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The two of them launched into a discussion about the benefits of using mathematical equations to throw the perfect ball while I fixated on my cell phone.
Maybe I should have gone with them. Max wasn’t my friend, and I certainly didn’t consider him family, but he was my blood. And the last thing I wanted was for him to be tangled up with the likes of Bryson Shaw. Even if he had brought this on himself.
But Nix didn’t text.
Not after a couple of minutes.
Not after ten minutes.
Not after thirty.
And by the time Celeste and Chloe had started their second game of bowling, the knot in my stomach was telling me something was very, very wrong.
