Page 151 of Blindside Sinner

As we’re filing to the locker room for the first intermission, my heart climbs into my throat at the sight of a head of silky hairnear Sloan’s seat—but it falls right back down when I realize it’s just Vivian.

And then lower. Into the acid in my stomach. Something is wrong—I can feel it churning in my bones, tingling in my fingertips.

If Viv is here, Sloan should be, too.

I grab the kid who’s on stick duty. “You see that woman?” I ask him, pointing at Vivian. “Go get her and bring her to the tunnel. Now.”

He scampers off to do my bidding, leaving me feeling nauseous and headachey in the guts of the stadium. My mind is racing a million miles an hour, but I do my best to tune it out.

The clack of heels draws my attention. Vivian’s face is sour as she rounds the bend. “What’s the problem that has you sending errand boys to fetch me like I’m your lap dog?”

“Have you seen Sloan?”

Vivian blinks coolly. “No. We had a meeting. She left way before I did. She should already be here.”

“She isn’t.”

“Are you sure? Maybe she’s just sitting somewhere else. Orwithsomeone else.”

“Did you threaten her?”

“Excuse me?”

“You just said you had a meeting before the game.”

Her frown curdles. “I’m aware of my schedule, Beckett. No, I did not threaten her.”

“Did you fire her?” My hands are clenched into throbbing fists. Every pulse of blood takes me that much closer to oblivion.

She shakes her head. “No, for God’s sake, I didn’t fire her. What’s all this about?”

“When is the last time you saw her?”

She checks her watch. “She left my office a half hour before me. Maybe an hour, actually.”

“Which is it, Viv? A half hour or an hour?” Too much can happen in thirty minutes and my gut says that it’s big stuff. The knot in my stomach tightens.

She shakes her head again and for the first time, her voice wavers. Like maybe my fear, my tension is starting to get through to her. “I… I don’t know.”

I lunge forward, take her shoulders, and shake her like a ragdoll. “Think, Viv. Think, goddammit! What time?”

There’s something wrong. As mad at me as Sloan got, as much as she hated me in the beginning, sheneverskipped a game. Never.

“An hour! It had to be an hour. It was five-thirty when I left the office, and she’d been gone an hour.”

I grab her wrist and twist it up so I can see the face of the Rolex, ignoring her cry of pain.

“Fuck.It’s been almost three hours.”

I feel like my brain is rusted and slow. I’m not prone to panic, not used to feeling so disjointed and out of sorts. All I can sense isthat pounding mantra booming through my head over and over again.

Something is wrong.

“Beck! Where are you going?”

I don’t bother answering. I’ve already turned to head back to the locker room. In theory, I can’t just run out of a game, especially when I’m still in full gear, but I don’t give a flying fuck about theory anymore.

I just want Sloan.

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