Blair didn't move for several seconds. And when he did, the only thing that came to mind was throwing his beer bottle into the recycling bin so hard that it shattered. A juvenile and pointless outburst.
…
When Blair turned up at practice on Monday morning, something in the locker room had changed. Everyone was talking in hushed voices, sharing whispers back and forth, eyes downcast.
His heart clenching with fear, Blair hurried over to Eli, seeking him out while everyone else in the room tried their hardest not to make eye contact with him.
"Eli," he said, trying not to sound as worried as he felt. "What's going
on?"
Eli blinked, widening one eye Blair's way. "What, you haven't heard yet?"
Blair shook his head, silent.
"It's Tarasov. He didn't turn up for practice today. He's just gone."
