Charming as Puck(89)

The Indies are up one-nothing, because they’re all fucking beasts tonight.

We get back on the ice to start the second period, and Kami’s seats are still empty. She hasn’t read my text from before the game. I double-checked, and yeah, those are the seats I bought her. Still, I scan the crowd, wondering if she traded up somehow.

But she’s not in the first three rows. I don’t know which box is her parents’, and even if I did, I don’t know that I could spot her clearly this far away.

Lavoie catches me looking. “Head in the game, Murphy,” he says. “She’s here.”

She’s not fucking here.

Raw instinct and years of practice take over the minute the horn sounds to start the second period. By the time the horn buzzes again, we’re tied two-two.

In the dressing room between periods, I text Felicity.

She doesn’t answer, and I realize she’s working. Ratings go up every time she and Thrusty help call the game. “Felicity in the announcer’s booth?” I ask Ares.

“Game Center,” he answers.

Fuck, she’s on network tv tonight.

I text my mom instead, and of course, Kami’s not with her. Before I remember I have Maren and Alina’s numbers, intermission’s over, and we’re heading back onto the ice.

“Murphy?” Coach says, giving me a worried once-over.

“I’m good.”

I’m not fucking good.

Kami’s not here. Her car could’ve broken down. Maybe she was rear-ended.

Or mugged.

Or kidnapped.

Or she went to the bank and she’s being held hostage.

Indianapolis scores on me, and Coach yanks me.

I’m dripping sweat, but it’s not the usual game sweat. It’s a cold, terrified, something’s wrong with Kami sweat.

I never told her I loved her. I never asked her to marry me. I never confessed how fucking disappointed I was, how I felt it all the way to the pit of my nut sack, how incompetent and impotent and utterly worthless I felt when she told me she wasn’t pregnant.

How much I’d wished she was.

The bench erupts around me, and I realize Cranford’s going at it with Ares.

And the score’s tied.

The refs break it up, but not before Cranford’s nose is crooked and Ares’s lip’s bleeding. Takes a lot to lure Ares into a fight. Fucker must’ve asked for it.

They’re both sent to the sin bin.

And Kami’s four empty seats glare at me from right beside where Ares is sitting.

She’s not coming.

She’s not coming, and I don’t know where she is.

The last four minutes of the game take a fucking eternity. We barely scrape out a win at the last minute, with Ares, Frey, and Lavoie pulling off a full-on charge through the Indies’ defensive line.

It’s ugly.

It’s a win.

And I don’t fucking care.

I grab my phone as soon as we’re back in the locker room.

Still nothing from Kami.

I’m out of my pads and skates and pulling on my shoes in under a minute. Coach doesn’t blink when I tell him I have a family emergency and tear out of the locker room, past the reporters shouting questions, and down the stairs to the parking garage.

Kami’s missing.

She’s fucking missing.

And if I don’t find her, safe, healthy, and all in one piece, I’m not going to give a shit about anything.

Least of all hockey.





Forty-Seven





Nick



She’s not at home.

Her car’s not at home, and when I use the key she gave me to let myself in, her dogs go fucking nuts. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” I lie to them.

I let them out the back, and all three of them race so fast to do their business that my heart goes into a speedskate that’s not going to slow down anytime soon.

She hasn’t been home to let them out.

She’s always home to let her dogs out. She leaves work, she comes home and lets them out, eats dinner, then takes them for a walk.

Always.

It’s what she does. Even on weekday game nights.

I’m not often here, but she talks about her routine without even realizing she’s doing it.

“Where’s your mama?” I ask Tiger.

She makes that weird balloon howl and dances on my feet like I’m supposed to tell her.

Pancake and Dixie trot back in, both of them giving me terrified puppy dog eyes.

Or maybe I’m giving them terrified puppy dog eyes.

Or maybe I fucking stink like ass and I’m polluting their home.

“You know where your mama is?” I ask the other two dogs.

No answer.

Dixie skitters to the dog bowl and flops on her belly.

I don’t know how much food to give them, so I fill all the bowls. “I’ll be back,” I tell them. “I’ll bring her back.”

I race back to my Jeep and grab my phone.

Alina hasn’t answered. She’s probably off traveling for a concert again.

Maren’s out of town too and doesn’t know where she is, but asks if I’ve checked the clinic.

I’m soaking my leather seats with fear-sweat the entire ten-minute drive to Kami’s family clinic.