Sleep eludes me. I lie in bed—in my bed, just in case Em comes home and decides finding me in Brendon's bed is adding insult to injury—staring at the white-blue glow of those little plastic stars. Their light is soft. Ghostly almost.

I turn over. Press my eyelids together. Try to chase the image of Emma's face from my mind.

It won't go. All I see is the hurt in her dark eyes. All I can hear is the betrayal in her voice.

Kaylee, what the fuck?

No, I know he's a liar.

You're both liars.

Like I slapped her in the face.

No, I did. I didn't just lie to Emma about this. I stomped the ground and dug my heels into it. I dug a fucking grave with my heels.

Now it's time to lie in it.

* * *

Light peeks through the dark curtains. First a deep shade of blue. Then lighter. Some mix of red, pink, and orange. Then enough to keep the stars from shining.

I give up on sleep and crawl out of bed.

All the downstairs lights are on. Brendon is on the couch in his jeans and t-shirt, his head on a pillow, his eyes closed. A bright, colorful infomercial flashes on the TV. Some sponge. It's a happy face that makes it easier to clean. So you can drag happiness over dirt until it's as grimy as everything else.

I let him sleep. Brush my teeth. Wash my face. Shower. The water is hot, but I don't feel it. The release of last night is gone. It keeps replaying through my head.

Emma is never going to forgive you.

I press my eyelids together, tilt my head back to rinse my hair. Water streams down my face, off my chin. Still it screams in my head.

Emma isn't going to forgive you. And whatever's happening with Grandma—you're going to have to get through that alone.

I know I have my parents.

But I still can't get over them keeping this from me. And I know how awful it feels—someone keeping a secret to protect you. Only I don't know the reality. I don't know how much of their words are sugar coating and how much are straight up lies.

I guess it runs in the Hart family.

After I towel dry, I finish packing. There. That's everything. Meds. Clothes. Kindle. Laptop. Toiletries. It's still hot here. But what about in New Jersey? I check the weather report, pack a few sweaters just in case.

I find my phone and text Emma for the hundredth time.

Kaylee: I'm sorry. Can we talk? Please.

Nothing.

I stare until my eyes are dry.

Nothing.

It's still early. She's probably not even up. Brendon's here. That must mean she's still at Walkers. That she's still okay.

It means more. I don't know. My head is fuzzy. Full. My thoughts are going in circles. They're fast but they're slow. I need sleep. And tea. In that order.

It's not an option.

I lug my stuff downstairs and put the kettle on.

Brendon stirs. I can't see him from here but I can hear him.

"Fuck. What time is it?" he asks.

"Early." I grab a mug from the cabinet. The one I made at that paint it yourself pottery place. With Emma. A million years ago. It has a mermaid on it. Well, it's supposed to be a mermaid. It looks more like a blur of beige, green, purple, and red on a blue background. "You can go back to sleep."

"No. We should go soon. There's always traffic."

That's true enough. I stare at the shiny silver kettle, willing it to work faster. I need comfort. Tea. And his arms around me. But when I open my lips to request it, I can't force any words out.

"I better get ready."

"Okay. You want coffee?"

"Thanks." His footsteps move closer. Closer. He steps into the kitchen, wraps his arms around me, pulls my body against his. "I'm sorry, Kay. This is my fault."

No. It's not. He said no. He said this couldn't happen. And I begged him.

Maybe it's not all my fault.

But we share the blame.

He didn't tell me to dig into my lies.

That was all me.

I shake my head.

He runs his fingers through my wet hair.

Tears well up in my eyes. It feels too good being in his arms. It reminds me of how bad everything else is. But I don't want to say any of it. I just want to soak in this comfort while I have it.

The kettle whistles.

I pour hot water over my bag of vanilla black.

"Go." I press my lips to his neck. "Get ready. I can leave as soon as I finish my tea."

"Eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

"Kay, eat something."

"It's my body. Not yours."

He steps back. Hurt flashes in his eyes. But it can't be over that comment. At least, I don't think so.

He turns and moves toward the living room.

"At least make a sandwich for the plane." He climbs up the stairs and disappears into his bedroom.

It's not the worst advice.

I fill the coffee maker with fresh grounds and filtered water and turn it on.

Slowly, the smell of java wafts over the room.

I find the bread in the fridge and focus all my energy on spreading almond butter over one side and raspberry jelly over the other.

By the time Brendon rushes downstairs all showered and fresh I have my sandwich wrapped in plastic. But my tea is still too fucking hot.

He steps into the kitchen. His eyes catch the sandwich then they meet mine. "Good?"

"Yeah." I bring my lips and take a sip. It's too hot, but it's tolerable. "Have you heard from Emma?"

"No, but Walker said he'd text as soon as she was up. She has work today. She won't skip that."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. She's a responsible kid. And she loves her discount."

I try to muster up a laugh. I'm not sure if he's joking. Emma does love her employee discount. And she's also responsible. But she also ran off last night. She's never done that before. We've fought a lot—who hasn't—but she's never run off without telling me where she was going.

Brendon brings his hand to my jaw. He tilts my head so I'm looking up at him. "It will be okay, Kay."

"How do you know?"

"I know."

I want to believe him, but I'm not sure I do.

* * *

Traffic is a crawl. It's Friday morning. Traffic is always a crawl at this time.

The sun bounces off the pavement, flowing into Brendon's sedan, making it hard to read my cell screen.

Not that there's anything to read.

Emma still hasn't texted back.

My parents' have a safe flight, can't wait to see you, let me know when you've boarded texts are the same.

The only thing changing is the time in the top bar of my cell screen.

I stare at it until the screen goes dark then I wake my cell and do it all over again.

Brendon reaches over and wraps his fingers around my wrist. "Kay, put your phone away. You're driving yourself crazy."

"I know. But—"

"Emma's not gonna text back today. You have to give her time."

I know that. I do. But my heart isn't getting the message. And when I let my thoughts float away from Emma, they go straight to Grandma. To the question mark and all the possible answers. They're too scary. I can't take that.

He rubs my wrist with his thumb. It pulls my thoughts back to the moment.

Brendon is such a loving person, but he doesn't see himself that way. No one else sees him that way.

But it's there. It's just hidden, like the stars on the ceiling.

He rubs my wrist through the last stretch of the 405. As we take the LAX exit. Even through the crawl to Departures then to my terminal.

God, this airport is a mess.

It's constantly in construction.

It will be better one day. But right now the improvement is only making things worse.

There. He pulls into the short-term parking lot and finds a space on the second level. Even though it's a bright day, it's dark in here. The sun can't get through the walls of concrete.

His hand goes back to his side. All the warmth in my body goes with it. Something changes in his posture as he turns off the car. Something that makes him harder. Further away.

Or maybe that's my imagination.

It's possible sleep deprivation is getting to me.

God, I'm actually looking forward to being on that plane. That's six hours to close my eyes and block out the world. Or six hours for the world to invade my thoughts. One of the two.

"I'll get your bag." Brendon steps out of the car. He grabs my rolling duffel from the backseat then slams the door shut.

I pull my cardigan tighter as I step into the parking lot. The air here is cool. I hug my purse to my shoulder and adjust my jeans. This is weird. I'm flying to New Jersey. That's how things are supposed to go today.

But they're supposed to be different too.

Brendon takes my hand and leads me through the parking lot. It's bright on the sidewalk. The sky is a brilliant blue. The sun is a luminous yellow. There isn't a cloud in sight.

And his hand is on mine.

His touch still feels so fucking good.

Even though something—everything—else is wrong.

The red hand at the cross walk disappears as the walk sign flashes on.

I follow Brendon across the street. Then over the loading zone. We take the escalator to departures, step into the air-conditioned terminal, and go straight to the machines against the wall.

Shit, that security line stretches on for ages. This is going to take forever. And we're no longer early.

I slide my credit card into the machine and follow the instructions. It spits out my boarding pass and a message to proceed to security.

Brendon rubs my shoulders. "You have everything you need for your flight?"

I nod. I think so.

"Load up your playlist with Linkin Park?"

I shake my head. "Joy Division."

He chuckles but his eyes stay sad. "Call me when you get in. And let me know how your grandma is doing."

"Of course." I wrap my arms around his waist. "You'll let me know what happens with Em? Whatever it is?"

"Yeah."

"Good." I rise to my tiptoes. My eyelids flutter closed as I press my lips to his. He tastes good. Like coffee and like Brendon. I don't usually like the taste of coffee, but it's another thing that makes me think of him.

I pull back with a sigh.

My eyes fix on his. They're like coffee, his eyes. Rich. Dark. Deep.

He's here with me.

Holding my hand.

Kissing me off.

He's everything.

"I don't want to say goodbye, but I guess I have to." I rise to my tiptoes and kiss him again. It's not enough. I need more of him. I need all of him.

This time, he's the one who pulls back. He runs his fingers through my hair. His voice gets soft. "Me either."

"I... I'll miss you." I lean into his touch. Words rise up in my throat. Ones I've been avoiding.

I try to swallow them down.

I kiss him one more time. Something to keep my lips occupied.

But that doesn't work.

I'm shaking when I pull back.

My eyes meet his.

And those words spill from my lips.

"Brendon, I love you."