Page 150 of Devious Obsession
Coach scans it, then dials some number on his cell. “Mrs. O’Brien.”
I jerk—then realize that he’s calling Aspen’s mother, not mine. I turn away sharply and press my fingers into my eyes. Damn, that hit a little too hard. But then the true realization hits: Dad went to go get Aspen, and neither of them came back.
My stomach sinks.
All thoughts of Aspen leaving me, or choosing to skip the game, goes out the window. There’s no fucking way that my father wouldn’t check in with his security, especially knowing the protocols. Stuff he probably created to keep everyone safe.
Which means it was Aspen’s stalker.
“This is Coach Roake,” he continues. “Can you confirm the security company that your husband employs? Uh-huh. Okay, excellent. Thank you, ma’am.” He hangs up and eyes me. “Well? Go get changed into street clothes.”
I nod and hurry inside, brushing past my friends. Greyson, Knox, and Miles all fall silent when they see me, but my throat is closing. I don’t have words to tell them that something bad happened to my girl.
Something I could’ve fucking prevented if this day had gone any different.
I remove my pads and skates in record time, snatching my phone from my bag and pulling up the tracker.
She’s still at her apartment.
My brows furrow.
That doesn’t fucking make sense.
“Tell us,” Greyson demands.
When I look up, all of the team has cleared out except my three best friends.
So, quietly, I tell them what I just found out. Which is painfully little.
“Listen, if you go with the security, they’re just going to try and keep you safe.”
I nod along, because… well, no shit. And then I see what Greyson’s really driving at: they’re not going to search for my dad or Aspen. They might call the police, or track his phone…
The locker room door bangs open, and two girls storm in.
Violet and Thalia.
The former goes straight to Greyson. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, then starts unstrapping his skates.
“Wait,” I protest. “What are you doing? You have a game—”
“A game we’re up by four in,” Miles interrupts. “All the second string goalie has to do is keep the puck out of the net for twenty minutes.” He begins to undo his pads, too.
I watch helplessly as they all start changing, and my gaze goes to Thalia.
“Here,” she says, thrusting the phone at me.
I take it. There’s an open call line, the seconds ticking away.
“This is Steele.”
“Steele,” a man replies. “Cillian Monroe here. I was called away on urgent business to Chicago, which I believed had to do with my brother. However, I’ve now learned that this was a diversion.”
My chest tightens. “What sort of diversion?”
“The sort where he orchestrates an elaborate plan to get Aspen, her mother, and her sisters all in one place.”
I’m going to be fucking sick.
