She peeks up at me from over her glasses. “You remember where to go, right?”
“Yes, I do.” I point back down the hallway that leads to the gym, but my feet are already moving.
“Your nametag!” She waves, but I’m halfway there. “That boy’s in a hurry.”
She has no idea.
Once in the gym, my eyes search out the huddle of dancing girls for the flash of platinum and purple, but come up empty. Maybe she’s not here yet? I walk around, scouring the place from the mats to the tops of the bleachers and everything in between.
Still nothing.
Last night was probably rough on her. Maybe she slept in? I head over to the kickboxing area and drop to the mats, keeping alert. I don’t know how much time passes, but a small group of kids slowly makes its way over. I greet them without taking my eyes off the gym at large when there’s a tug on my shirt.
I peer down and find Denny, whose mouth is turned into a frown. “Mr. Mason?”
I kneel to his eye level and hold out my fist for a bump. “Den, what’s up?”
His dark brown eyes meet mine. “She’s not coming.”
My chest constricts. “Who?” I ask, although my gut tells me I already know.
“Miss Trixy.” He sighs. “She’s not coming.”
My pulse hammers in my neck. “How do you know that, Den?”
He kicks at the mat then shrugs. “Because she always gets here early to bring me breakfast.”
My heart pinches at the rejected sound in his voice. “Maybe she’s sick?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. She’s never sick. She shows up sick just to bring me breakfast.”
The pain in my chest turns into the rapid throb of panic. “Huh, well, why don’t you get your gloves on and start shadow boxing while I go talk to Miss Sylvia, okay?”
He nods and his eyes get watery before he dips his chin and heads to the gloves. “Den, buddy, I’ll find out what’s going on. I promise.”
He doesn’t respond, but straps on gloves that dwarf his tiny hands, and the same feeling of foreboding I had last night hits me again hard. With an urgency for answers on my heels, I jog to the front desk where Sylvia has her nose pressed to a computer screen. I knock on the counter to get her attention rather than scaring the shit out of her again, which I’m liable to do with the way I’m feeling.
“Sylvia, did Trix call in sick today?” My stomach flips over on itself as I wait for her answer.
Her eyes scrunch up along with her mouth. “Yeah, funny huh? As long as she’s been here, she’s never missed a day.”
What the fuck? “Right. Did she say what was wrong?”
Her face turns sad. “Yeah, she had to go back home, something about having to take care of her sister.”
I grip the counter, suddenly lightheaded. “Her sister?”
“As long as she’s been volunteering here, I never even knew she had a sister.”
I swallow and fight the urge to rub my temples. “She has a few. Did she happen to say which one?”
“No, she just said she needed time off and was looking forward to getting out of the city and into the Majestic Mountains.”
“Where?”
She pushes up her glasses. “Where she’s from. The Majestic Mountains? I’ve never heard of it, but it sounds lovely.”
What the hell is she talking about?
“Great, okay.” I pat the countertop. “Thanks.”
She nods then goes back to her computer.
I return to the gym, but feel disconnected as my mind attempts to process.
Last night she needed some space. Today she’s headed back to Los Gatos. Maybe one of her sisters is sick, and this is all part of the space she needs to figure things out. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial her again, the call going straight to voicemail.
Something isn’t right. And I’m not giving up until I figure out what it is.
Three days later…
This is bullshit.
All of it.
They say there’s a thin line between love and hate, and I’ve been fucking living there for the last seventy-two hours.
I’ve practically worn holes in my damn phone from my repeated calls and text messages, none of them returned. I’ve driven by her house and burst in past her roommate only to find that she hasn’t been there in days. Calls to Zeus’s are pointless. For whatever reason, maybe company policy, they can’t tell me shit.
Which is why I’m heading over there now to find Santos and torture the motherfucker until he tells me every single thing that happened the night he took her out of that villa.
It’s not even seven p.m., and there’s a line to get into the club. I push past to the front, and the bouncer holds his hands up. “Gotta stand in line with the rest of them.”
“I need to talk to Santos.”