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Brendon: I don't know.
Walker: Fuck. You better figure that out.
Brendon: Take care of Em, okay.
Walker: Good luck.
I slide my phone into my pocket and make my way back to the venue.
But it's already closed. Lights off. Everybody—even the crew—is gone.
I call Kaylee.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
I shoot her a text.
Brendon: Where are you?
Nothing.
Chapter Forty-Three
Brendon
The house is dark.
The only sound is coming from upstairs. From Kaylee's bedroom.
She's crying.
Fuck, I've never been this happy to hear someone crying.
I nearly run up the stairs.
Nearly break her door pushing it open.
She's curled up in her bed in the dark.
Hugging her knees.
Blinking back another set of tears.
"Kay." I sit next to her. Rub her shoulder with my palm. I need to fix this. Somehow.
"I'm sorry." She pulls her knees into her chest. "She asked. And I wanted to lie, but I couldn't. I couldn't say anything. I just stared."
This is my fault. This whole fucking thing is my fault.
Em is right.
