Chapter 1
Lake
I startled awake. It took me two seconds to realize it was because I’d dropped the book I’d been reading on my face.
A quiet giggle from the couch across the coffee table made me glare playfully at one of my two roommates, Rey.
“I told you you’d fall asleep, again.” He grinned.
“Yeah, yeah…” I rubbed a hand over my face and tried to feel more perky.
Our last roommate, my best friend River, was on his way home from work with pizza, hopefully.
I turned to the tiny window next to the chair. With how small our two-bedroom NYC apartment was, our forty-two inch TV covered the bottom half of said window.
At least the view was okay from this one: the building across the courtyard used mostly for trash collecting didn’t block all the daylight.
“Don’t worry, you weren’t out for more than a few moments,” Rey said in his quiet voice.
I was about to answer something, when the doorbell rang.
He frowned. “Did Riv forget his keys again?”
Rey’s expression grew cautious, almost fearful, when anyone rang our doorbell. He was afraid of something. As always, he dashed into the closest bedroom—mine—and wouldn’t come out until he knew the coast was clear.
I went to open the door. A serious-looking older man stood there, schooling his expression at the last minute. He’d likely been grimacing at the state of the corridor.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“I’m looking for Lake White.”
“That’d be me. What’s this about?” I didn’t think I owed anyone money. The guy looked all too professional and serious to not be, well, those things.
“My name is Hudson McMillan, I’m an attorney and I represent your aunt, Ruth White.”
The ever-familiar sound of River jogging up the stairs drifted to us. McMillan glanced toward the stairwell, then back to me. “May I come in?”
“That’s my roommate,” I replied, not opening the door an inch more.
River glanced up from the pizza boxes he was balancing in his hands. He smiled, then frowned a bit when he noticed McMillan.
“What’s up?” He had his scrubs on with his bag slung across his chest.
“This is Mr. McMillan. He’s here about my aunt, I guess.”
“Oh, all right. You the guy who’s been trying to call Lake from Illinois?”
I made room for them to step inside and closed the door behind them.
“That would be me, yes.” McMillan was doing his best not to judge the apartment, but it was still there, the slight suggestion of poor guys, living in such a cramped, worn-out space. It wasn’t a new expression by any means. River and I got that a lot.
River took the pizza boxes to the coffee table. He raised his brows at me, gaze going toward the bedrooms.
I smiled and flicked mine at the closest door, my own.
“So, Mr. White, I have some personal business—”
“Please take a seat, and whatever you have to say, River is my best friend, and he will hear everything anyway, so…” I shrugged. “Might as well get on with it.”
