Page 243 of Burn Bright

Eliot steals the paper from Tom’s loose grip, then glares at the words. “Not to admonish the missing, but our dear brother has the second most aggravating handwriting of us.” He passes the paper to Beckett. “Please.”

Beckett stares at the note and reads out loud, “‘I’m sorry. I love you. Thank you for being the best brothers…’” He can’t finish.

“Beckett,” Eliot forces.

I take the paper from him to read the rest. “‘Thank you for being the best brothers a little brother could ever hope for and have. I’ll write to you in a week. Don’t worry about me. You don’t need to find me. I need to be on my own.’” I manage to keep my voice level. “He ends with French and his name.”

Beckett says the French part to Eliot, then translates for me, “Forever your brother, Ben.”

Tom bows forward, his distraught face in his hands, then he pops out to say, “The granola, check—check the cupboards, Eliot Alice. See if he took his granola.” His voice cracks with his features. “Okay, we—we just follow the crumbs. We’ll find him if we follow the…” He collapses backward as he loses breath to speak, like he’s been shot in the chest.

It hurts so badly to watch. I’ve loved Ben for months. They’ve loved him for nineteen years.

Eliot sinks beside Tom. Wraps an arm around him. “There is no crumb we won’t follow, brother. Wewillfind him.”

“What about logging into his accounts?” I ask. “Seeing what flight he booked?”

“Our parents have people working on tracking him,” Beckett says, “but he might be untraceable. We don’t think he took a commercial flight. Or if he flew at all. No one knows how many people Ben has been in touch with or who they even are. He could’ve called in favors or paid people to discreetly get him where he needs to go.”

He’s broke, but maybe this is why. He always intended to move before the end of the semester. Maybe he paid them in advance.

“Did he leave you anything?” Beckett asks me.

I nod quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, a letter. You can read it in case you think he says anything that could help find him. Just…just be careful with the pressed flower.” I dig through my backpack in my arms, emotion clouding my gaze. My pulse is out of whack, and I end up losing grip and dumping half my things onto the floor. Tiny pieces of candy scatter everywhere. “Shit.” I kneel, finding the letter under spilt Jolly Ranchers. Ugh, I don’t want to fucking cry right now. I wipe my wet eyes with my bicep.

Beckett and Eliot crouch down to gather loose pieces of hard caramel candies and rolling jawbreakers. Then in slow-motion, I witness Beckett grabbing the slim blue box off the floorboards. How is this happening?You’re a mortal among gods, of course your luck is shit.I am being asphyxiated as Beckett and Eliot glance from the pregnancy test tome.

I snatch it from Beckett’s hands. “It’s just a precaution.”

“So you don’t think you are?”

“I don’t know, dude. I haven’t taken it yet.” I sound defensive. Can they tell I’m scared?

“Taken what?” Tom stands from the couch, spotting the pregnancy test in my clutch. He goes motionless. We’re bothgrimacing. Then he falls back on the cushions. “What else is going to be thrown at us? An earthquake?”

Eliot scrapes a hand along his hard jawline. “Ben,” he says roughly, then looks to Beckett. “Our little brother was having unprotected sex.”

“I’m on the pill,” I shoot back.

“Did you miss a day?” Beckett questions.

I burn up. “No.No.” I pick myself up to my feet. They follow suit, towering and staring down at me like I’myoungand inexperienced. Possibly because I’m with their youngest brother. I don’t know what it’s like to have older siblings—or really, siblings at all. “Like I said, it’s just a precaution.”

Eliot shakes his head hotly, his gaze on my flat belly. “Ben couldn’t have known. If he hadanyidea that he got you pregnant, he would’ve never left you.”

It confirms that I could’ve done more. I nearly double over. I swallow all the brimming pain. “Well, I didn’t tell him,” I snap, then I hand Beckett the letter. “I’m probably not pregnant. I didn’t want to manipulate Ben.”

“You’re better than me,” Eliot paces toward the kitchen, then back, each footfall scalding the floor. “I would’ve told him I have a terminal illness. That I expect him to bury me in three weeks with his own hands or else I’d haunt his ass for fucking eternity.”

“Or maybe I’m worse,” I rasp. “Because I didn’t…”I didn’t do enough.

“He was going to leave,” Beckett rationalizes. “We did what we could when we could.”

I peer down at the pregnancy test, inhaling a deeper breath. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Why is she asking—why are you asking?” Eliot says to me, standing still. “Has this not been your home the past few weeks?”

Don’t cry, Harriet.He’s basically saying this fact doesn’t change if Ben is gone, but it feels like everything does. “Thanks,” I mumble, darting to the powder room. I’m shaking as I rip open the box.