Page 192 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
“We need to get Sydney some coffee,” Oliver’s mom says suddenly. “Poor girl slept on an armchair.”
Oliver’s abuela eyes me, but after a beat, she moves to the coffee pot and pours me a mug. I thank her quietly, taking it with both hands. A little cream and sugar from the fridge, and I take refuge between Carter and Penn.
“I charged your phone.” Carter holds it out. “It was almost dead.”
“Thanks,” I whisper. I take it and scroll through the notifications. There aren’t a ton, but… four from Dad stand out. “I’ve got to call my dad.”
I slip out of the room, but it still doesn’t feel like far enough. I shrug on my coat, hat, boots, and step out onto Oliver’s front porch. We got snow overnight, although his walkway and driveway have all been cleared.
Wonder if that was Felix or someone else…
I brush snow off one of his porch chairs and sit, dialing Dad’s number.
“Sydney,” he says upon answering. “Where have you been?”
“Sleeping in Oliver’s living room, accosted by his family…” I shake my head. “Sorry. Carter plugged my phone in and I didn’t have an alarm set.”
“I’m coming by,” he says. “You sound like you could use an escape.”
I pause. “Yeah, I could.”
Five minutes later, Dad’s truck rolls up to the front of Oliver’s house. I stayed outside, and I’m not particularly inclined to go back in and make conversation. I’m just stepping off the porch when Carter comes out.
“Sydney,” he calls. “Where are you going?”
“With my dad…”
“Hang on.” He ducks back in the house.
A second later, he comes out with his jacket in his hand. He follows me to the car and hops in the back without preamble.
Dad twists around and glares at him.
“Good morning, sir,” Carter says with a straight face. “I care about your daughter a lot. No amount of bag skating is going to change that for me. I’m sure you could talk my coach into it, though, if it makes you feel better.”
They seem to have a staring contest, until Dad shakes his head with a noise of disgust. “Fine.”
I smile.
“Where are we going?” Carter asks.
I buckle into the front seat and look to Dad expectantly.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “The police station.”
“What?” I sit up straighter. “Why?”
“Because you had a break-in, and… they need to talk to you about your mother.”
A chill coasts down my back. “Why now? They haven’t given a shit?—”
“Sydney. Please.” His expression is pained. “It’s where I was before I got to the hospital. I hired you a lawyer?—”
“What?” I screech. “Why?”
“The case was reassigned, and the detective from Emerald Cove seems to think she’s not missing.” He glances at me. “I don’t know if he thinks she ran away or… Either way, he’s liaising with the Framingham police station for now.”
I shake my head. My throat closes. Ran away or what? Dead?