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Stumbling to a halt at the top of the stairs, I suck in deep breaths. I can do this. I can definitely do this.

Aldo waits patiently at my side, not pushing, just supporting, and I don’t know what to do with that. I’m obviously grateful, but at the same time, it’s annoying as hell that he’s so damn calm. Why isn’t he freaking out?

Pulling myself together, we start down the stairs. I avoided my parents after the meet yesterday—the last one of the season. We didn’t win. We weren’t having the greatest season anyway, and this week just topped it off. Aldo and I barely made it to any practices after Monday. With most evenings spent staking out Doug’s house, and days spent in classes, we were rarely in a state to swim.

Dad called right after the meet, but I told him I had a team meeting and meal but sneaked off campus with Aldo and hid out at Lane’s place. There’s no avoiding them anymore, though. I know they’ll already be in Rosalind Hall waiting for me.

Campus is alive with excitement, with students dressed up like they’re ready for the red carpet trailing the pathways around the common, following the fairy lights trailing between the trees. It looks beautiful.

Aldo squeezes my hand as we approach the open double doors in a silent show of support, and I look up at him and smile. I can’t help but wonder if tonight would have any less difficult without the events of this week. Lane and Doug might have been in attendance, but they wouldn’t have been able to spend any time with us.

“Hang on,” Aldo says, releasing my hand to fish his phone from his pocket. His brow creases as he swipes to answer. “Lane?”

My heart stutters and I step closer, trying to hear the other side of the conversation.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Aldo asks, looking at me with wide eyes.

I press my lips together, tugging his arm to bring the phone down between us.

“I mean,” Lane says. “I went home to shower and grab some food, and when I got back to Doug’s place, it’d been cleared out.”

“What?” I blurt out. “How?”

“I know.” Lane groans. “I was gone for half an hour. Half a fucking hour. I think he was waiting for me to leave.”

Aldo and I share a look before he asks, “He emptied his entire house in half an hour?”

“That’s just it,” Lane says. “I can see through his window that most of his furniture is still there, but it’s like a shell. You know what I mean?”

“So, maybe he’s just gone on a trip or something.”

“No. His photos, medals—all his personal shit . . . It’s gone. You don’t take that stuff on a trip.”

Aldo glances at the decorated hall then back to me. “I’m on my way. I’ll meet you at Doug’s place.”

My heart sinks as he hangs up. “I want to come, too.”

“I know.” He takes my hands, rubbing his thumbs over my knuckles. “You could always ditch the gig. Trey can cope, right?”

I consider this for a second, but it’s not just about the gig. I’ve been avoiding my parents all week and they’re inside waiting for me. “I’ll do as much of my set as I can, say hi to my folks and then meet you. I’ll call when I leave in case you’ve moved.”

Aldo nods, giving me a tight smile. “Sounds like a plan. Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I reassure him. And I will be. If fine is the same as being thrown into shark infested waters with a thousand cuts on your body.

He pulls me toward him and kisses me softly before stepping away. “Would you tell Wes I’m sick or something, please? I’ll call my parents from the road.”

“Sure. Text me if there’s any news, okay?”

I watch him jog away in the direction of the dorms before turning and taking a readying breath. Rosalind Hall is unrecognizable as I step inside. The decorations, in shades of green and gold, are draped from the windows and ceilings, with large circular tables taking up almost all the space.

There’s no point putting it off, so I head straight for the stage, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous in my life. This is one of the reasons I chose to show up literally the second before. There’s no way my parents can interrupt me while I’m on stage, so I should get at least an hour or so before having to deal with them.

When I reach my decks, a sliver of calm worms its way through my internal chaos. The feel of the buttons and faders beneath my fingers is comforting and familiar, and when I plug in my headphones, messing around with the levels, the world beyond the stage temporarily disappears. Trey was psyched when I told him he could take the second half of the evening, which means he gets the after-dinner party. I’m not planning on being here to see it.

Choosing low-key chill mixes, I wait a few minutes before letting my attention drift up to look out at the thickening crowd. The place is packed. I spot my parents at one of the tables, talking to Parker James’ parents, but I look away before they notice.

After half an hour or so, Dean Mason gives the welcoming address, and I sneak off to grab a soda. But that’s all there’s time for before the second half of my set begins. It’s not long enough, though. Every song is a countdown to the meal and the empty seat beside my parents.

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