I hand Fritz the remote then stand to grab us a couple more beers. I am holding on to both bottles while I look for the bottle opener when the band name on the TV turns my attention.
“Both front man Brenner Reindhart and bass player Fritz Hartmann were spotted at the Kansas City international airport earlier this week, not one week after releasing the record-breaking hit single ‘The Girl from Kansas City.’ While two of the other songs in the album mentioned a woman named Sofia, no official link had been made to the popular music video until today.
“Yesterday, Reindhart was spotted going into this bar—” The camera pans to the outer face ofLa Oficina. “We have confirmed that the bar is a shared property with the Price Group based out of Chicago and Sofia Ocampo, a Kansas City local. Could this be the same Sofia whom Reindhart sings about?
“Sofia Ocampo declined to comment early this morning outside her Brookside home.”
I close my eyes. Fuck. She’ll have my head on a platter for this. Why hasn’t she called to chew me out yet?
“Are you hearing this?” Fritz asks as the reporting on Sofia’s background continues, but Fritz keeps his eyes glued to the TV.
“Fuck,” I say. “I’m so fucked.”
Then it happens. A camera shot, only three seconds in length, of her going into her house, and all the air leaves my lungs.
Some type of scarf is wrapped around her chest as she carries a baby.
The reporting continues. “Speculation on the father’s whereabouts has many heads turning—”
Fritz shuts off the TV.
“Bren? Mate?” He approaches me, but it is in slow motion. His phone is to his ear. “Roger’s been trying to call you. He says your phone is off.”
The room spins, and I lose my grip on the beers that fall to the floor, shattering on impact.
THIRTY-ONE
Sofia
“Go to Channel Seven! Now!” Mandy screams into the phone when I pick up.
A ball of lead lodges in my throat as the report unfolds before my eyes. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. Fuck. It’s out.
“Please tell me he already knows,” Mandy says.
I shut off the news. “No. I’ve been trying to get away for hours, but the reporters parked outside keep increasing in numbers. I can’t leave the house!”
I damn Bonnie then. If she weren’t taking up the only space in the garage, my car wouldn’t be in the driveway, and Addy and I could have escaped hours ago, before the news broke, so we could find Bren and explain everything.
“Fuck,” Mandy says. Yeah.Fuck, I think.
“Hey, Mandy, I gotta go. I have another call. It’s Bren.”
“Good luck—”
I press the phone to my chest and take a deep breath before taking the second call.
“Bren. Hi.”
“Were you going to tell me?” His voice is low...and calm. Too calm.
Twice I’d started to tell him, but he won’t buy that. Not now. Not after the news report. “Yes. Since I saw the reporters, I’ve been calling you. When you weren’t picking up, I wanted to come to you, but we’re cornered by paparazzi.”
“Andreas and Fritz’s security guard will pick you up in ten. Bye—”
“Bren? Wait.”
“What?” he hisses, his anger rising.