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I race for the bank of elevators just as the doors on one slide closed, and start thumping the buttons for the next one just as my phone starts buzzing.

Thinking it might be her, I bring it up to my eyes, then scowl as I press to take the call.

“What do you want, Harson?”

“I want to know what the hell is going on here, son. I’ve just been sent an early copy of a story so that I can make a comment and… Shit, you sure have got some explaining to do.”

I don’t have time for this. “I don’t explain, Harson. I play ball. And I do it fucking well. If you have a problem with that—”

“It’s not your ball playing I have a problem with, Jackson. It’s your… Shit, I don’t know how to put this. Are you screwing your own sister?”

“No.”

I hang up the phone. I don’t have time for his bullshit. If that’s what people are saying… If that’s what’s scared Mina into leaving… I need to find her. And I need to find her fast.

We’re not breaking any laws here. We’re both adults…consenting adults.

Or are we?

I cant afford to think like that. So she hit her head and had amnesia. Somewhere inside, she still wanted all this. It just gave her the opportunity to take it, that’s all. I saw her diary, I saw herdrawings. We were always meant to be together and we both knew it.

As the elevator dings to tell me it’s reached my floor, my phone buzzes again. A text this time. I open it and get a photograph of the two of us, locked in each other’s arms, my hand cupping her crotch as her eyes roll back.

And Harson’s message:You’re finished. This is a total embarrassment for me. I’m going to make sure you go round 50 in the draft now, and your dad can forget all about me bailing him out. I can’t have my players fucking their own sisters. Jesus. Bad press, Jackson. Bad fucking press.

I growl as I step onto the elevator. Whatever. The whole world can burn as far as I’m concerned. So long as I have her in my arms, that’s all that matters.

“Hold up. Hold the elevator, please.”

I glance up to see a slightly portly porter heading my way with a rack of clothes, and on instinct I thrust out an arm to stop the doors closing. Then tap out a reply on my phone.

Me: Fuck your deal and fuck you, Harson.

The porter grins as he enters. “Thanks, man. Hey, you’re Jackson—”

“Yeah, go Trojans,” I say flatly, not wanting to get into some hero worship thing. “Going up?”

“I spoke to your girlfriend. Ten minutes ago, maybe fifteen. She seems nice. Sweet, you know?”

“Where is she?” I demand, putting my foot in the way to stop the doors from closing.

“I…don’t know. Something up?”

“Yeah, something’s up. I need to know where she is. Right fucking now.” I pull out my phone, remembering I have both her phone and the frog necklace in the tracking app.

I tap the screen as he chatters and I wait for the location to load.

“Well…I saw her in the lobby, I went to get the elevator, but then I remembered I needed the passkey, so I went back to the front desk and that’s when I saw her—”

“Just get to the point!” I grab his collar as the little icon spins on my phone. “Where. Is. She?”

“Saw her heading for the bar and pool area,” he says with a shrug. “She was with someone.”

With someone?

This day just gets weirder and weirder. If she’s forgotten who she is again and gone off with some man she just met, I’m going to be arrested for murder. Mom and Dad will get back from their second honeymoon to find out their kids have fornicated and their son, well, he’s doing twenty to life.

Welcome home.