Page 147 of Burn Bright

My lips twitch into a bigger smile as I type out a reply.

Ben Cobalt

Is Harold still available?

She offered her car to me yesterday—but I declined because I’m six fucking five and it’s asedan.

Harriet Fisher

Rescinded. I cannot be the cause for early onset back issues.

I laugh even harder. Fuck.

Harriet Fisher

Greek Row might be your best bet…unfortunately.

Yeah, the frat. It was one of our first ideas that we brainstormed together, but I threw it out because I’m not sure I want to be surrounded by Greek life. It comes with a lot more than just a bed to sleep on.

I check the time on my phone. Shit, I have to go.

I text Harriet quickly.

Ben Cobalt

You might be right. Talk after dinner.

She likes the text, and I slip the phone in my pocket before heading toward the dining room. I take my place at my usual seat.

Five Wednesdays have passed since I buried Theodore. Five Wednesdays where every single one of my siblings showed up to dinner. Even Beckett, whose presence at these things is more like a warm spell during the winter. Infrequent but appreciated. I always thought I’d be more likely to see a California Condor than Beckett at five dinners in a row.

And here we are, at numbersix.

He’s seated in the chair across from mine. There’s no real assigned seating on Wednesday nights except for the heads of the table reserved for our parents. Their chairs are currently empty, and dinner doesn’t officially start until they arrive.

With all my siblings here again tonight, carrying on their perfect attendance streak, tension has amassed. I can’t shake it. Not when they exchange side glances and cagey looks between each other.

Ever since I assaulted Tate, their concern for me has been in my face. Apparent. Visible. But tonight, I sense a weird shift.

There is a hold-your-breath strain in the air. Like each sibling is balanced on a sharp edge of worry.

Did they discover I’m broke? Or that I’m currently searching for housing? I have no clue, but they’ve learnedsomething.

Maybe,just maybe, this has absolutely nothing to do with me. Except, I’m being left out of the shared glimpses, which is usually a telltale sign that I’m the topic of fixation. I won’t be surprised if they throw self-helppamphlets at my face tonight. The pages would probably be generically inspirational. Since it’s not like anyone knows I’m on a countdown to say goodbye to New York. Right?

Fuck, please tell me they haven’t figured out the plan.

Anxious heat gathers under my white collegiate tee, and I almost check my phone to reread texts from Harriet. Instead, I chug some water from a crystal goblet.

I try my best to not be swept back to last week when I saw Beckett in the kitchen. To not remember him scrubbing at his red, raw skin. The visual sinks a rock straight down to my gut. It screams at me to buy a plane ticket tomorrow, but we’re only in the last week of September.

And Harriet—I can’t wrap my head around leaving her abruptly when she’s faced so much abandonment in her life. Hell, I can’t really concentrate on leaving herat all.It wedges a fucking pain in my ribs, and I’d rather just focus on the good.

Good news:the frat is a viable option, and I could potentially move out of my brothers’ apartment really soon. I’m just weighingwhenI should drop this information. Telling everyone at a Wednesday Night Dinner is the equivalent of setting off a firework inside the house. Not sure I’m ready for those flames.

I glance at Beckett again.

He came straight from rehearsal today, so he didn’t have time to change out of his black tights and a casual white T-shirt. He shovels some green beans onto his plate.