Page 55 of Off the Ice

I didn’t have an answer for that.

Darren’s apartment was a mess.

The lights were off, blinds drawn, and the entire place smelled stale, like he hadn’t been home in days. The kitchen counter was cluttered with takeout containers, and his couch had a pile of laundry he’d clearly never gotten around to folding. It wasn’t wrecked, but something about it felt... abandoned. I knocked on the bedroom door before pushing it open. The bed was unmade, sheets twisted up like he’d barely slept in them. His duffel bag was still in the corner, his skates resting beside it. If he’d planned on leaving, he hadn’t packed.

Jaymie was the first to speak. “This is bad.”

No shit.

Connor pulled out his phone. “I’m calling his mom, maybe he went home.”

I didn’t tell him it was useless. I already knew how this was going to go.

Connor’s expression darkened as he listened to the line ring. When she finally picked up, I could hear the concern in her voice from across the room. “Mrs. Rivers, hey, it’s Connor Maddox... No, no, nothing’s wrong, I just—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “Actually, I’m looking for Darren. Have you talked to him?”

Silence. Then Connor’s face changed, his jaw tightening. “Alright. Yeah, if he calls, can you— Yeah, okay. Thanks.” He hung up and turned to us. “She hasn’t heard from him since yesterday afternoon. His sister is texting me his last find my friends location ping.”

Jaymie let out a low whistle looking at his phone screen, “That’s not good.”

No. It wasn’t.

***

The motel was a dump, the kind of place people went when they didn’t want to be found. The flickering neon vacancy sign cast a sickly glow over the cracked pavement, and the stench of stale cigarettes and cheap beer clung to the damp air. We knocked. No answer.

“Darren,” I called, rapping my knuckles against the door again, harder this time. “Open the door.”

Nothing.

Logan exhaled sharply beside me, his patience wearing thin. “Fuck this.” He turned the handle. It was unlocked. How stupidly dangerous, the kid really was at the end of his rope.

The second we stepped inside, the stifling air hit us, a suffocating mix of sweat, booze, and something distinctly hopeless. Darren sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, a half-empty bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. His hoodie was wrinkled, his hair a tangled mess, and his eyes—red-rimmed and glassy—barely registered us.

“Jesus,” Connor muttered, stepping inside, his voice laced with concern. “Darren, what the hell, man?”

Darren let out a dry, humorless laugh but didn’t look up. “Took you long enough.”

I crossed the room in two strides, yanking the bottle from his hand and chucking it into the trash. The clatter of glass against metal barely made him flinch. “What the fuck are you doing?” I demanded, anger and fear twisting together in my chest.

He didn’t fight me. Didn’t even try. Just ran a shaky hand through his hair and stared blankly at the stained carpet.

Jaymie crouched in front of him, voice softer than mine. “Why’d you run, kid?”

Darren sucked in a shuddering breath, the rise and fall of his chest unsteady. “Because they knew.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Who?”

“Them.” Darren’s voice cracked, and for the first time, he looked up at us. “Before the article even dropped. They knew we were talking.”

The room went silent.

I glanced at Connor, at Jaymie, at Logan. We were all thinking the same thing, someone had warned them. Someone inside the team.

Darren was too wrecked to be alone, and there was no way in hell I was leaving him in that motel another second. I got him into my car, gripping the wheel tightly as I pulled onto the freeway. He sat slouched in the passenger seat, staring out the window like he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or just more terrified. The streetlights washed over his face in brief intervals, painting his features in flickers of light and shadow.

I swallowed hard and kept my voice even. “Who knew, Darren?”

He shook his head, his fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. “I don’t know.”

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