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'I'm not going to text again. Ever again. Bye, Ez. Wishing you the best- as ever.'
I set the phone down, realizing a few seconds later that I'm gasping for air.
"Fuck. FUCK!"
I get out of my car. Smash my fist into the window before I can think that’s not a good idea. I stuff my throbbing hand into my pocket, praying that I didn’t hurt it too bad. A groan comes from deep in my chest, so I cover my mouth with my free hand.
“God.”
I pat my pocket for the cigarettes I haven't had in months. I fucking whimper.
"God. Oh God." I lean over, hands on my knees, feeling like I'm gonna get sick—but I haven't eaten since the game. I rest my forehead against the car's cool side.
Breathe, I tell myself. Just breathe.
I want to scream. I want to break something. I get back in the Jeep and hold the wheel with sweating, trembling hands. I want to sob, but nothing comes out. I feel like I'm choking.
He was mine.
He loved me!
MILLER!
I didn't goddamn dream it. I really wasn’t crazy.
I fumble in the Jeep's glove box, finding the Ziplock I keep there. I put it over my mouth and breathe until I'm not as dizzy.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was right! GODDAMMNIT!
I check his Snapchat. Nothing. He stopped snapping. I check the gay snap for the university and—nothing. I check his friend Daniel.
There's some snaps of a dark sidewalk. Then a big house. I screenshot the thing, zoom in on the house. It's...lit up. It's lit up like a frat house. With fumbling fingers, I search Auburn's frat houses on my phone.
That's when I feel the clawing feeling. Impatience. Desire. Frenzy—to get to him. That's what this feeling was all along. Needing him. I needed Miller, and I tried to leave myself a note. It just didn't work.
Four
Ezra
If he's with his friend Daniel, Miller's at a big, brick frat house at the bottom of a sloping hill about a block from campus. The driveway is a thin ribbon of concrete rolling like a red carpet alongside a thick wall of pine trees. Out to the right of the driveway, a cloud-covered moon reflects pale light off the flat surface of a pond.
It didn't take me long to find this place; it’s the house Mills has been at for a few months.
Before I left my car, I pulled a ball cap over my head and threw on a hoodie. Now I'm one of maybe two dozen shadowy figures walking down the driveway toward the bumping bass of party music. As I walk, my heart racing and my hands stuffed in my pockets, someone lights some tiki torches around the pond one by one.
I blink at them with tears in my eyes. Then I swallow, blink again, and lock my jaw up.
Might not even be here, I tell myself.
I curl my hands into fists and flex them in my hoodie pocket, spreading the fingers out. Maybe I shouldn't surprise him—if he is here. I’m pretty sure the apartment complex next door is his. I could probably find him if I looked hard and was willing to ask around. I could wait there.
But the thought of that makes my blood run cold. What if he didn't come home tonight? What if I can't find him?
I want to check out every lead I have. I thought of calling...and I guess I still could. But I don't want to do this in a phone call. Ten bucks says he won't even talk to me. Not after what happened.
Tears again.
Keep it on lockdown, dude. You've got this.
I'm just gonna find him. Try to. If I have to pull my hat off and use my face to get people to talk to me...I'll do it.
Deep breaths.
The driveway flattens out. There's a bunch of people on the lawn, some girl doing a handstand. I see some stuff glint near the pond and realize...it's kegs? I try to picture myself chilling as an Auburn student, drinking beer and sitting by this pond—but I can't. Football is my world.
Football and Miller.
Bass is bumping somewhere behind the house, making the humid, cold November air vibrate. As soon as I get to the porch, two guys spill out the door, talking loudly. I'm trying to look nonchalant as their eyes swing to my face. One of them opens his mouth like a fish out of water. The guy beside him laughs.
"Well holy shit. What have we here?"
I tip my hat at them. "Just looking for a friend."
"You got no friends here, Masters."
Then they both start laughing. A third guy comes out the door, making my stomach lurch, but they fill him in without getting overly loud about it, and that guy says, "Who ya looking for, Bama? Fuck you for running it in at the end of second."
