My job should’ve been my fear, but it wasn’t. And when sobriety kicked my ass this morning, my real fears came colliding like a tidal wave in my chest. I feared losing the only friend I’d ever had. Would he really be mad? Would he really hate me?
Lance loved hard. He was the most unselfish person I knew. He was selfless and compassionate. He was a prominent supporter of love; it was evident in the way he approached life. His affections and devotion to people came without resentment or stipulations. But this would destroy him.
When shit hit the fan, I knew I wouldn’t be enough, I wasn’t good enough for her. I’d told her that I wanted expectations and labels, but truthfully the idea of commitment terrified me. I had my parents’ blood flowing through my veins, and that had to count for something, right? The only thing I was good at was being Lance’s best friend.
“Mr. H?” a breathless voice called from the doorway, and I snapped the number two pencil in my hand at the sound. I wasn’t in the mood to see Maximillian Fucking Hemsworth. Seeing him in the hall with Blakely felt like walking on hot coals. I had to put on a brave face, but it burned me up. Turning in my seat to look at the asshole, I had to hold back a sneer. Maximillian was smart. Available. Determined. Courageous. He wasn’t afraid to make his intentions known. He wasn’t scared to look like an asshole and ask her out.
He was probably here to gloat. I could tell in the way he pulled her away and walked her to lunch that the fucker had plans to show Blakely what devotion and dedication actually looked like.
“Go away, Max. My office is closed,” I growled. This piece of shit was really trying my patience. If I didn’t lose my job for falling in love with a student, then I’d definitely lose it for kicking his ass. It would be worth it.
“It’s Blakely,” he began, but I cut him off. There was no way in hell I’d talk about her with him. I couldn’t do it.
“I don’t want to talk about—”
“Something’s wrong,” he huffed out. The angry haze clouding my brain started to fade and was quickly replaced with anxiety as I looked at him. Max looked terrified, and every damn alarm in my head started going off.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as the toxic thoughts in my head reminded me that he was probably more qualified to help her.
“She got a weird call about her dad, then disappeared. I think something’s wrong, and even though it seriously pisses me off to have to come to you, I think we need to find her before something bad happens or she does something reckless.”
“What did the caller say?” I asked.
“She kept asking what they’d done with her dad. She mentioned something about only being a waitress, then ran off spouting some shit that it was safer if I didn’t know.”
Fuck. I quickly picked up my cell phone and dialed Lance’s number. He answered on the second ring as Maximillian hovered over me. “Hey, have you spoken with Blakely?” I greeted him with an immediate question.
“No? Is she skipping class again?” Lance asked with a light chuckle. “She’s been needing a break. You’ve really got to stop meddling. If I were concerned, I’d say something.”
I ground my teeth before responding. I wanted to tell him that I had every right to meddle. He couldn’t hoard her anymore. “A student just informed me that Blakely got a call about her father and ran out of the school. Apparently, she was really freaked out,” I explained. I was orbiting the black hole in my heart with trepidation.
“Fuck!” Lance yelled. “I’m in Louisiana, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Please tell me you put a tracker on her phone,” I gritted while gathering my things. Max was watching me move while gripping his backpack. I could tell he felt lost and out of the loop.
“I did,” Lance answered. “I also have one in her car. I’m going to call the detective assigned to Frank’s case.”
“Good. Send her location the second you hang up,” I demanded before ending the call. A numbness bred from overwhelming fear settled over me as I started walking toward the door. I settled into the eye of the storm so I could have a clear head while finding her. I couldn’t afford to be irrational, though I wanted to break every damn thing in my classroom.
“What’s the plan?” Max asked while shuffling back and forth on his feet.
“You’re going to class. I’m going to find my girl,” I growled before exiting the classroom.
I was nearly out of earshot when I heard his low response. “About damn time.”
When Lance told me her phone was pinged last at a pawn shop, my heart sank, and I connected the dots. Whoever called her wanted money. Fast. I wanted to believe that it wasn’t her father asking for cash, but I couldn’t rule anything out. I pulled up to the shop, depressed to find that her car wasn’t parked outside. She wasn’t there anymore, but I went inside to ask. Maybe it could lead me to more information about what was running through her head.
She wasn’t answering our calls and texts, which pissed me off even more. How did so much change in just a day? I knew we were going through a rough patch, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t be there for her. Fuck! Of course she believed that. I’d proven last night that she couldn’t rely on me.
The shop was cluttered with knock-off purses, electronics, and jewelry. The shopkeeper was tatted and had a creeper mustache and beady eyes. “Hey, man. You here to sell or buy?” he asked in a lazy, stoner drawl.
“I’m here to ask a couple of questions.”
His eyes widened, but he quickly forced himself to relax, my intentions having obviously put him on edge. “I’m not answering shit unless you have a warrant, cop.” Anger swelled within me, and I reached across the desk to grab his shirt and yank him over the jewelry cabinet, his torso slamming against the glass. I didn’t even care that he had a rifle sitting beside him. I was a man on a motherfucking mission.
“I’m not a cop, motherfucker,” I growled. He started sputtering about the weed growing in his backroom and offering me a bag of grow. His musty smell made me want to gag. I didn’t want his fucking pot; I wanted my girl. Every second he rambled was a second she was in danger. Fuck that. I pulled him entirely over the cabinet and threw him on the ground.
“I don’t want your shitty weed. There was a girl with blonde hair that was just here. What did she want?” I asked.
He sputtered out his response. “Sh-she sold me a bag, a MacBook, and a watch. I gave her two grand for all of it, and she seemed pissed that I was low balling her but desperate enough to take it.”
I picked him up and slammed him against the tile floor in agitation. My hypothesis was correct, she was scrambling for cash and selling everything of value she had. His head hit with a resounding crack. I got up while dusting my hands off, then started walking out. “I’m calling the cops, asshole,” he called at my back.
“You do that. I’m sure they’ll love the weed you’re growing in the back room,” I replied while dialing Lance’s number. I felt so close and yet so far.
Once outside, Lance picked up the phone. “Did you find her?” he asked.
“She wasn’t at the pawnshop,” I growled.