DEAN

 

I unhook the leash from Tyler’s horse of a dog, and he trots back to his bed in the corner of the living room. He circles the bed a few times before flopping down on the oversized bed with a groan and settles in for the night. I turn and head down the hall, looking forward to doing the same. More specifically, I’m looking forward to crawling into bed with Brenna.

I’ve never been much of a cuddler and prefer to sleep alone, but since she’s come into my life, I’ve happily taken up the habit of co-sleeping. As a matter of fact, this has become my favorite time of the day, when I can close my eyes with Brenna pressed up against me—to the point where I have a hard time sleeping without her.

I’m considering various ways to move her and Landon into our apartment without disturbing this equilibrium we’ve found, when Brenna comes racing down the hall, nearly knocking me on my ass.

“Whoa there,” I say and hook her around the waist to keep us both from falling. She pries my arm loose and tries to escape without saying anything. It’s then that I notice the tears and my gut clenches. “Brenna. Seriously, stop. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s Landon,” she sniffs and keeps trying to get free. “He’s gone.”

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Dread washes over me, and I put a hand on the wall to steady myself.

“They can’t find him. They did a bed check, and he wasn’t there. They don’t know where he is.” She pulls at my arm and breaks free. “I’ve got to go. I need to be back at our house in case he shows up there. Please let Tyler know.”

Before I can call her back, she’s out the door.

I fight the urge to run after her. I know she’s just going downstairs and I’m going to need Tyler’s help with this one. I nearly sprint back to the master bath and bang on the shower door.

“What?” Tyler asks, sticking his head out the door.

“Get your clothes on. Brenna needs us. Landon’s missing.”

“What? What do you mean he’s missing?” he asks, stepping out of the shower.

I tell him everything I know, which isn’t much. By the time I get done, he’s nearly dressed.

“Go downstairs and be with her,” he says, pulling on a shirt. “I’ll finish getting dressed, grab my laptop, and meet you.”

When I get downstairs, the door is unlocked. Brenna is pacing the living room, staring at her phone. She’s so distracted, she doesn’t even realize I’m here. I cough, and she looks up. Relief, then panic flick through her eyes.

“They haven’t called,” she says and glances down at her phone as if willing it to ring. “Mrs. Weston said the police would call, but they haven’t called.”

“Sweetheart,” I say, and pull her into my arms. “They’ll call.”

She wraps both arms around me and starts crying. Actually, crying is too mild a word. She’s shuddering in my arms, soul-deep sobs racking her entire body.

“It’s okay. We’ll find him,” I say and run a soothing hand down her back.

“Why? Why does this keep happening to me?” she says through her tears.

“Why does the universe keep taking away everyone I care about, everyone close to me? I let Landon down. I wasn’t there for him.”

Her words are barely coherent, but she keeps cursing the universe. It breaks my heart. I vow to do everything in my power to prevent her from feeling this hopeless and alone ever again. Because she’s not. She’ll never have to face another crisis alone.

I pull her down to the sofa with me, afraid she’ll collapse if I let her go, and continue to try to assuage her increasing distress and unfounded guilt.

“We’ll find him. I promise,” I say with more confidence than I actually feel. If something happens to that kid, it will destroy her. “Tyler is on his way down. We know people. We’ll get our PI involved, and Landon will be home before you know it.”

The door opens, just as I finish those words. “I don’t care what laws you have to break. I want his location within the hour. Call me the second you know something.” Tyler disconnects the call and scans the room. When his eyes fall on Brenna huddled in my arms, he visibly flinches. “Trevor is working on finding Landon as we speak.”

“Who’s Trevor?” Brenna asks into my chest.

“Trevor is our Private Investigator. We use him from time to time to vet employees and business associates,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “He’s ex-intelligence and very good at his job.”

“If anyone can find Landon, it’s him,” Tyler says, joining us on the sofa.

His eyes shift from her up to me, worry and concern painted there. I’m sure my expression mirrors his. Helpless. I know we’re doing everything we can, short of aimlessly driving the streets. We’ve started the ball rolling, and there are people out there looking for Landon that are much better equipped to do so, but I still feel like I should be doing more.

On top of that, I’m hurt that Brenna didn’t turn to us.

After she got the call, her first response was to leave. Was I fooling myself into believing we had a chance to make a life with her? When things get hard, is her first reaction always going to be to run away?

As the minutes tick by, fear and doubt burrow into my thoughts until I can’t take it anymore. I need to do something. I need to talk to her—demand a commitment, but it isn’t the time. I have to put my own doubts aside and be her rock.

So barring every other option, I get up from the sofa and go into the kitchen to make coffee because none of us are getting any sleep tonight. I’m just bringing out the coffee when Tyler’s phone rings. He puts it on speaker.

“Any news?”

“I running this like I would any missing person,” Trevor starts. “I’ve backtracked his final hours, spoke to his friends, and checked his cell records and social media accounts. I checked his bank account and ran a—-”

“Did he post anything on social media?” Brenna interrupts. “He’s always online with his friends. Did he say where he was going?”

“No. Nothing,” Trevor says. “He dropped off of everything right before the group had dinner.”

“Have you checked with the hotel staff?” I say, grabbing the phone. “I bet there’s security footage. ATM cameras. Something. There has to be something else you can do.”

“I did do something else,” Trevor says, flatly, as if annoyed by my frustration. “I also ran his credit.”

“And what’s that supposed to do? He’s twelve years old.” Brenna says, more angry than panicked now. “He doesn’t have credit.”

“Actually, it’s a good thing I did. His dad opened a joint credit card with him last year. The account’s been dormant, except for tonight.”

“Damn it, Trevor. You could have lead with that,” I say and toss the phone back to Tyler, frustrated.

“I realize this is a stressful situation, but I need to be thorough,” Trevor says. “The more you know about what I’ve already done, the less time you waste suggesting I do things that have already been done. Like talking with the hotel staff and checking security footage. I did all that and got nothing. He walked out the front door and down the street. After that, there’s no sign of him.”

“But what about the credit card?” Tyler asks. “You mentioned there was a charge.”

“Yes, he paid for an Uber to the airport,” Trevor says.

“So he flew somewhere. That’s good,” Brenna says. “That means you know where he’s at. We can have someone pick him up at the airport.”

“Not exactly. He didn’t use the card to buy a plane ticket. Just the ride to the airport. I figure, he either met someone there or is hanging out.”

“He could have paid cash. I gave him six hundred dollars in cash,” Brenna says, covering her face with her hands. “I thought he’d use it to buy stupid touristy stuff.”

“Did you check passenger manifests of outgoing flights?” I ask.

“Not yet. I didn’t see any cash withdraws from his checking account so I didn’t bother. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll call you back.”

The line went dead, and silence fell over the room. We don’t have answers yet, but it’s progress. I take a deep breath for the first time in hours and hand Brenna a cup of lukewarm coffee.

“This is good news. We’re close to finding him,” I say. “Trevor is the best in the business.”

Brenna nods and takes the cup. “I shouldn’t have given him that money. I’m such an idiot. This is all my fault. I’m not prepared for this. Why did my mother think I could take care of Landon by myself?”

“This isn’t your fault,” Tyler says. He strokes her chin and slides his hand up her jawline to cradle her face. “This isn’t your fault,” he repeats.

“You’re fantastic with Landon. He’s lucky to have you,” I add. “And you’re not alone. You have us. We’re here for you and Landon.”

The phone rings again before she can respond.

“He bought a ticket back home,” Trevor announces. “The flight landed thirty minutes ago. I’ve already alerted airport security and the local police.”

Brenna throws herself into Tyler's arms and lets out a gut-wrenching sob. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Just sit tight, and I’ll make sure he gets home safe.”

Like a balloon deflating, all the nervous energy and tension leaves the room in a rush. Suddenly, I’m exhausted. I sink down on the sofa beside Brenna and hold her hand as we wait for more news.

Ten minutes into our vigil, the front door opens, and Landon strolls in as if he’d just been out at the movies.

“What are you doing up?” he asks, looking around the room. “And what are Dean and Tyler doing here?”

Relief that he’s home is quickly replaced with anger. I stand up, shaking, and point an accusing finger at him. “What the fuck are you doing here? Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

To his credit, Landon looks appropriately guilty. I’m about ready to give him the benefit of doubt. Maybe this was all a big mistake, and he feels bad. But then like any angry teenager is want to do, he straightens and cops an attitude.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. The trip was lame, and I wanted to come home.” He rolls his eyes at us and storms down the hall back to his room.

The nerve of that kid. I can’t believe what I just heard. I move to follow him, but Brenna is already in pursuit.

“This conversation is not done,” she yells at his retreating form.

I turn to look at Tyler, who’s just as shell-shocked as I am.

“Were we like that?” he asks.

“I wasn’t,” I assure him. “But you were a privileged prick. I’m glad you grew out of it.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but we both know it’s true. Silently, I apologize to both our parents; raising teenagers can’t be easy.

“You should probably make more coffee while I call Trevor and update him,” Tyler says with a shake of his head. “I have a feeling the night is just getting started.”