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I grab Sloane’s phone back from Avery and press call on my contact, holding her phone in one hand and my own in the other. Hers shows that it’s calling me, but the screen of my own never lights up with an incoming call.
Now thoroughly confused, I mash the end call button on Sloane’s phone, pulling up her contact on my own and trying the same thing. It says I’m calling her, but her phone doesn’t ring.
And a realization slams into me so hard that I stumble back a step, falling into one of the leather chairs positioned in front of my desk.
There’s something wrong with our phones.
“What’s going on?” Avery asks, taking a cautious step toward me.
I barely even hear her over the pounding of my own frantic pulse, blood rushing to my ears as I navigate to the messaging app on Sloane’s phone, typing my name into the search bar. My contact comes up and I click on it to view the texts exchanged between us, but my message from yesterday isn’t there… a long string of her own texts are, though.
Thanks to cloud storage, they go back years- hundreds of texts that she sent, but I never received. A strange numbness settles over me as I start to read through the first handful that were sent after she left town, my heart tripping over its valves.
Sloane:Madd, please talk to me. I miss you. I love you.
Sloane:Is this how it’s going to be? You’re just going to pretend I don’t exist? Out of sight, out of mind, huh?
Sloane:Just tell me you’re okay.
Sloane:You’re killing me, Duke. Don’t do this.
Sloane:I LOVE YOU. I’M SORRY. JUST PICK UP THE PHONE!
Sloane:Fine. I don’t need you either. Have a nice life, douchebag.
Sloane:I didn’t mean that. You know how much I love you. Please answer me.
My chest tightens as I scroll through Sloane’s messages, feeling like I’m intruding on a journal full of her private confessions.Yearsof them. She sent texts to say how much she missed me. How she loved me. How she still thought about me. Congratulating me for becoming Alpha. For taking over the squad. Years of accomplishments that she followed and tried to reach out to me about, only to never receive a reply.
All this time, I thought she ghosted me. I treated her like garbage because of it. But as it turns out, I ghostedher, too.
The pain that comes with this discovery is one thing. The rage is another beast entirely. It bubbles beneath my veins until I’m practically vibrating with fury, my inner wolf rattling my cage and skin tingling with the urge to shift.
“Madd, talk to me,” Avery urges, but I’m just staring blankly at the phone in my hand, my eyes glazing over.
“How did she get shot?” I murmur, my voice a dull monotone.
Avery blows out a slow breath. “It was just a stupid accident,” she mutters. “She was out in the woods during the drill and Luke Jenkins confused her white shirt for a target.”
I tighten my grip around the cell phone in my hand.
“Find Jenkins,” I growl, pushing up from the chair. Because finding out that the past eight years of my life have been a lie is going to take some time to unpack, but there’s an easy place to aim my rage in the meantime. “And the rifle he was using for the drill,” I add as I stalk toward the door to leave my office. “Bring them both here.”
“Where are you going?” my sister asks, scrambling after me.
“To bring Sloane her phone back,” I reply calmly. I pause in the doorway, turning to face her. “Jenkins and the gun,now.”
“Yeah, okay,” she breathes, nodding.
Avery follows me out of my office, the two of us taking off in opposite directions. I storm through the corridors of the complex until I reach the infirmary, busting through the door without a second thought.
I belatedly remember that Avery said Sloane’s parents were here with her, but by some stroke of luck, they aren’t anymore. Lo and Ares are, though. They’re both posted up in chairs beside the cot Sloane is lying in, all three of them whipping their heads around to look toward the door in startled surprise when I shove it open.
Sloane’s green eyes meet mine and a brutal pain pierces my chest, like it’s about to crack open and bleed.
There are so many things I need to say to her, starting with a big fucking apology. I should grovel, fuckingbegSloane to forgive me for the way I’ve put her through the wringer since she came back to town, but right now, I’m just so fuckingmadthat I can’t see past my own anger to explain myself to her.
So instead, I just cross the room and hand her phone back. Then I give her my own.
