The Hardest Fall
Either she finally saw how angry and tense I was or she heard it in my voice, because she took a few steps back and looked up at me with sad eyes.
“You’re so angry.”
“Victoria,” I growled, my hand practically shaking the door handle with fury. I needed to go after Zoe, not stand around and indulge my ex.
“I think I should leave.”
“You think?” I asked in disbelief.
Closing my eyes, I rolled my shoulders to relax. It didn’t help.
Opening the door, I waited for her to walk through. Instead of leaving right away, she stepped out and faced me.
“I just needed you to know I’m sorry, and…I miss you, Dylan. It’s college and I made a mistake and—”
“Now I know,” I interrupted and closed the door in her face.
Bending down, I took my phone from my bag and dialed Zoe’s number.
It rang and rang, but there was no answer. She had it on her, I was sure. Sending her a quick text, I didn’t wait for her to get back to me. There was a good chance she had misinterpreted Victoria’s presence and was ignoring any calls and texts coming from me.
I kicked my bag and it slid toward the living room.
“Goddammit!”
Rubbing my palm on my head, I called Jimmy.
He answered on the second ring. “Jimmy here. Talk to me.”
“Jimmy, I know my shift starts in two hours, but I’m not gonna be able to make it tonight. It’s…football stuff.”
“You realize it’s Saturday, right? I need you here, man.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but it came up pretty last minute. I can’t skip this. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I wasn’t scheduled for tomorrow, but I’ll come to help. I’ll come in midweek too.”
He released a long sigh that blended in with the music in the background. “Fine, fine—but you can’t skip out on me tomorrow.”
“I won’t. I’ll be there. Thank you, Jimmy.”
My next call was to Chris.
“What’s up?”
“Do you have a phone number for the fullback who played our first and second year? You know, the one who got transferred?
“You mean Tony?”
“Yes, that’s the one. Do you have it?”
“Let me check. What’s going on?”
“I need to ask him something.”
“Oh, thanks, that explains a lot. Hold on…okay, I have it.”
“Good. Text it to me.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Later. Text me.”
I headed out before he could text me the number. If I had taken Zoe’s friend’s number two years ago myself, it would’ve been easier to find out where she’d gone, but I hadn’t. Even if it was a long shot, Tony might have held on to the number of the girl he had dated for almost a year before he transferred, and I was pretty sure that girl would have Kayla’s number. It was my only shot. Sure, I could’ve waited for her to come back to the apartment, but that could take hours, and she’d spend those hours thinking something I didn’t want her to think. It wasn’t a choice I even considered more than a second.
My phone pinged with a new text at the same time I stepped out of the apartment building.
* * *
It was my lucky day. After talking to Tony, I got the phone number of the girl, whose name was apparently Erica. Then I called Erica and asked for Kayla’s number.
The voice on the other end of the line answered timidly. “Hello?”
“Kayla?” I asked, not sure if it was the right number or not.
“Umm, yes? Who is this?”
“It’s Dylan, Zoe’s…” What the hell was I for her? “Zoe’s friend—her roommate. I’m sorry for bothering you, but I’m trying to find Zoe and she isn’t answering my calls. Do you have any idea where she is?”
“Give me a sec,” she whispered.
There was some rustling, a door opening and closing, and then she was on the line again, her voice stronger than it had been before.
“She texted me a few minutes ago. Why do you want to know where she is? Is something going on?”
“No. I just need to see her.”
I waited through the silence.
“Okay. I don’t know what’s going on, but I hope you won’t make me regret this.”
“Please,” I forced out.
“I’m heading to a party at my boyfriend’s frat house. She texted me to ask if we could meet so I told her I’d meet her there in an hour so. I don’t know where she’ll go if she’s not home.”
“Where is the party?”
Chapter Eighteen
Dylan
When I stepped through the frat house’s open door around ten PM, there were already red Solo cups littering the ground and the air reeked of sweat, beer, and the worst mix of perfumes—the staples of college parties. Just a few steps in and I could already see the closely pressed bodies on the dance floor. I pushed past the few people who were standing around the door, casually chatting by screaming at each other over the music, and started to look around. Skipping the dance floor, I searched every inch of the house, including the upstairs rooms. Zoe was nowhere to be found, and neither was her friend, Kayla.