Page 17 of Life After You

Braden’s phone.

Pikachu case and all.

A sharp pang hits me square in the chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. Fuck, man. My knees buckle, and I drop down, reaching for the phone like it’s a lifeline. The worn plastic is warm from the sun filtering through the window, a faded ear torn off, the tail barely hanging on. It’s ridiculous. Silly. And it guts me.

I laugh, but the sound is hollow. Bitter.

Mac won this case for him from an arcade claw machine, got it on the first damn try. I spent twenty fucking dollars trying to win something, and she just sauntered up, did her thing, and handedBraden the prize like it was nothing. He loved that stupid thing, kept it on his phone no matter how much shit I gave him for it.

The phone chimes.

My breath catches. My pulse slams against my ribs.

Mac’s name flashes on the screen.

My fingers twitch. A fresh bolt of panic zips through me. My gut clenches so hard I feel sick.

I reach for the phone with unsteady hands. It’s just a notification. An update. But it means the phone is still connected to something. Shit.

What was Braden’s passcode?

I rake through my scrambled thoughts, searching for the memory. It was an inside joke, something between Braden and Mac. I almost have it, but not quite.

Chace.

Chace will know.

I fumble for my own phone, thumbs clumsy as I pull up Snapchat and tap on his stupid handle, "Professor Chace MD"—Mac’s doing. A nerd emoji stares back at me, and for once, I don’t have it in me to roll my eyes.

Logan: Braden’s pin?

I send, pacing as I wait for him to reply. The typing bubbles pop up almost immediately.

Professor Chace MD: Hey there, Logman. Glad you made it there in one piece. How’s she doing? She agreed to come with us or what? Just having some breakfast, well, brunch, it’s like—

Jesus fucking Christ, Chace. Not now.

Logan: Pin.

More typing. He hesitates, then deletes. Starts again. My grip tightens around my phone. My other hand fists at my side, nails digging into my palm.

Professor Chace MD: Is she okay? Are you guys alright?

I don’t answer. I glare at my phone, willing him to just spit it the fuck out. My heart thunders as the screen lights up with an incoming call.

I ignore it.

Logan: She’s not here. Braden’s phone is. Need. Pin.

A long pause. My throat locks up. I swear to God, if he doesn’t answer—

Professor Chace MD: Ohhh, smart. They have that Life360 thing, right? You should join up too. Always good to keep tabs.

Logan: Chace.

Professor Chace MD: Oh yeah, the code—0622.

I exhale sharply. Of course. Braden was exactly six minutes and twenty-two seconds older than Mac. It was his favorite dumb fact, something he never let her forget.

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