Brayden’s head comes up. “You know about him?”

“Yeah, I know him,” I growl. “I went to Vanderbilt with him. We played football together.”

“Yeah, well, your football buddy raped Echo.”

I shoot to my feet. “I never said he was my fucking buddy,” I rasp. “I caught him trying to molest this girl, and I put him in here—” I gesture at the ER, “for three days. Echo told me something happened with Marcus, but she wouldn’t tell me what exactly.” I tumble backward, falling heavily into the chair.

“She wouldn’t. She doesn’t talk about it. She reported him; he got a week’s suspension from school and football. That was it. And believe it or not, it was more than others in his position have gotten. She refused to leave her dorm room for two weeks straight. She nearly flunked out of three classes, missed a bunch of gigs, and lost about twenty pounds because she wouldn’t eat. I had to—” He cuts off, stares between his feet, and then continues. “I had to break into her room and bribe her with shots of whiskey to get her to eat. She’s always had a penchant for trying to drink her problems away, but never this bad. She’d go on a bender for a few days, but she’d always snap out of it. I thought she’d snap out of this, too.”

“She’s been drinking, then?”

He laughs bitterly. “She hasn’t been sober since she got back from Texas, Ben.” He runs stiffened fingers through his hair. “We’re close, I mean, I’m closer to her than pretty much anyone else in her life, but even I have only so much influence over her. I didn’t even know what happened to her, at first. When her mom died, I mean. She just vanished. We were supposed to meet for drinks and she never showed up. Wouldn’t answer her phone. Wouldn’t return texts. So finally I threatened to report her missing if she didn’t at least tell me what the fuck was going on. You know what I got from her?” He gives another dark, mirthless bark of laughter. “I got four words in a text message: ‘Mom’s dead. Stay there.’”

“So when shit gets heavy she shuts down.”

“Exactly,” Brayden says.

I shake my head slowly. “I guess I’m glad that it’s not just me she shuts out, then.”

“No, it’s definitely not just you.” Brayden glances at me sidelong. “She never said a word about you after she got back. Not till what she said earlier, on the stage, before she…yeah. She blamed it all on her mom dying. But there was something else, I just couldn’t figure out what, and she wouldn’t talk about it. Even to me, she even shut me out.” He sighs, and it’s part sob. “I shouldn’t have left her alone. She was drinking so much, but I thought she’d snap out of it. I thought—I thought—”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Brayden. You can’t make someone trust you.”

He turns to me, clutches at me. It’s awkward, because I’d thought he was straight, but the way he’s wrapping his arms around me and crying on my shoulder doesn’t feel that way, which has me baffled and uncomfortable. I pat his shoulder a few times until he lets go and moves away.

“Sorry, sorry.” He sniffles, wipes at his eyes with his middle fingers. “I should have kept a better eye on her. I should have seen how bad it was. I should have done something. She’s all I have, her and the rest of the band. My family disowned me after I came out as bi, and she never even flinched when I told her. She just accepted me as I am, even though we’d had our own little…whatever you want to call it. We had a thing when we first met, just so you know. That’s long over, though.”

I frown. “Wait, you and Echo…?”

He nods, his head tilted sideways, sniffling. “Yeah. One time, a few weeks after we met. She didn’t know I was bi. I told her afterward, and we were both like, yeah, we’re better off as friends. And that’s what it’s been ever since. She didn’t care, she just didn’t want that for herself, you know? Which I get. It’s not for everyone, but it works for me. Usually.”

“You know, you’ve told me more about Echo in the last five minutes than I found out in the entire three days we spent together.”

“That’s not surprising. It’s just how she is.”

“It’s a sucky way to be, if you’re trying to get to know her,” I say.

Brayden sighs. “Yeah, it really is.” He glances at me. “You obviously care about her, so I’ll tell you this, just…as an FYI, I suppose. She’s not a long-term type of girl. She never has been, and I doubt she ever will be. She’s been hurt too many times, in too many ways. She’s my best friend, my family, basically. But she’s not good with relationships of any kind. She just won’t let herself ask for anything. She keeps everything locked inside and just…doesn’t share.”

“She cried. About her mom, with me.”

“Damn, she did?” Brayden seems shocked. “I’ve never seen her cry. As we’ve covered, she shuts down. Gets wasted. Gets crazy, writes these raw, intense songs and sings the fuck out of ’em. That’s how she gets it all out. The one thing she doesn’t do is cry.”

“After the funeral, I was leaving, and she just hijacked my cab. Got in and ordered the driver to take us to the nearest bar. And she got just…colossally shitfaced literally in a matter of minutes.”

Brayden laughs. “Yeah, that’s my girl. She can put away the whiskey like no one else. Especially when she’s in a mood, you know?”

“Well, she was in a mood. She got to the point where she was just…gone. So I brought her back to my place. She got crazy, and tried…well, I’m sure you can guess. But eventually she passed out. And when she woke up, she just started…sobbing isn’t even the right word. She just lost it. So, yeah. That’s how we met.”

“Your story has some gaps in it, my friend.”

I shrug. “Not everything needs to be explained.”

“True enough.” He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, wrists dangling loosely, his posture a strange, confusing mix of sexual orientation. Whatever, it’s not like it matters to me, as long as he doesn’t try to hit on me. He glances at me sideways. “Just be aware, whatever happens from here on out, that she may not ever open up, okay? I’ve known her for almost four years, and she still shuts me out.”




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