Page 235 of End Game

“Until two.”

“That explains it.”

“What explains what?”

“The fact that you sound like you've been smoking gravel.”

“Some people pay for this voice.”

“Yeah, I've heard.”

I don’t respond.

He keeps talking like he didn't notice.

“So why didn't you call me?”

There it is.

I lean my hip against the island.

“I figured the whole thing backstage was mostly post-show adrenaline.”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“I told you to use my number because I wanted you to use my number.”

“I understand how phones work.”

“Evidence suggests otherwise.”

I laugh. “Fair.”

There's a brief pause on his end, and when he speaks again, the tone changes.

Not dramatically.

Just enough that I know we're done fucking around.

“I've got something I want to talk to you about.”

Every nerve in my body wakes up. “Okay.”

“You ever hear of the Lanternway Youth Project?”

“No.”

“They’re a Chicago-based nonprofit. Emergency housing, counseling, school support, legal referrals. Mostly LGBTQ kids who got kicked out, aged out, or don't have anywhere safe to go.”

My grip tightens around the phone.

“Okay.” That one comes out different.

Austin ignores the change of tone.

“We're doing a benefit for them in February. Concert, auction, some donor shit I let other people understand.”