Page 31 of I Am Lioness

Knox hummed. I could hear the rustling of sheets and I imagined what he looked like lying in his bed, what he'd look like laying next to me. The thought elicited a swarm of butterflies erupting deep in my belly.

“I’m assuming Zeke wasn’t supportive seeing as he’s not around today.”

I knew he couldn’t see me but I shook my head anyway. “I never told him. Never told him I got fired either. Zeke was so high all the time, he didn’t notice anything going on around him. I guess I got lucky in that aspect.”

“I agree. I’m also assuming you stopped messing around with all that shit once you started up with Bernie.”

“Pretty much. I won't lie, it was hard. Some days are harder than others. Bernie kept me focused though. That was another thing Zeke never really noticed. He asked about it once and I told him I was being threatened with drug tests. Didn't question me again after that.”

There was a thoughtful pause and then be said, “This is my last question. I promise.”

I chuckled. “Ask away.”

“How did you get him to agree?”

“I didn't. When Bernie finally thought I was good enough for the League, we did everything under the radar. From registration day to preliminaries, I kept quiet about it all. Then when the League accepted me, I packed up all my shit and left him behind. By the time he realized I was really gone, Bernie and I were already in Phoenix.”

“Dumb ass motherfucker.” Knox growled.

“Definitely not my greatest feat, no.”

We laughed and then the line fell silent. It was comfortable yet awkward all at once. I could hear his breathing filtering in and I wondered what he was thinking about. If maybe he did see me in a different light now that he knew who I was just a few years ago. My mind began to spin when suddenly his voice burst through the haze.

“Hazel…”

“Yeah?” I offered quietly.

“I'm really glad Bernie found you that day…”

Me too, baby, me too.

The incessant ringingof my cell phone slowly lures me out from the depths of sleep. I groan and snuggle further into my pillow, thinking to myself—it can go to voicemail. But then I hear the melodious tune once, twice, three more times, and my mind refuses to drift away.

My eyes snap open and nothing but the darkness of my bedroom greets me. Reaching out blindly, I touch the surface of my nightstand. It's barren and cold. The ringing ceases suddenly, and I still, waiting for the tune to restart once more.

But it doesn't.

The silence stretches, growing louder by the second to a deafening degree. All I hear is my breathing, each breath coming more erratic than the last. For some reason, I feel scared.

Rolling to my side, I feel around my bed with shaky hands. My fingertips graze the hard shell of my phone somewhere beneath the pillow and I snatch it up quickly, illuminating the screen to discover ten missed calls from Beth, my best friend’s mom.

The sight of her name repetitively displayed in red churns my stomach and skyrockets my heart rate. Bone-chilling fear consumes me in an instant, goosebumps spreading over my skin like a hailstorm.

In my disquieted state, I sit up and click on Beth’s name. It rings only twice before she answers breathlessly.

“Hazel, honey, I’m sorry to wake you at this hour, but please tell me you’re with Tori!”

The trepidation in her voice runs my blood cold. I comb a rattling hand through my messy hair and take a deep breath. “No, I’m not. Where’s Tori? What’s going on?”

“She’s not with Hazel!” I hear her yell to someone. “Call her again!”

Panic bubbles to the surface, triggering alarm bells in my mind. I clutch the phone harder. “Beth, please tell me what's going on. I'm freaking out over here.”

“I’ve been hoping and praying she was fast asleep at your house and that she simply forgot to call us, but you...you said she’s not…” Her voice trembles around the words and I hear her sharp intake of breath, then a shuddering sigh. “Tori’s missing,” she sobs.

My entire world screeches to a halt, the two words shocking me to silence. The enormity of the situation hits me like a ton of bricks.

My best friend is missing.

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