Page 27 of Daring You

Turns out, avoiding it has only brought me to this breakfast table.

“There’s been some kind of huge bust in Staten Island. It’s everywhere,” Locke says.

He’s trying to curb his sister, but it’s only fucking me over. I curl my fists under the table.

“Omigod, yes,” Carter breathes. “Something about a slaughtered family? I had to turn the TV off, couldn’t stand to hear about it.”

“Typical gang member bullshit,” Astor says. “I bet it was some kind of initiation rite.”

No. It wasn’t.

“Wouldn’t new kids trying to get in on a gang bungle it somehow? These murders happened something like, twenty years ago, and they’re only just solving it now.” Locke grabs a croissant and rips into it with his teeth. “Sounds like a pro to me. But you’d know better,” he says to his sister.

“Not professional enough that they couldn’t be caught.” Astor shakes her head. “I’m fairly certain I’m about to know too much. My firm’s snagged it. We have an emergency meeting today.”

Every single piece of muscle I own solidifies into one, concrete mass.

“Seriously?” Carter says. “How?”

Astor lifts one shoulder, then sits her fork and knife on her empty plate. I can’t stop staring at the crumbs she left behind.

“Great publicity, for one,” she answers. “The criminal defense department is slobbering all over it. These two defendants, they’ll want the best to represent them, and that’s us.”

I open my mouth enough to utter, “Isn’t Mike…in criminal defense?”

All three—and a half—sets of eyes land on me, like they forgot it’s been a while since I’ve spoken.

“Yeah, actually,” Astor says. “He’s only a junior, though. Mike’ll be assisting.”

This would be the moment I point out Astor should be talking her fiancé up, not shrinking his dick, but I don’t want to.

“That poor baby boy,” Carter says, and strokes Lily’s hair. “He was the only survivor, right? I wonder what ever happened to him.”

I can barely hear her. All sound has muffled, tunneled, into a vicious hole, and I’m curled up on the bottom.

“I gotta go,” I say and stand too quickly. My thighs hit the table, rattling all the plates and nearly tipping over Carter’s juice.

“Watch those tree trunks,” Locke says.

“Ben, are you okay?” Carter asks.

“Fine.” I turn from the table, then spin back and say, “Thanks. For all this.” I sweep my hand around. “You know, breakfast.”

“Any time, man,” Locke responds.

I barely spend any time grabbing my coat from the couch, and storm out of the apartment before I stick my arms all the way through, but I’m slow enough to hear Astor say, “He’s such a rude sonofabitch.”

“Sumbish!” Lily parrots.

I slam the door behind me.

* * *

My hands are cuppingmy mouth to bring them some heat as I stomp to the subway, too amped to stand on a curb and call a car, and too stubborn to return to Locke’s place and wait.

I’d rather be among other miserable people as they make their way into Manhattan, the supposed City of Dreams.

I shouldn’t take out my anger on NYC. Sorry, Lady Liberty. You’ve done nothing but stroke my ego, skyrocket my career, and bring me women, money and fame. But when I’m made useless, the first thing I want to lay waste to is my environment.

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