“You don’t have to be here,” he says.
“Where else am I supposed to be?”
The silence that lingers says enough.
“Look, if you’re going to stay, then get your head on straight. Otherwise, you’re only going to fuck up and you don’t need that on your shoulders either. Let’s go.” He turns and walks out without waiting to see if I’ll follow.
And I do follow because what else am I supposed to do? S
itting here won’t help Julie just like sitting at home won’t help her. Might as well help my team.
Like old times, when my skate touches the ice, the world disappears. I shut everything down except for the here and now and what’s before me. The most important thing right now is doing drills and practicing plays. My thoughts are reduced to simple sentences involving what actions I need to take next.
My perfect, no-problem world crashes the minute we’re done and I see a missed call from the police department. There’s a voicemail, so I listen to that first. Two minutes later and I discover what a pointless call that was. They don’t have a trace of where Julie might be and it sounds like they are discouraged further after speaking more with the detective in charge of Julie’s case back in Florida.
As if there’s a chance she’ll answer, I call Julie.
It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
And then goes to her voicemail.
“Jules,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get you home. I don’t know how yet, but we’ll get you home. I love you.” With nothing else to say, I hang up.
Needing someone to talk to, I text Trace and ask if I can come in, throwing in that it’s urgent. By the time I’m ready to leave the facility, there’s a message that I can come as soon as I can. Something is urging me to talk to him and now is not the time for me to get fucked up in the head. Julie needs me too much.
I’m in such a mess with my jumbled thoughts and my anxiety rising up to pump through my veins that it’s not until I’m standing in front of a surprised receptionist that I realize my mistake. I’m fully recognizable right now. No hat; it’s at home. No sunglasses; forgot them in the truck. No hoodie; it’s at home too. Holy shit.
I take a seat closest to the door that leads to the back. With a deep breath, I brave a peek around the waiting room. It’s pretty full with about seven other people in here. And one is looking me dead in the eyes.
Fuck.
Without any covertness, he takes his phone out and snaps a photo.
Son of a bitch.
“Mr. Grey?”
I stand and follow the lady to Trace’s office. His eyes widen the moment he sees me. “I know. I forgot and I’ve already had my picture taken. We have bigger problems.”
If possible, his eyes grow. “Take a seat and talk to me.”
“Julie and I sort of fought because some guy claiming he was her fiancé talked to Cal and said as much. I asked her to leave because I figured I need to focus on hockey right now instead of whatever the fuck was going on. Turns out, he’s a stalker and now, she’s been taken and I don’t know what the fuck to do. The police don’t act hopeful for finding her because he’s been out of their reach for a year.”
Trace leans back in his seat, as if he’s taking in all that I’ve told him. “Sit down, Collin. Take a moment to breathe.”
I can’t, so I don’t.
“Okay,” he says, conceding. “How long has she been gone?”
“Since last night. I don’t know if I should be practicing and playing, but if I don’t, I’ll be at home, driving myself crazy. Everything feels wrong. I need to figure out how to find her and bring her home before he hurts her worse than the last time he had her.”
“What do you mean?”
Right. I explain how I found Julie at the airport and how it’s apparent he was responsible for that. But I don’t know how Julie got away. Did he let her go? Did she escape? Could she do it again? At what point is he going to start hurting her again? What if they are no longer in North Carolina?