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He tried again.
Same result.
He typed out a message, Hey, babe, you on your way? Hit send.
And waited.
It was quarter to when he forced himself to get up and go over to Joq’s parents. To the crew from the stadium. Not a word. And everyone exchanged looks that said what he was thinking—something’s happened.
Joq was over an hour late when Chris called Terry.
“Terry,” he said as soon as she picked up, “Can you send someone round to my place and check if Joaquin’s there. Then call your contact at the hospital and check if anyone matching his description has come in, and check as well what’s going on around the place tonight, you’ve still got that friend in the dispatch office?”
“I can have security at yours in five, and I’ll call the other two.”
“Thanks,” he hung up, ran a hand through his hair.
“He’s probably fine,” Brendan said in the most unconvincing tone Chris had ever heard from him.
“He’s an hour and a half late,” Chris said low. “He’s never late. Never. He’s not answering his phone.”
“Alright, well, no need to jump to the morgue,” Brendan said.
Chris stared at him. He didn’t know what to say.
“Jesus, babe,” Tegan said. “What do you want us to do?” she asked Chris.
His phone rang. His heart pounded as he lifted it. Not Joq. Terry.
“Yep,” he said.
“No one at your place. Waiting on my contacts to get back to me after they do a deeper dive, but nothing out of the ordinary on first contact.”
“Okay, thanks, keep checking.”
“Excuse me,” he said to Tegan and Brendan and went to speak to Joq’s parents and friends again. It was a blur—their concern mirrored his own but all he could think was he needed to get it together, he needed to remain calm because something had clearly happened and he needed to be in control when it came time to deal with it. He was assaulted with images of hospitals, accidents—no.
“I’ll drive you home,” Brendan said.
“Yeah, if we get a call, then we can…”
“Yep,” Brendan clapped him on the shoulder.
Chris tried Joq again. It rang out. He kept on trying the whole drive home.
“Hey,” Brendan said as they wound down his driveway. Chris looked up and met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but he ghosted you once before, so do you think—”
“Brendan!” Tegan said and hit him on the arm from where she was sitting in the passenger’s seat.
Chris felt the life drain from him. Could it be that? No, of course not, they bloody well lived together. They were renovating. They had a life together.
He shook his head, but he couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat.
Once he got inside and finished searching the place for himself, he called Terry again. He told her to call everyone on repeat—Joq’s work, his friends, his parents, his gym in case he’d turned up there for some reason—and to call the police.
“They won’t do anything unless it’s been twenty-four hours,” she said apologetically.
He hung up and gripped his head in his hands.
