Anton's POV
My knuckles turned white against the steering wheel as I cruised down Sienna Avenue for the third time tonight.
Still nothing.
Ezekiel's beat-up pickup was nowhere to be found, and he sure as hell wasn't answering his phone.
I'd already hit every spot I could think of - the school parking lot, that old park where we used to practice throws, even the sketchy corner by the twenty-four hour mart where he sometimes went to clear his head. Every location turned up empty.
His voicemail kept picking up after two rings, and each time I heard that automated message, something twisted tighter in my gut.
This wasn't just about our blowout anymore.
This was about everything falling apart at once.
Ezekiel's expression when he'd stormed off into the night.
Ximena's hand connecting with Kane's face in front of half the school.
The party crowd that had shifted from hyping up our fight to gossiping about us like we were their personal entertainment.
