“You know who owns Slattery’s, right?”
I nod.
Monet wrinkles her nose, her voice dropping low. “I thought you were staying away from him? There’s been a lot of trouble around them lately. Violent trouble. And he’s really kind of a jerk, you know? To me, anyway.”
“What are you talking about? When was he a jerk to you?”
“About six months ago a group of us tried to go to this big C Crue warehouse party in Boston. With a DJ from Europe. We had tickets, but they blocked me at the door. The bouncer said the boss said I wasn’t welcome. Just me. Everyone else got in, but I had to Uber back to the hotel alone. And when I asked which boss, he said Trick. Why would Trick do that to me? I’ve never spoken to him except the other day when he brought you home. I don’t know him really. I’ve never disrespected him,ever. Never said anything bad. Why would he decide he doesn’t like me?”
“I don’t know, honey. You’re sure that you didn’t have a run-in with him? Or do something to make them mad?”
“No.”
“Maybe he didn’t single you out because you’re you. Could it have been that he didn’t want a Reilly at the party? Maybe they thought you were me, and he didn’t want me there. We weren’t on speaking terms last year.”
“I don’t know. They checked my ID.”
“Maybe it was a mistake.”
“I don’t know. But I never got the money back for my ticket or anything. It’s not like I could say to one of them, hey, Trick barred me so I want my money back. You can’t, you know, confront them about something like that. So that was my hundred bucks down the drain. It wasn’t fair.”
“Hmm. Those warehouse parties are like raves, right? A lot of drugs?”
“I guess.”
“Maybe better you didn’t go then?”
“He doesn’t like me. And if it’s because I use drugs, he’s a hypocrite. Everyone knows Trick used a ton of drugs for years until the other two made him stop.”
“Made him stop?”
“Or asked him to. I don’t know what happened. No one does. He just quit one day.”
“It’d be nice to know how he did it, huh? If he hasn’t relapsed.”
“All I know is he was mean to ban me for no reason. And everyone knows he seems really nice at parties, but he’s super dangerous when someone crosses him.”
A flush warms my cheeks. I crossed him. Will he eventually take his revenge? Is that what he’s already done by screwing me half a dozen times during my abduction? If I hadn’t gone along and had sex, would he have raped me? Shivering as I sign the bill, I tell myself no. The way he is with other people isn’t the way he is with me. Also, maybe Monet did something to offend him when she was out of her head on drugs. There’s a ton she can’t remember. She’s admitted that plenty of times.
Still, I really shouldn’t go to Slattery’s after all. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.
When we leave the restaurant, a car seems to be following us. I can’t be sure but it might even be the men from the restaurant. It’s scary, and I get my phone ready to call nine-one-one.
At my parents’ house, I’m torn between going inside with Monet and wanting to lead whoever is following me away from the house. Could it be Milt? I’ve seen his car parked on the street outside my apartment a few times.
Inexplicably, I consider calling Trick or driving to his apartment. But whatever’s happening is happening because I betrayed him or got involved with him, so is talking to him about it a good idea?
When Monet’s safely inside and the door’s closed, I drive downtown. I stop in a parking lot next to the Coynston police department. The car behind me turns a corner. Frowning, I wait, but it doesn’t seem to come back.
The green neon sign for Slattery’s is halfway down the block. I decide to see whether the car comes back around once I’m away from the police station, so I drive to Slattery’s and park as close as possible to the sidewalk. No one pulls into the lot.
The sign beckons. I really want to go in because I’m pretty sure then he’ll hear I’m in town and might decide to seek me out. Though it would be better not to, I really want to see him. I could just text him to tell him I’m in Coynston, but I’m trying not to contact him directly. If I don’t initiate contact, I can say as much if someone, like the FBI, asks me later. The fact that I always respond when he texts me I can rationalize by saying it would be potentially problematic to outright ignore him.
The truth is I like getting his texts and want him to keep sending them. And bumping into him this weekend is what I’ve been hoping for since I got in my car to come. He doesn’t live near the hill now, so our seeing each other is more likely if he knows to look for me.
I get out and hurry inside the pub. While standing near the front door, I call home to check on Monet. She and Dad are settled in with popcorn and red licorice. Everything’s quiet at Mom and Dad’s.
When I end the call I look around, but I don’t see my friend Taylor or anyone I know from school. I’m not planning to drink, so it doesn’t make sense to sit at the bar alone. I’m about to leave when Trick himself steps out of a corner booth. He’s wearing jeans and a Guinness t-shirt, but not the one he loaned me at his place. Still, the shirt causes memories to surface, particularly the one of me on my knees.
