He shrugs. “So what if I took a couple little things. Might’ve bumped into a couple little things. Who cares?”
“Me.”
He taps the table, then grins and leans forward. “I’m going to release my tape with Lou.”
The hairs on the back of my neck go on end. “Tape?”
“Our sex tape.”
The air in my chest goes hot for one second. I don’t move.
This can’t be true. Lou would have told me. She would have used the word first. She didn’t.
“You don’t have one.”
He lifts a brow. “You sure?”
“If you did, releasing it would be a crime. Even you know that.”
“Do I?” he says, playing dumb. “You boys on your high horses. Meanwhile, your girl is rotating through bedrooms like a DJ on holiday.”
My jaw wants to flex. I keep it still. “She’s a person. Watch your mouth.”
He leans back to make a show for anybody who’s looking, like I just hit him with a line and he loved it. I want to beat that grin off his smug face. “So easy. Say ‘watch your mouth’ again. Make me really believe it.”
“No.”
He tilts the cup and doesn’t drink. “You got old. You used to throw punches. Now look at you.”
“I grew up. You should try it.”
He snorts. “Cute.” He checks the door. He checks the window. He checks the lawyer two booths over and doesn’t know that’s what he’s checking.
All he sees are people who might see him. He likes being seen. He always did. That’s why he’s making this a spectacle.
He leans in again. “You want to know why I did it? I walked out of there with drives because I could. I scratched your toy because you love it. I left the cigarette because I wanted you to know it was me.”
“Because you could,” I echo. “That’s why you’re fucking up your whole life? Why you ripped off your family? Why you treated Lou like shit?”
He points at my chest like we’re brothers at a barbecue. “You used to be cool, Salem. You were the one always up to shit, always stirring the pot. Then you got old and now you’re no fun anymore. That’s why I will never fit in with the family, you know. You call it growing up. I call it dying a slow death.”
His eyes are wild. It’s not just alcohol anymore. I can tell. I can practically feel his heart racing from here. The kid I knew is gone, and I don’t think he’s ever coming back.
But I hear Houston’s voice in the back of my mind, and I can’t stop myself from trying one last time. “Troy, we can get you help.”
“Pfft,” he scoffs. Then he laughs too loud again, like it’s the funniest idea ever. A couple looks up. The assistant two booths over crosses one leg over the other and scratches a note. Troy lowers his volume. “This is boring. Let’s fight.”
“I don’t fight tweaked-out junkies.”
“Come on,” he says. “Make me bleed so you can feel alive. You miss it.”
“I don’t.”
“Remember that bar in Thailand? The one where you box your friend and whoever wins gets a bucket of free booze?”
I shrug. “I kicked your ass. What about it?”
“Think they’d give us a free coffee if we fought here?”
