Broken Beautiful Hearts(9)

“Maybe it’s not Reed.”

How can she play dumb with me? I’ve seen the way Tess tiptoes around him like she’s navigating a minefield when he’s in one of his moods.

“So you think I’m the problem?”

Tess shakes her head. “No. That came out wrong. I meant maybe it’s things between you two that changed. You’re upset because Reed is at the gym all the time, but he has to train more if he’s going to fight in the middleweight division.”

“It was his idea to move up a weight class,” I remind her.

“I know. I tried to talk him out of it. But he thinks he has a better chance of making it into the UFC as a middleweight.”

“It’s more than that.” We’re missing something. I lean against the wall and watch a new beer bong competitor get into position.

This is not how I envisioned celebrating my big news. I reach for my phone to check the time, wondering if it’s too early to head home. But it isn’t in my pocket. Nothing but lip balm, house keys, and Reed’s car keys. God forbid he carry anything except his phone. I pat down my coat. “I lost my phone.”

“It’s probably in the car, like the last three times you lost it. I need to run to the bathroom and then I’ll help you find it,” Tess says.

The line for the bathroom is six people deep. I can’t wait that long. “All my voice mails are on it.”

Tess knows that by all I really mean one—the last message from my dad. It’s the reason I’ve had the same phone for a year and a half, even though it barely holds a charge.

“I bet it’s in the car,” she says. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m just going to run out and check.” I leave through the back door.

Outside, a stone retaining wall snakes down the hill beside the house. The wall separates a paved footpath from the long driveway. My arm scrapes against the rock as I rush toward the steps at the end of the walkway that lead down to the street.

Reed parked his car across from the steps, and I can’t get it unlocked fast enough. I search for my phone in the front seat and between the crevices of the center console.

Nothing.

Think. Retrace your steps.

When we got in Reed’s car I tossed my jacket in the back seat. My phone could’ve fallen out of the pocket. I lean between the front seats and grope around.

Come on. Please be here.

What if it’s not?

My chest tightens. I can’t lose Dad’s message.

Reed’s car is full of junk—hand wraps, sparring pads, sweaty T-shirts, and empty energy drinks. His smelly gym bag is open on the floor. I dig through it until my fingers hit something rectangular and smooth.

A box.

I take it out of the bag, expecting a cheap plastic box like one Reed uses as a first aid kit. But this box is glossy black cardboard, like a gift box.

Reed doesn’t do surprises, and he thinks presents are a waste of money. The only gift he has given me in the seven months we’ve been together was for my birthday. And Tess and Mrs. Michaels don’t have birthdays anytime soon.

My stomach bottoms out.

All the time he’s been spending at the gym …

What if Reed hasn’t been there every night?

Things have been off between us for a while and I’m not a fan of his recent mood swings, but I’d never cheat on him. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t.

The box doesn’t have a store name or logo printed on it, and it’s a weird size—too big for a bracelet and too deep for a necklace. A watch, maybe?

I open the lid.

At first, I’m not sure what I’m looking at—small glass bottles and a folded sheet of paper? Then I lift the paper and see the slender objects tucked beside the bottles.

Syringes.

My hands shake and the bottles clink against one another. Most athletes who play at my level know about PEDs, performance-enhancing drugs. Using PEDs—or doping—gives athletes an edge. Strength, speed, or stamina—the results depend on the cocktail. I turn on the dome light and examine the labels.

Reed’s cocktail of choice? Steroids.

Even as I stare at the evidence, I can’t wrap my mind around this. Reed has a fight record that most amateur fighters would kill for. Why would he risk his future in the sport he loves? And his life?

Why didn’t I see the signs?

His short temper and unpredictable mood swings.

The underground street fights.

The way he yelled at his mom.

Even the fist-sized hole in the wall in Reed’s apartment. Picturing it now, I realize why it looked strange. The hole was too high to have been made by the doorknob.

So many things haven’t added up over the last two months. I should’ve realized what was going on. Why didn’t I connect the dots?

I’m done wondering.

Reed is going to connect them for me.

I close the box and shove it into the huge pocket of Dad’s leather jacket as I get out of the car. Something is glowing on the ground, next to the curb.

My phone.

A text from Reed illuminates the screen.

where are u?

I pocket my phone and head back to the house, feeling raw.

When I look up, Reed is standing at the top of the stone steps, craning his neck as he scans the yard. He sees me and waits for me to catch up with him.