“Fuck that. I know the woman who set off the dick pic virus last year. She can hack circles around you.”
Both of them suck in a breath.
It pays to know the Berger twins sometimes. They move in weird, fascinating circles.
And right now, all I care about is that those circles help me help Muffy.
I point at Hilda. “Quit. Making. Muffy. Feel. Like. A. Failure.”
“I don’t try to,” she says. “She does lots of good things. And she’s so pretty. And she always looks so graceful even when she’s dropping her phone in her oatmeal.”
“Figure out how to tell her that, or you’re not coming to our wedding, and you’ll never meet our kids. Got it?”
She gapes at me like she’s one of the fish in the aquarium Daisy got me for my last birthday.
And suddenly all of my anger is gone.
I don’t care what happens to Hilda.
I care that Muffy’s okay.
I don’t even say goodbye. I just turn and march back out of the house. But this time, I’m pulling out my phone as I go.
Forget being mad.
Forget Cranford. Forget my black eye. Forget my family. Forget the tabloids.
Forget fear.
I love Muffy.
I fucking love Muffy. She’s my best friend. She slipped into my heart a year ago, and she’s stayed there, digging in deeper and deeper until everything that was right in front of me for so long is the only thing I could ever want, and it’s past time I got over being afraid she’ll hurt me.
I want Muffy.
Before I can hit Nick’s number to see if Muffy’s hiding out with Kami at his house, my phone rings with an incoming call from a number I don’t recognize.
Normally I’d send it to voicemail, but it’s local, and I don’t think Muffy has her phone on her, and I have zero doubt she’d borrow a phone from a stranger if she wanted to reach someone.
I hope that someone is me. “Hello?”
“What the hell did you do to Muffy?”
The voice. I know the voice. It’s— “Maren?”
“She emailed her entire Muff Matchers list, confessed to finding dates for us on dating apps since she said she doesn’t have the network to do everything she wants to do for us the right way, and that she’ll understand if we all want to fire her since she’s probably getting booted for violating terms of service and won’t be able to find us matches anymore. What. The hell. Did you. Do?”
“Where is she?”
“One, even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, and two, if you hurt her, I will fucking destroy you.”
“No need,” I mutter. “If I hurt her, I’ll destroy myself.”
45
Tyler
I can’t find Muffy.
She’s not at my place. She’s not with Kami. I talked Maren’s address out of Kami, but she wasn’t there either. Nor was she with Alina or Felicity, Ares’s wife and the fourth member of Kami’s tight-knit group of friends that Muffy’s always felt like she lives at the fringes of.
There isn’t an official Muff Matchers office, but I swing by Cod Pieces, where the weekend manager says he hasn’t seen her and D’Angelo offers to both quit and help me look for her, and also go ninja on my ass if I hurt her.
I tell him to stay where he is and that I’ll have Muffy call him later.
With Maren and Alina’s help, we track down a few more Muff Matchers clients, but none of them know anything about Muffy’s whereabouts.
Not even Brianna, who was the last person to see her.
“She kept apologizing, like she was sorry she had to find Steve this way for me, but I’m not mad, and neither is he,” she tells me on the phone before dropping her voice to add in a whisper, “I’m glad she found him, no matter how. He’s a lot nicer and more patient and interesting than any of the other guys I’ve ever tried to date. That was really nice of her to screen all those men on dating apps who pretend they’re something they’re not. It’s a service more people should offer.”
She’s not at any of her favorite cafes.
I can’t find Rufus in my condo, which doesn’t necessarily mean she’s gone for good—he could be hiding somewhere—but her car’s gone, and based on what I know of Muffy leaving Richmond, if she decides she wants to disappear, that’s exactly what she’ll do.
Even if she doesn’t have her clothes with her.
Or her phone, which I find lying in the middle of my bed.
Fuck.
It takes me forever, but I figure out Veda’s office number. I get her weekend answering service, convince them it’s an emergency, and they promise to immediately pass on the message that her best friend is missing.
And I’m out of ideas.
I’m so out of ideas that I need new ideas, so I head the one place I know I’ll find people who might be crazy enough to guess where I should check next.
The bunny bar.
I bang on the knocker, and the small, rectangular hatch at eye level slides open. “Password?”
“Shaved skates.”
“Wrong door.” The hatch slides shut, and what the hell?
They changed the password.
They changed the password.
I pull up my email and flip through for a note with the new password, but I don’t have anything from the bunny bar.
Seriously?
I hit my text messages and pull up the thread with Athena and Cassadee. Stuck outside the bunny bar. When did the password change? Got a problem. I need help.
I pace the street while I wait for an answer, and it takes a lot longer than I wish it did.
Fuck.
I’m supposed to be at practice.
Jesus.
This isn’t good.
Coach is gonna kill me. Coach is gonna kill me and make me wish Cranford had finished me off. I hit Lavoie’s number on my phone, and it goes straight to voicemail.
Klein’s number does too.
Shit shit shit.
Goodbye, hockey career.
Goodbye, woman of my dreams.
I dial Ares last, and when his voicemail message—a single grunt—hits my ear, I spill my guts. “Ares. Fuck. I forgot it’s practice time. Muffy’s gone. Like, disappeared gone. I can’t find her, and things went to shit because all the tabloids dug into her and exposed all of her secrets and I need to find her. I need to make sure she’s okay. Fuck. Fuck. I think I love her. No. No, I know I love her. I love her, man. I fucking love her so hard I hurt, and I’m worried about her, and she left her phone at my place and no one knows where she is, and I don’t care if she hates me or blames me—I really should’ve asked Daisy to make sure the gossip rags got the message that anyone who fucked with Muffy would…would… Shit. I don’t even know what Daisy could do to them, but I know Muffy wouldn’t be exposed like this if she was hanging out with anyone else and their family. I just—I just need to know she’s okay. If you’ve seen her, let me know. And can you tell Coach—shit. Never mind. I’ll tell him myself. I can man up. This is all on me.”
I hang up and shove my phone in my pocket, ready to turn around, get my car, and get my ass back to practice, when I realize I’m not alone.
Athena—or is that Cassadee?—is poking her head out of the bunny bar entrance.