Page 242 of Burn Bright
I’m stuck on how Beckett and Tomsprintdown the hall.
I gather my stuff off the ground as Tom charges for the door. While he unlocks it, he’s speaking to me, but I just nod a ton, unsure of what he’s saying. Seeing their urgency, their fear for their little brother up close, I’m not processing this well.
I still wear his ballcap. I’m hugging a backpack with a pregnancy test, his stuffed animal son, and a goodbye letter—and all this time, I had the piece of the puzzle, the one morsel of info, that could’ve kept Ben here for his own good.
I knew he planned to move.
And I never told anyone.
Guilt and turmoil crash against me, and as Tom disappears inside, I train my focus on helping.Find Ben. Find Ben.It’s mission critical.
Except as I step forward, I freeze right outside the apartment. I’ve never really been here without Ben. The door swings back in my face, until Beckett clasps the frame.
He’s standing just inside the doorway.
His sweaty hair falls over a rolled blue bandana. His skin reddened like he rubbed makeup off in the car ride here. He pushes the door open wider for me with his back. Letting me inside. Waiting for me.
Remorse, guilt, anguish contort my face. “I knew.I knew, Beckett. He told me he planned to leave New York. I should’ve told you. I should’ve said something?—”
“You couldn’t have known what he was really thinking,” Beckett says deeply. “Trust me, you aren’t the only one revisiting every conversation you’ve had.” He does this thing where he tries to pick up my gaze off the floor. He chases after it, and it reminds me ofBen.Is everything going to remind me of him?
I set a harsher, narrowed look on Beckett to steel myself. “We’ll find him. We have to find him.”
He says a single word in French, then tells me, “Together.” He stretches his arm into the apartment, showing me the way.
I go inside, Beckett right behind me. He flicks on the kitchen lights. Tom is rummaging around the couch, searching for any signs or clues.
The apartment is spotless. Like Ben was careful not to interact with any object, any of their possessions, anything he could accidentally break before he left.
My stomach bubbles with nausea again. Especially as Beckett finds a piece of paper and a phone beside the espresso machine.
“He left his phone?” I shake my head at myself, furious with myself. I take off his hat in a huff and shake out my bangs.He left his phone.He never lied to me. He basically insinuated he’d go off the grid, but I thought he’d eventually come back! I thought he’d commune with nature, find whatever he was searching for, and stay in touch with his family.
This…this is notthat.
“Unlock it, Beckett Joyce,” Tom says hopefully. “We can check his texts.”
Beckett has a hand to his eyes.
“What?” Tom’s voice spikes. “Open it, dude. His passcode is the day Pip-Squeak died. Or try—try Harry’s birthday. Ten-thirteen. Tryten-thirteen.”
I think Tom is seconds from vaulting over the kitchen island to steal the phone, but Beckett quickly tells him, “He wiped it.”
“No, no,” Tom shakes his head aggressively. “You-you aren’t trying hard enough. You have to try the passcode.”
Beckett approaches Tom at the couch, just to hand him the phone. I join them as Tom turns on the cellphone. A welcome screen stares back. His face fractures for a brutal beat.
The air thickens with tension, making it harder and harder to breathe. “What’s the paper say?” I ask, just as the door flies open.
Eliot storms inside, shrugging off his peacoat quickly like he’s up in flames. Torched to a deadly, incinerating degree. “Any word on Charlie?”
“He’s in Prague for the weekend,” Beckett answers, as Tom snatches the paper out of his hand. “He delayed his trip lastnight when we went to the frat.” So Charlie is in Prague right now?Great.That helps us…not at all.
I watch Tom skim the note, and he staggers dazedly backward, then drops down to the couch.
“What’s it say?” I ask Tom, but he’s staring off into space, incoherent.
Beckett’s eyes are reddened.
