“So I can call your wife, and she can talk you out of this!”

I shake my head. “Parker told me to do what I have to do.”

“Ugh,” Nick groans. “She’s back on my shit list. Fitzy, cancel it, man. Don’t do it.”

“Don’t do what?” Coach asks.

We both swing our heads toward the tunnel entry leading to the hallway.

Coach gazes between us, and he tips his head, waiting for an answer.

“Leave my wife at home again,” I say, pushing past him. “And I won’t.”

* * *

I told myself not to panic before the plane took off and there was no message from Parker, still excusing it considering everything she had on her plate tonight. But when we land and I do get a message from someone not in my contacts, I worry.

617-555-3542

Hi Fitz. Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to see if you got a hold of Parker because I haven’t for the past few hours.

I freeze and then scroll up, realizing there’s an earlier message in the thread about Bernard. It’s Abby. Abby, who should either still be in my apartment or have left not all that long ago.

Weren’t you just with her?

I wait impatiently for the three dots to disappear and her message to come through.

617-555-3542

I was, but her parents showed up. She’s not answering.

Parker doesn’t pick up when I call either.

I’m on my way home now. I’ll have someone check on her.

But the person I call—Agent Samuels—doesn’t pick up either. And that has me on my feet and waiting at the door of the plane before we’ve even fully stopped on the tarmac. It has me taking the stairs by two until I get on the ground, where I all-out sprint to my truck, ignoring my name as it’s called by teammates. I only stop myself from flooring it out of the parking lot when my phone chimes with another message. I assume it’s Parker.

Coach

Tomorrow morning 9am at the Hilton. I’ll send you the room number.

I toss my phone to the passenger seat and grip the steering wheel with an ironclad hold. As I zoom out of the lot and finally merge onto the highway, I wonder if I saw someone I remotely care about acting like a raging lunatic, practically jumping out of a plane before it’s even come to a full stop, would I start that text differently?

Maybe a good starting point would be Is everything okay?

The answer is no, and for the thirty-five-minute drive back to my apartment, I run through every possible scenario that might make things not okay.

Parker was kidnapped.

Parker left.

Parker is hurt.

Parker needs me, and I’m not there.