Page 65 of Puck'N Enemy
I have to end this, I think, balling my hands into fists.I won’t let Pete touch Logan or his family again.Even if it means walking straight back into hell.
20
Logan
Half-asleep, I feel around the empty spot next to me. My eyes slowly blink open, making me realize Dylan’s not by my side.
A strange heaviness spreads through my chest even though I know Dylan decided to stay back at his place last night. Suppressing a yawn, I grab my phone, hoping to see a text from him.
To my disappointment, his usual cheesy “good morning, sleepyhead” is missing. There are no dumb heart emojis, either, that he liked sending me every morning.
I stare at the blank screen, wondering if he’s still asleep. His coach ran him and his teammates through a hardcore practice session last night, so maybe he’s just catching up on some extra rest.
Climbing out of bed, I get ready for school.
Once I’m done, I check my phone again, but there’s still no text from Dylan. Unease curls in my gut as I head into the kitchen and meet Mom and Maddie.
“How about you come and meet your baby cousin tomorrow?” Mom says as I eat a bowl of cereal.
“Sure, Mom,” I say distractedly, wondering if I’ll even be free tomorrow. Even though I let Dylan have his way last night,I’m not going to leave his side until Mitchikov tells me Pete is dead or back in jail.
“Do I need to drop Maddie off at school?” I ask, gazing up at Mom.
“You’ve got an early morning class, so you should get a move on,” Mom says, packing Maddie’s lunch box. “I’ll drive her to school today.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Getting up from my chair, I go over to her and give her a quick hug.
“Bye, Logan,” Maddie says from the table.
“Bye, squirt,” I say, grinning.
Heading out of the house, I check my phone again.
Still, no text.
My unease grows as I get behind the wheel. There’s no way Dylan would still be sleeping.
Putting my phone back in my jacket pocket, I step on the gas and head toward Knightswood University’s campus.
My phone continues to remain silent by the time I’m walking across campus toward my first class.
This isn’t like Dylan. He usually loves texting me right after he wakes up.
Maybe his phone died, I tell myself.Maybe he’s busy taking care of Coach Becker. Maybe—
I stop mid-step, my hand clenching around the strap of my bag.
No. Something’s wrong.
Dylan always texted me back. Even when he was busy, even if it was just a one-word message or a heart emoji, he’d always send me something.
His silence is starting to feel wrong.
I walk into class but through the entire lecture, I barely hear a word the professor says. I keep my phone under the desk,sending message after message to Dylan, hoping he’d reply to at least one of them.
By the time the class ends, my stomach is in knots.
Dylan didn’t reply to any of my messages.
