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“I can’t believe we ran into each other here,” she exclaims, and holds out her hand, which I take and play along with her.

“I’m having lunch with my nephew. Paul, this is my housemate, Lark. Lark, Paul.”

I turn my attention to the man, and my soul leaves my body. He’s not here by coincidence, and Maria realizes he’s an impostor too.

Before I sit, I covertly send Mav a one-word message.

Chapter 31

Maverick Maher

Seeing Sky’s text helps me relax.

Me: Send juicy details

I tuck my cell away and board the plane, not expecting an answer for hours. I’ve been wound up for no reason and hope to nap on the plane. Brant takes his seat next to me, and I’m tempted to ask him to come clean with what he’s going through.

When I met Rhys Brant, he was a fun-loving jokester. But as the season has gone on, he’s become surly. I’m not good at getting people to spill their secrets, so I offer him a fist bump.

“I got your back if you need me.” We touch knuckles, and his shoulders drop an inch.

“Thanks, Mav.” He turns his body at a weird angle away from the aisle. “I’m fine. Getting my head on straight to kick some LA Stars’ ass.”

“On board for that plan. Blow in with a winning streak and go home.”

This can’t be happening. The dance party around me is in full swing, but one word on my screen has all my attention.

Kiwi

He sent the text hours ago, but I didn’t check because, because… FUCK.

Before I panic, I call Sky and get sent directly to voicemail. I dial Maria and get her voicemail as well.

“Dude, get dressed.” Brant clamps my shoulder and studies me. “What the fuck happened?” he asks, sitting.

“This will sound crazy, but Sky texted his safe word, and we jokingly said we’ll use them in an emergency.” I breathe in, and to his credit, Brant doesn’t dismiss it. “His word is kiwi.” I turn my phone so he can see it.

“Fuck.” Brants stares at it. “Did you call him?”

“Him and our upstairs neighbor. Both went to voicemail.” My throat closes, and it’s hard to get the words out. My head is so messed up; the game is the last thing on my mind.

“Okay. Don’t panic, there could be lots of explanations. Does he have security cameras you can tap into?”

Thankfully, I remember I have Sky’s location. The dressing room disappears as I wait for the app to show me where Sky is.

His phone shows he’s home, so I call again.

Straight to voicemail.

I call Maria, and someone picks up but hangs up.

There are a billion rational reasons they are home but aren’t answering. There are several keypads, so it’s not as if someone could randomly get into his house.

Sky picked kiwi because it’s not a word he uses in normal conversation, but he could’ve typed it by accident. That’s the story I’m telling myself so I don’t hop on a plane home.

Home.

Sky went out of his way to make his brownstone ours, and it feels like home. But it’s not home without him.