Page 85 of Offside Angel

Something is so fucking wrong.

The phone rings and rings and Mira never answers. I don’t even wait for her voicemail before I hang up and call Evan instead.

Evan has never not answered my calls. First thing in the morning, middle of the night, hell or high water—he always answers.

Until today.

Someone says something to me as I pass, but I don’t hear them; I’m too busy scrubbing through the cameras at the house. I see Mira and Daniel watching TV for a long time before they get up and… there she goes. She grabs her phone and her purse and walks calmly through the front door. She wasn’t running or panicked.

She left… and now, she’s gone.

I open my locker and am reaching for my duffel when a hand clamps on my shoulder.

Instinctively, I throw my elbow back to shake them off.

Nathan jumps back, hands raised. “Shit, man. I’ve been saying your name. Someone is here to see you.”

“Who?”

He shrugs. “I have no idea. Coach told me to come get you. They’re in the media room waiting for you.”

I shove past Nathan, ignoring his grumbling complaints, and sprint down the hall to the media room.

I have no idea what to expect when I open the door—maybe Dante, maybe Mira and Evan here to surprise me with the worst prank in the world—but a police officer never crossed my mind.

The officer has his thumbs hitched in his pockets, a gun gleaming on his hip. Coach is standing off to the side, arms crossed, mouth tense.

I’ve seen this movie.

I know what it means when an officer comes knocking on your door.

She can’t be gone.

I storm into the room, all racing heart and pumping adrenaline. “What in the hell happened?”

“Easy, Whitaker.” Coach presses a hand to my chest, and I swipe his arm away. He holds flat hands in front of me, steadying me like I’m a raging bronco. “Listen.”

I don’t want to listen.

She is fine.

She has to be.

Mira has to be okay.

The officer tips his head to Coach in thanks and turns back to me. “You’re Zane Whitaker?”

“Yes,” I bark. “Who the fuck else would I—” I swallow down the frustration and nod. “I’m Zane Whitaker. What’s going on?”

“Mr. Whitaker,” The officer speaks slowly, like he’s getting paid by the second, and I want to shake the rest of the words out of him as much as I want him to never finish his sentence.

But he does. He gives me a tense grimace and says, “I’m sorry, but there’s been an accident.”

32

ZANE

I screech to the hospital, narrowly avoiding three different accidents myself. I’m only as careful as I have to be to make sure I get there in one piece.

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