“You did the thing you can’t apologize for. You did the thing you can’t spin. You just made it easier for me to stop pretending you’re coming back.”
“I’m never coming back?—”
“No shit. We kicked you out, and now, you’re never allowed back. Not in the band. Not in the family. You made that choice. Now, you’ll live with it.”
He opens his mouth for the next line. I stand. He stands because he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s smaller than I remember. He’s older than he acts. Somehow, he looks like the boy he was, and a man I don’t recognize.
“See you never.”
Troy’s brow lines. He doesn’t know what to do with indifference, so he stumbles out of the place.
I put a twenty under my cup for a coffee I didn’t drink and give the server a nod. I walk past my lawyer and tap the pad once with a fingertip so he knows we’re done. He nods. He doesn’t smile.
Outside, the sun is straight up. I put my hands on the back of my neck and breathe because my palms are shaking, and I don’t need anyone to see it. I round the corner, find a strip of shade, and lean on the wall until my ribs remember their job. Spread. Let me breathe.
The wire is warm now. I turn it off. I take the phone out, take the app off airplane mode, and push the file to the shared drive weset up for ugly things. It goes to Knox first, then counsel. I add a one-line summary and the café address for file keeping. I add time stamps I can remember without checking.
Knox replies in under a minute:Got it. Proud of you. Come back.
Counsel replies:Received. Don’t engage further. We handle next moves.
I run my hands over my face and walk to the end of the block. I pass three people who don’t know me and a kid in a jersey who maybe does but doesn’t say anything because Nevada daylight takes the teeth out of whatever I am to people who need me to be bigger.
I let my head drop for one count, and then I pick it up again because I’m not going to fall apart on a sidewalk. Instead, I call Lou.
She answers in two rings. “You okay?”
“I met him,” I say. My voice sounds like I used it too hard, even though I barely raised it. “Witnesses. Lawyer two booths over. Wire on. He talked.”
She’s quiet for a second. I can hear paper move. She’s working. “Did he say anything useful?”
“He bragged about the break-in. He gave details.”
“Of course he did. Bet it didn’t occur to him that you might be taping him.”
“I didn’t hit him,” I say, because that’s the part that matters in my bones.
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
“I wanted to,” I say.
“I knew you would.”
I huff a laugh at that, but it dies a quick death. “I wore a wire. Lawyer approved. He said it won’t hold up. We can still use it—accidentallyleak it, that kind of thing.”
“I’m glad you didn’t let him drag you into the shit with him. That had to be hard for you, and you managed it anyway. I’m proud of you.”
The words land like something heavy I’ve been trying to lift by myself. I look at my hands because if I look up, I’m going to do something dumb like cry. “Say that again.”
“I’m proud of you, Salem. You did a hard thing in the right way.”
I can barely breathe for how much I needed to hear that. I sit on the sidewalk and let the heat soak into my legs, and let the breath go in and out until the shake leaves. I rasp out, “Thanks.”
“Now get back here so I can show you how proud I am.”
“On my way.” I hang up, not trusting my voice to say much else.
21
