Page 205 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

Maybe she won’t mind picking, in the end. The others will see themselves out on stupid fucking mistakes like this.

Either way, I’m going to be there for her. It took a minute—or a few weeks—to get it through my thick skull. But there’s no denying that my feelings for her have been there for far longer. No matter how uncomfortable they are, or how confusing it is when I think about all we’ve done to each other.

To be fair—I’ve done far worse to her than she’s ever done to me.

Carter throws the car into park.

“Stay,” he barks at Penn.

I heave myself out without assistance, and I follow Carter up to his apartment. We round the corner from the stairs, and I expect Sydney to be waiting there for him.

But the hallway is empty.

He glances around, then unlocks the door and marches in.

Empty.

I glance around again, and my gaze lands on a phone on the floor. It’s face-up, and the black screen nearly blended in with the dark carpet. It’s been turned off. As soon as I power it up and it loads, though, the very familiar lock screen confirms that it’s Sydney’s.

“Carter,” I holler. I press my hand to my ribs. That fucking hurt.

Who’d think yelling would be painful?

He reemerges, and I show him the phone.

“That’s not good,” he mutters. “And you shouldn’t be looking at it in your state.”

I roll my eyes. I’ve had a headache for the past twenty-four hours. Looking at a screen or two for ten minutes won’t kill me.

“Call her dad,” I suggest. “He’ll probably answer if it’s coming from her phone.”

He nods and dials.

“Hey, Syd,” Coach answers.

“Oh, hi Mr. Windsor,” Carter says. “I found Sydney’s phone. Do you know where she might be?”

“I thought she was going to your hockey game with Penn and Oliver.” He pauses. “So maybe try them? Where did you find her phone?”

“I’ll try them,” Carter says, ignoring our coach’s return question. “Thanks!”

He jams his finger on the end button and scowls. “Now what?”

“Now…”

“Guys!” Penn rounds the corner at a dead sprint, barely managing to stop from crashing into us. “She— I?—”

“Breathe,” I order. “You what?”

He holds out a mask.

I snatch it from him. It’s the clown mask one of us wore. We both threw them out after scaring Sydney so bad. I flip it over.

My heart stops.

There’s writing on the white plastic.

I wonder if she’ll spill all your secrets before I spill all her blood…