Page 67 of Levi

Between my nana coming out to my game, then seeing Quinn there, on the sidelines and in my jersey…yeah, that was everything. But then I got the call about Nana and then had to face Ally, and it was a lot. By the end of the night, I was exhausted and just crashed.

I wonder what time Quinn got home this morning, and I’m surprised she didn’t wake me up. Then again, she was probably exhausted. Getting up, I look around for her bag or anything that would tell me she’s here, but I don't see anything left on the counter, and that girl is notorious for throwing her purse there. Snatching my phone from the coffee table, I head to my room, hoping she’s just passed out on my bed, opening my notifications on the way.

Miles: Hey, Quinn took an Uber last night. Stella and I went home at the same time.

Miles: Did she get home?

Stella: Levi.

Stella: Wake up.

Stella: Hi.

Stella: Is she there?

Stella: ……….

Stella: Duck I hate Ubers. They stress me out too much

Miles: Duck?

Stella: The fact that the iPhone still autocorrects fuck to duck is proof their AI is garbage.

Before I even finish reading their messages, Miles is calling me.

“Hey man, sor—,” he starts but is cut off by Stella's voice. “Levi Crosby, you better tell me right now that Quinn is just sleeping off a night of getting fucked by you,” she quips, but as I peek into my room, I see no sign of her, my bed still perfectly made from the night before.

What the fuck…where is she?

“No, actually, she’s not,” I say, my voice unsteady as I keep looking. Maybe she was drunk and crashed in her own room on accident, but it doesn’t look like she’s here.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let her get in an Uber!” Stella grumbles, “I’m calling her. She’s in trouble.”

Stella hangs up and I look down at my phone. I pull up Quinn’s name and call her, too. It rings. And rings. And rings some more until finally her voicemail plays, the sound of her angelic voice playing in my ears, only I wish it was her talking to me, not a recording.

What the fuck. Where is she?

Shooting her a text, I look down at the clock. Fuck. I’m supposed to be leaving for practice in twenty minutes, and I haven’t even had breakfast or gotten ready. Shit.

At this point though, the likelihood of me actually practicing is slim unless I magically find Quinn in the next twenty minutes. Although, if I go to practice, I can always check with her uncle and Ally. Maybe they know where she is, or maybe Ally has even seen her.

That’s what I’ll do.

I’m finding my Quinn.

* * *

“Why the fuckaren’t you ready, Crosby?” Coach shouts as he walks into the locker room where I’m talking to the guys. I look over and nod before looking back to Jax. “No, she hasn’t answered,” I tell him, answering his question.

I’m trying to see if any of them know where Quinn stayed last night. I mean, they weren’t around us too much; everyone sort of did their own thing last night while Miles and I hung out for a bit before I ended up leaving to go talk to Nurse Holly.

Either way, it’s worth a shot because at this point, she’s still not picking up her phone and I’m turning into a stage five clinger with the way I can’t handle not knowing where she is.

Who am I? I’m never like this over a girl. I never let anyone get close enough, my walls always up and my boundaries firmly in place—except with Quinn. Quinn laughed at my boundaries and broke them down. Brick by brick, she tore down my walls, the beautiful destruction massing around her as she claimed her throne.

Me.

But then the fear settles in. The overwhelming sensation of something being wrong, of something going wrong.

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