointment went badly and that’s why she’s upset.

“Yeah. She got home and barreled straight for her bedroom.”

“Guess that explains the coat,” he mutters, kneeling to retrieve it from the floor. “I’m going to check on her.”

Worry simmers in the pit of my gut. For lack of other options, I finish putting away the rest of the groceries and get started on dinner to distract myself. I bought enough steak to feed a small kingdom, which means we’ll probably polish it off in one sitting.

Just as I’m putting the potatoes on to boil, Chase strolls back into the kitchen and heads to the fridge.

I give him a questioning look over the island. “All good?”

“Dunno.” He cracks open a carton of strawberry peach EnduraFuel with a frown. “She said our mom’s checkup went smoothly, but she’s acting weird. Wouldn’t really talk to me.”

Now I’m really concerned. Generally, I try to minimize messaging Sera when Chase is around. You know, as an insurance policy. But I can’t stop myself from grabbing my phone and texting her.

“Yo, Carter.” Dallas saunters into the room and lobs a small black object at Chase, who narrowly catches it before it hits him in the shoulder. “Stop putting your shit in my bag.”

Chase pulls up the sleeve of his sweatshirt, pointing to the Apple Watch on his left wrist. “That’s not mine, bro.” He passes the other watch back to Dallas.

Dallas holds it up to the light to examine it, frowning. “Then who the hell does it belong to? And how did it get into my backpack?”

“Shoplifting, Ward?” I ask. “I know you’ve got expensive taste, but maybe you should get a part-time job instead.”

“Ha-ha.” He makes a face, flipping me the bird.

All three of our phones ping in unison. I check my texts to find a new message in our team’s group chat.

Chase snorts a laugh, and even my sour mood lifts slightly.

I point to Dallas with the spatula. “See? You’re so distracted texting Shiv all the time that you’re stealing people’s stuff now.”

“Fuck. I have no idea how that happened.” Groaning, he reaches for his cell. “I’ll let Holloway know. I don’t have time to meet up with him tonight, though. You gonna be here for a bit, Ty? I can tell him to come by and grab it.”

“All night.” It’s been a long week and I’m fucking bagged.

Cooking takes my mind off things temporarily, but the additions of pan-seared steak and Caesar salad don’t take much time to prepare, especially because Dallas pitches in to help. Dinner is ready in a flash, and I’m stuck with company I’m not particularly in the mood for.

We all have seconds—and in Chase’s case, thirds. Even though I doubled the portions, there’s hardly enough for one person left. Probably the perfect amount for Sera if she weren’t holed up in her room.

I focus on my food while the guys talk about some movie they’re going to see with their girlfriends. Apparently, it’s at a brand-new theater that serves food and alcohol right to your seats. Despite my attempts to engage in conversation, my thoughts keep drifting back to Sera. Something is definitely wrong, and it’s eating at me. I don’t know when I suddenly developed a sense of empathy, and I’m choosing not to question it.

“Later.” Chase throws me a wave as I rinse a pan under the faucet, and Dallas follows behind him out the door.

In an ideal world, the person who cooked dinner wouldn’t be the one stuck doing dishes, but I’m trying not to be salty over it. It isn’t like I have other plans.

The doorbell rings while I’m drying the last dish, and I look up as Seraphina darts past to answer it. Her little black dress is even more revealing than the one from Chase’s birthday. It’s got a lace overlay that gives the illusion of bare skin beneath, and the neckline plunges low in the back. There’s no way she’s wearing a bra beneath it.

I watch from where I’m standing at the sink in the kitchen island, facing the entry. It’s impossible to tear my eyes away from her. Her rose-gold hair is a cascade of waves against smooth, creamy skin. Dark makeup accents her chocolate eyes. And those pink lips…

“Hey.” She moves aside, motioning for the other person to come in. “Where’s Abbs?”

My blood pressure spikes as Rob steps into the foyer, brushing snow off his wool dress coat. His hair is neatly slicked back, designer clothes perfectly pressed. I grapple with the urge to frisbee the plate I’m holding at his head. With my aim, I’d definitely inflict some serious damage. Can’t actually do it, but the mental image is incredibly satisfying.

“She’s having some kind of ‘hair emergency’ at my place,” he says, making air quotes. Tension winds through my body. Even his use of air quotes is irritating. “Asked me to come grab you instead.”

Seraphina takes a seat on the wooden bench, bending to fasten the straps on her metallic high heels. As she does, the fucker blatantly stares down her dress, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She stands and reaches past him to pull her new winter coat off the rack. My molars grind together as Mr. Lowlife tucks her pink hair over one shoulder, helping her slip on the puffy white parka. Seeing him touch her makes every inch of my skin crawl.

Drawing in a sharp inhale, I look down and violently polish the dish I’m holding. I need to chill. It’s not my place to care.

“I could’ve driven myself,” she says. “I’ll be splitting an Uber home with Abby either way.”

When I glance up, he winks at her. “Or you could stay over.”

Everything turns red, and the plate flies out of my hand into the sink. Fragile porcelain hits the stainless basin, shattering into pieces.

Fuck. One more thing to deal with later.

Even though I know I’m being irrational, I stride into the entry and lean against the wall, flashing Rob a not-so-friendly smile. “Have her home by nine-thirty, Ron.”

“Er… it’s Rob, actually.” He laughs uneasily like he’s not sure whether I’m kidding about the curfew remark. I’m not. While he’s almost as tall as me and looks like he probably hits the gym on the regular, there’s no way this dude has been in a fight in his life. At least, not any that he won. I could easily, and very much want to, clobber him.

“Tyler doesn’t mean that. He’s joking.” Seraphina turns to me and widens her eyes, giving me a reproachful look.

I fold my arms, my biceps flexing. “She’s right. Ten o’clock is fine.”

“Tyler.” Her expression is half-exasperated, half-amused.

Rob opens the front door and lingers with it ajar like he’s hoping it’ll help expedite their departure. Cold air rushes inside, but I guess he doesn’t give a shit about our heating bill—or the fact he’s too old to be inviting a college sophomore for sleepovers.

Ignoring him, I hold her gaze. “Call me if you need anything, Ser.”

And then she’s gone.

My floor is clean as fuck. My head is still a mess.

I hit the power switch on the vacuum handle to shut it off, and the whir of the motor fades out. Since Seraphina left, I’ve been too full of restless energy to stay still for longer than a couple of seconds. I’ve washed, dried, and folded every item of clothing I own; changed my sheets; and I just finished angrily vacuuming the entire lower level. Some people find stress cleaning weird, but it keeps me from resorting to other, less constructive coping strategies.

I receive two texts within quick succession, but it’s false hope followed by immediate disappointment. They’re both from girls I haven’t spoken to in months—well before that night at XS. Why they’re both hitting me up now is anyone’s guess.

Mission Control reports zero response down south. My dick is broken. Or maybe my brain is the problem because my cock worked just fine last night when I was thinking about Seraphina.

Then my phone vibrates again with another group text from the team trying to encourage me to join them. Drowning my sorrows sounds tempting, but there’s a risk I’ll do something after like drunk dial Seraphina. Or punch a hole in the wall when I get home, which I was already perilously close to doing after she left.

Plus, I can’t shake the nagging feeling I was supposed to do something else.

As I’m putting the vacuum back inside the hall closet on the main level, footfalls thud on the front step. For a brief, foolish second, I think maybe Seraphina changed her mind and came home early. Then the doorbell rings, and disappointment kicks me in the face.

I open the door to find Reid standing outside. Right… That’s the other thing I was supposed to do.

He nods at me, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his navy winter coat. “Hey, man.”

“Mind coming in for a sec?” I ask. “I have to figure out where Carter left your stuff.”

Reid kicks the snow off his boots before he steps inside, shutting the door behind him. My gaze darts around the room in search of his watch, but I have no idea where Chase put it. I forgot Reid was even coming.

I scrub my jaw with my hand. “Do you want a beer? I might have to text him to ask what he did with your watch.”

Ten minutes later, we’re halfway into our bottles of Stella. Per Chase’s text, the watch was sitting on the kitchen counter in plain sight all along. I just happened to miss it—four times. If that doesn’t sum up my mental state, I don’t know what does.

“You look pressed,” Reid remarks.

“Little bit,” I mutter, peeling the label off my beer.

“You going out with the team later?”

“Nah,” I say. “Not feeling it tonight.”

“Wish I could say the same. I could use at least ten drinks after today’s practice.”

My brows lift because I’m usually pretty dialed-in, and I didn’t notice anything on the ice. “Coach Miller up your ass?”

“Miller’s fine. Better than fucking Grady.” He rolls his neck, reaching for his bottle. “It’s hard coming in mid-season like this. A few of the second and third liners haven’t exactly been welcoming. They seem to think I’m the reason they’re not starting.”

Of course they do. Some of the guys on our team are such entitled fucks. They wouldn’t last a day with the pressure of being goalie.

“They’re not starting because they’re not good enough.”

“You and I know that but try telling them.” Reid smirks.

I snort. “I will if you want. I have no problem bringing them back down to reality.”

On the counter where it’s charging, my phone rings with an incoming call. I glance over my shoulder, confused. No one calls me, and for good reason—I never answer.

“Sorry. Hang on.” I push back my chair to retrieve my cell, expecting a wrong number. When I pick it up, the display says Tinker Bell.

Nerves rattled, I swipe to accept the call. “Ser?”

“Ty? Are you there?” Seraphina’s voice is nearly drowned out by pounding bass in the background. It’s hard to tell, but it sounds like she’s crying.

“Tink.” I plug my other ear in an attempt to hear better. “I can’t hear you. Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry…” She cuts out. “…loud…” The call cuts out again. “…more quiet.”

Reid catches my eye and jerks a thumb to the front door, giving me a questioning look as if to ask whether he should leave. Grateful he picked up on it, I nod and silently mouth “thank you”.

Trailing behind him, I lock the deadbolt and pace circles in the kitchen, waiting for Sera to continue. Seconds crawl by that feel like hours. The music slowly fades to a more manageable volume, and a door clicks shut on the other end of the line. All I can hear are her gasping breaths, interspersed with sniffles.

“Ser?” I prod.

Seraphina draws in another shaky breath. “I smoked part of a joint, and now I feel weird. The room won’t stop spinning. I tried to text you but I’m seeing double and it’s too hard to type.”

Icy dread grips me, and I come to a screeching halt. “Just weed, or?”

“Um… I-I think so. That’s what Rob said.”

I bite my knuckle, holding back a string of expletives. Of course. Should’ve known that fucking guy had something to do with this.

Not to mention, Rob’s connections are probably about as trustworthy as he is. It could’ve contained anything.

Frantically scanning the room, I grab my keys off the counter and barrel down the hall into the garage. Before I can think twice, I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my car. I don’t even know where I’m going.

“Where are you? I’ll come get you.” I press the control on the overhead console to open the garage door and watch it creak open in the rearview mirror.

Seraphina hiccups. “Rob’s p-penthouse downtown.”

Oh, so he supplied and hosted. My grip on the steering wheel tightens until I think it might disintegrate beneath my fingers. Not because I’m upset with her, but because I want to pummel Rob into next week.

“Send me a pin with your location. I’m leaving right now.”

Something clatters on the other end of the line. “…shit!” There’s rustling. “Sorry, I dropped my phone. M-my dying’s battery. I mean, my battery’s dying, but I’ll try. Gimme a sec.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I draw in a slow, deep breath to calm myself. The good news is she’s talking to me, and she’s safe—for now. But she’s having a bad trip, and she’s in a potentially dangerous situation surrounded by a bunch of strangers. I don’t trust the people she does know there, either.

A few seconds later, a link to her location appears in our text thread.

“Got it,” I confirm, backing out of the garage.

“I’m scared, Ty.” She whimpers, triggering some kind of primal instinct I’ve never felt before. Testosterone, adrenaline, it’s a biochemical cascade. All I want is to fix whatever is making her feel this way.

“You’ll be okay.” The reassurance is for myself as much as her. “Just stay on the phone with me until I—”

Suddenly, the background noise on the other end of the line vanishes.

My Bluetooth beeps, and the display reads, “Call Failed.”

Heart racing, I call her back. It goes straight to voicemail, and I receive an automated message informing me hers hasn’t been set up yet. I try again. Voicemail.

I can’t do anything until I get there.

I’m completely powerless, and it’s one of the worst feelings I’ve ever had.