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What the fuck is going on?
She’s obviously running, but why? Jazz is a smart girl, and her survival instincts are spot on. What could’ve possibly made her feel so desperate to do something so reckless? With no phone and no ride, she couldn’t have gone far. I stash her phone in my pocket, head back to my car, and dial Bentley as soon as I start the engine.
“Yo, bro, what’s up? You home from the party?”
“Is she with you?”
Bent’s silent for a moment, probably trying to figure out why I’m yelling at him. “Is who with me?”
“C’mon, man, don’t fuck with me. Is Jazz with you? Did she call you?”
“Dude. Back the fuck up. I thought Jazz went with you to the party. Why would she be with me?”
I grit my teeth. “She did. But Reed and my sister drove her home because I was held up with my dad. By the time I got to Jazz’s, she was gone, and I have no idea where she went.”
“So? Track her phone. Problem solved.”
I slam my hand on the steering wheel. “I can’t fucking track her phone because she intentionally left it in her bedroom. What does that tell you, Fitzgerald?”
“That she’s ghosting you.” He clears his throat. “What’d you do, dickhead?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I shout. “Well, not anything she could possibly know about, anyway.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Fuck!” I step on the gas as soon as I pull out of our gated community. “Are you home? We’re going hunting for feisty princesses. I’ll explain everything when I get there.”
“Word. Give me just a few, and I’ll meet you out front.” He belts out a laugh, although, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what he’d find so amusing. “Oh, and Davenport?”
“What?”
“You might want to rethink that little nickname you have for her. Because by the way she rules your ass, Jazz is a motherfucking queen.”
I grunt. “Just hurry up and get ready.”
I hang up the phone and continue the short drive to Bentley’s house, thinking about his parting comment the entire way. He’s not wrong—Jazz is a motherfucking queen. But he left out one very important distinction.
She’s my motherfucking queen.
***
“What are you going to do now?” Bentley unfastens his seat belt as I pull in front of his house.
We’ve been driving all over the place for the last three hours. Bent and I stopped at every nearby park and twenty-four-hour business in the area, which was limited to gas stations, a diner, and a pharmacy, but there was no sign of Jazz anywhere. Reed was stationed in front of Jazz’s house just in case she came home, and Ains hung out in my pool house in case Jazz showed up there. About fifteen minutes ago, Ainsley called to tell me that Jazz had reached out to her. Jazz blocked the number she was calling from, but she said she was safe for the night and that she’d talk to Ainsley tomorrow. My sister immediately relayed the message to me, so we’d call off the search.
The fact that I have no idea where she could be pisses me off. It makes me realize I don’t know much about Jazz’s life before she moved here. She’s never mentioned any friends from her old neighborhood, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have any. Ainsley said Jazz and that dickhead ex of hers had a pretty friendly vibe—which that in itself really shakes up the hornet’s nest inside of me—but my sister doesn’t think Jazz was with him when she called.
Whatever Jazz said to her gave Ainsley the impression that she’s crashing in a hotel for the night, which marginally settles me. I don’t think Jazz would go through the trouble of contacting my sister, knowing she’d be worried about her if she wasn’t genuinely safe. I don’t understand why Jazz didn’t call me, though, and why she ran in the first place. It’s driving me nuts. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll get those answers until I corner Jazz, which I have every intention of doing later on this morning.
I rub at the knot forming in the back of my neck. “The one thing I’m sure of is that Jazz won’t miss spending the day with her sister. We pick her up at eleven every Sunday morning, so if Jazz doesn’t come home before then, I’m going to camp out in front of Belle’s house until she shows up there. One way or the other, I’ll get to her.”
“I hate saying this, but you know I’m gonna give it to you straight.”
I make a spit it out motion with my hand.
Bentley shrugs. “I think you fucked up... at the party, I mean.”
“How did I fuck up? I was doing exactly what we went there to do. And I made more progress in a couple of hours than I have in the last two years. My dad’s finally letting me in. He put a lot of trust in me by bringing me to that house.”
