Page 89 of Stabby Little

"Maybe Jagger's like Grant." I shrug. "Maybe he didn't stop searching."

"You're so lucky." Sparrow's eyes water. This is a shock to me. I've never seen him cry, not even in the warehouse. "Even if Grant doesn't return your advances, he still cares about you. You have someone who didn't give up on you."

"Your parents didn't give up on you, either." I cup Sparrow's hand.

Callum told me that Sparrow's mom and dad wanted to meet him. His dad was apparently heartbroken that government agencies gave him the runaround and refused to find Sparrow. I don't know why Sparrow didn't accept their offer.

Sparrow's eyes go dark. "I don't want to see my parents. Not after the shit they let my grandfather do to my older brother."

Finn and I make eye contact. Sparrow has never opened up about this before and I don't know what his cryptic words mean.

I hug my friend. "It's okay. You'll tell us when you're ready. In the meantime, we have unlimited animated movies at our fingertips and yummy snacks to eat."

Finn nods. "What movie do you want to watch?"

Sparrow smiles. "You pick. I'm good with anything."

I grab the remote. "What aboutHappy Feet?"

28

GRANT

Wednesday, June 10th

I exitmy BMW and step into the coffee shop. I adjust the bandage on my chest from where Michael stabbed me. I pop two painkillers as I force the attack out of my mind. I'm meeting Crystal today—I can’t focus on my injury.

Anton gave me her contact information and I texted her last weekend. She agreed to meet me under the condition that I keep the secrets she shares with me to myself. She doesn't want her uncle or father to know the details of her date with "Trevor."

A bell jingles overhead when I push the door open and head to the bar. The smells of espresso and drip coffee enter my nose as I sit down, setting my suit coat on a nearby stool.

Rows of pastries strategically placed in a glass container greet me when I turn my eyes toward the barista. Customers enter behind me, congregating around the bar. They speak about how great this coffee shop is and how they've seen phenomenal reviews online. They point out the high bookshelves packed with classics no one's read in years.

It's not a bad coffee shop. I'll give them that. Granted, I don't know why anyone in their right mind would come to a place like this when there are a million Starbucks in the city. I've never been a boutique coffee shop type of man—they're too gimmicky. Give me a Venti dark roast with a dash of fat-free half-and-half and I'm good to go. Or four shots of espresso with dry foam. The barista at my local Starbucks knows my order by heart and she makes it the second I step through the door.

This place looks like college students come here to post their drinks on Instagram. Or to listen to those dark academia classical music playlists that pop up on YouTube whenever I'm pulling information for a report for Michael. Nothing irritates me more than rehashed compilations of music dozens of channels have already put out under the same uncreative names. It's the easiest way to make a quick buck on YouTube and I don't know why the content creator overlords at Google headquarters haven't cracked down on it.

"This is such a great shop." A redhead with a Louis Vuitton bag slides into the seat next to me.

"I know." Her friend pulls out her phone. "This is like the hottest place in Manhattan."

"I can't believe we got a seat at the bar." The redhead checks her nails. "I feel like the paparazzi will burst in here any second and take photos of us."

"I don't want them to invade my privacy." Her friend makes a gagging face. "Carlton thinks I'm in the Hamptons with my grandmother. He'd flip if he knew I was in the city."

"Carlton? I thought you broke up with him months ago."

"He's helping me study for the bar. If he was just a trust fund boy, there'd be no reason to keep him around."

"There's no way he's smart enough to pass the bar," the redhead quips.

"He's not. But his dad is a professor at Yale Law. He gave Carlton sample questions to help me ace it."

"I can't believe you're going to be a lawyer." The redhead is proud. "Girl, you'd better help me if some loser ever sues me."

"You couldn't afford my retainer."

"My sugar Daddies will front me the money. They have a vested interest in keeping me out of legal trouble."

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