I slumped back in my chair. “I don’t understand. How do you know all of this?”
“Father Benjamin called me yesterday morning and asked me to look into it. He knows I do pro bono work.” Her gaze narrowed. “You’re a smart kid, but if you’re as smart as I think you are, you willnottalk about this, and you’ll keep quiet and let me help you. Otherwise, it could be you and your mom who are next targeted.”
“You said Mom wouldn’t be a target.”
“She could be, if she asks questions or gets loud. You don’t understand—Emma went and tried to talk to your father the day before she was killed.”
She pointed at the paperwork in front of me. “There was a priest there who overheard some of what happened. A friend of Father Benjamin’s. Long story short? Emma didn’t get to see your father, but she talked to Junior. She was demanding money for you and her and threatening to go to the press about it.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Get your mother to sign this damn paper so I can help both of you, or youwillbe next.”
Chapter Four
Now
Anxious doesn’t begin to describe how I feel when I leave Casey’s house. She’s…
Well, I could tell the news about the breath play pissed her right the fuck off, no matter how calm she appeared when I left. I didn’t realize that would upset her so much. I knewshedidn’t want to do it with me, but as with everything else that’s happened over the past few weeks, I thought she’d be okay with it if George did it.
Hell, he plays with me alotharder than she does—which I love—and she’s been okay with that. And she didn’t specifically forbid me from doing breath play with George when all this started. I mean, I get it, she’s cautious.
My mind reels as I head home to take care of everything I need to do, and…
I don’t hear anything from Casey, or from George.
I hope that’s not a bad sign, but I would also hope if something drastic has changed in our situation that she’d do me the courtesy of letting me knowbeforeI walk into an emotional buzz saw. Especially considering how important tonight’s fundraiser is for George. We can’t have ourselves an “incident” and get him upset right before we leave. That’s not fair to George, if anything.
Most of today’s tasks don’t take me very long to accomplish. Catching up on e-mails regarding cases I’ve handled for the firm, follow-up stuff, questions from the few legal clients I’m still on retainer for—which are few, and they are also clients who don’t present a conflict of interest. Also, updates on some pro bono cases I’m representing. Then work-work, fielding staff e-mails that came in overnight and skimming through ongoing e-mail chains to stay abreast of the latest developments. Reading reports from committee meetings and pending bills.
Finally, all of that is followed by more mundane chores, like laundry, and dusting. Another reason why a small apartment is better for me at this time in my life. It’s cheap, and I don’t have maintenance expenses.
I wanted the better car first, because that’s a highly visible and tangible expression of my position. And with my salary currently taking a hit, since I’m a public employee and not a full-time attorney, it turns out it was a smart move after all. I also invested in a good wardrobe for myself. Not obnoxiously pretentious or bespoke expensive, but decent quality and tailored to fit. It means I look the part.
No one can tell how I spent my childhood.
No one questions my bona fides.
No one knows I’m an orphaned bastard.
When people ask about my parents, I tell them the truth—they’re dead. That usually propels the conversation onward in other directions, so people don’t feel uncomfortable. It also means no one knows I’m a first-generation American. On my mother’s side, at least.
Still, despite everything I’ve done in my life so far, I cannot manage to eradicate that toxic little voice inside me that screams I’m nothing but an imposter.
That I don’t belong here.
That sooner or later, they’re going to realize their mistake and get rid of me.
Finally, I can go for a run. It’s been a couple of days since I’ve had a chance to do that, either out on the streets or on the treadmill at Casey’s. I work a lot of long hours and eat a lot of crappy food, so this is the way I counteract that. I throw on shorts and a hoodie, grab my earbuds, and activate my running app.
It’s fucking damp and cold today, but it’s not raining. That means the harder the run, the warmer I’ll be.
Yes, I might be a masochist. Why do you ask?
I blast Macklemore and Tink today on shuffle—don’t judge me—as I pound down the sidewalk and try to clear my mind.
Problem is, my mind’s only clear lately when I’m with George. Even being with Casey never allows me to unplug the way being with George does.
I run five miles but don’t take my shower when I get back, because I’ll take it at George’s. Thanks to the cold weather I’m not drenched with sweat.
