“I’m sorry. I paid everything to the fund my lawyers told me to.”
“And you still have millions more. That’s not fair.”
Should I have bankrupted myself? Would that make them happy? Probably, so I kept my mouth shut and powered through the crowd into my building. The doorman averted his eyes, and I didn’t stop to ask him why he couldn’t be bothered to call the police to prevent the crowd from congregating out front.
Once inside my apartment, I paced the living room. My phone had remained irritatingly silent since I’d come home, despite the calls I’d made to old friends. Cassie’s behavior still stung, rubbed me like an open wound, but I was too angry and hurt to call her. I’d probably say something I’d regret, and I wasn’t ready to cut ties altogether. We were all we had, although now she had Marty and his family, so maybe the connection was only on my side.
Feeling more alone than I had even while in prison, I decided to call some of my buddies. I’d texted and left them messages after I’d settled in, and I was ready to start making my way back into the social scene. First was my friend Cole, who was always up for a good time. We’d met in a club during my wilder days and hung out. I couldn’t call him a best friend, but he was the closest I’d had to it.
“Cole, you bastard. Finally answering my calls? How the hell are you?”
“Ronan? Is that really you?”
Not the greeting I’d hoped for, but it was late and maybe I’d caught him at a bad time.
“Yeah. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you.”
“I-I’ve been busy. You know how it goes. I saw something on the news that you’d gotten early release.”
It hurt that Cole hadn’t bothered to reach out. I’d helped him when his boyfriend dumped him—gotten him properly drunk, then taken him for a weekend trip to Vegas on me. We’d hit up the clubs, and I’d made sure he had the time of his life. Yet when I was arrested, he never came to visit and only emailed a few times, claiming he was busy with a new job. Was he only my friend when the times were good and the money flowed from my pocket to his?
“Don’t sound so happy to hear from me, dude. What’s the deal? I thought we’d get together, maybe hit up a club or two this weekend. What do you say?”
I heard a voice in the background, and Cole muffled the receiver for a second. “Uh, I can’t. I don’t do that anymore. I have a boyfriend. His name is Jay. We’ve been together for four years and living together for two.”
“Four years?” I sputtered. “Damn. You never bothered to tell me or anything? I thought we were friends.”
“Yeah, well, I guess both of us kept secrets, huh? I mean, you never bothered to tell me all the shit you were doing. I’m sorry, Ronan, but I can’t be friends with someone who stole from kids and old people. I have a grandmother, and if I ever found out someone took her money, I’d beat the living crap out of them. That’s pathetic.”
I opened my mouth to answer but realized I was speaking to dead air. The bastard had hung up on me.
“Shit.”
I threw the phone onto the couch and stalked over to the fridge to get myself a beer. After chugging half, I grabbed my phone again. “Where the hell is Avery’s number?” I scrolled through my contacts until I came to Zuckerman.
“Avery, what’s up? It’s Ronan.” Jesus, even I could hear the desperation in my voice.
“Oh, hi.”
I bit my tongue at his cool response. “Yeah, I was sitting here having a beer and thinking maybe we could get together and have a drink. Like old times. We used to have fun.” Old times for us was hanging out and hooking up when neither of us wanted to be alone.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“No? Why the hell not?” I snapped. My patience was wearing thin. For fuck’s sake. I didn’t murder anyone.
“Because I work for a judge, and I don’t think she’d like me to hang out with convicted felons. I’m sorry, Ronan.”
And once again, dead silence.
“Bastards. All of you. Fuck off. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”
I finished off my beer and headed to the kitchen, where I grabbed the rest of the six-pack and proceeded to get filthy, stinking drunk.
***
The following morning, I reported to my parole officer. We’d had biweekly meetings when I first got out of prison, but this was my official “time for Ronan to start giving back to society.” I was going to get my assignment for my community service. Not that I had plans or anything, but with the throb of a hangover behind my eyes, it wasn’t at the top of my list of things I wanted to do today. Lying in bed in a dark room and moaning sounded way better.
Edwin Ortega was my PO, and he greeted me with a quick nod. “Ronan. I have all your information on where you’re going to report.” He handed me a card, and without much interest, I glanced at it. My eyes widened as I reread the words.
