Page 113 of Scoring the Player
“Not yet.”
“You feel safe?”
“Yep.”
The bedroom’s cozy with a king-sized bed in the center, two mid-century modern-looking nightstands, and a dark blue rug. Natural light fills the entire space.
I like all the light. Blue might hate it, though.
“Have you heard from Denzel?” I ask her.
“No, have you? We’re both worried sick.”
I’m getting there too.
I peek into the bathroom. A large whirlpool tub is situated in front of a window, providing a sick view of the treetops and sky.
“If we don’t hear from him in the next few days, what should we do?”
“I’ll hire someone to find him,” I answer as I head back downstairs.
“Someone like whom?”
“A private investigator.”
“What if he’s back in the hospital, Salem?”
“We’ll find him.”
“What if he’s worse off than before?” she frets.
“W-we’ll find him.” I wince as my voice shakes.
She won’t miss it.
“I’m sorry, son. I don’t want to ruin your night. Did you dress up?”
I grab the grocery bags from the front door and head to the kitchen. “Like how?”
“A dinner jacket. I suppose a tie’s too much.”
I snicker as I duck plants and stainless-steel pots hanging from an overhead rack and place the bags on the counter.
“We’re at a cabin in the middle of nowhere.” I open the vintage-style fridge to find it empty except for a few bottles of water.
“Okay. Well, let me leave you to it. Tell him we say hello.”
I grin, imagining Blue meeting my mom. He’d probably hiss like a vampire in the sun as she went in for a hug.
“Love you.”
After we hang up, I fill the fridge with lagers and open a bottle of red to breathe. Then I wash my hands and get to work on dinner.
Arnaz
An article on acoustics claims that when trees are thirsty, they let off silent screams. Vibrations flow from the trunk, the way our vocal cords vibrate for sound. I kneel and rub my fingers through the damp earth. This place definitely has a vibration. I fight the urge to toss my head back and howl just to hear my voice echo through the trees.
Movement on my right catches my eye.
