A speck of wetness falls against my blouse and sinks into the fabric.
I pinch my eyes together, trying to shake the reminders of his voice out of my head and finish what I started. “And what happened after that?”
She sucks in a deep breath and pulls her hand back. “Dough performed again. He performed for a boat full of fucked up college kids while I brought Ace to his cabin and put him in bed with Aunt Angie. The next morning, Uncle Ason showed up, and we all left.”
“Cheyenne too?”
She nods and my irrational anger comes crawling back.
“So, when did it happen?”
“When did what happen?”
“When did he rape her?”
Her mouth hangs open, and I get it. The more I learn about that night, the less cautious I need to be. It’s just a big game ofBlue’s Clueswith people who had a thousand different versions of what happened on a night that changed Ace’s life and the situation isn’t delicate anymore. I promised him an hour, and we were going on two while Mama might’ve been prying her eyes open like he promised Marcus.
“I don’t know, okay? I wasn’t with her all night—or him. I didn’t even hear about it until two days later when it hit the news. That’s how we all found out. Even Javi. When she left the boat the next morning, I didn’t see anything different about her, but that doesn’t matter a’ight? People try to act normal when things like that happen. There’s shock…trauma—”
“Cree... fuck all of this politically correct bullshit. You look me in my face and tell me if her and Ace were in the same room, which way would your heart beat—with her or with him? Look me in my face and tell me Angie raised a man that would do that. Tell me if a man who gives so much of himself to people he cares about would ever do such an ugly thing.”
“I…” she breathes out.
“Call her,” I urge, leaning forward. “Call Cheyenne.”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“I am. Callher.”
Irrational anger makes me crazy and impulsive and unstable. It makes me reach across the table and grab her phone so I can go back to Mama and Ace.
I shove it toward her face. “Do it.”
* * *
The nosy partythat sat next to us inside Prime Selection keeps staring when we stumble onto an empty curb outside. The oldest one twists her neck and leans back into her chair to look at us like Cree didn’t slap a hundred-dollar bill on the table to cover the one mimosa she ordered.
Cree eyes my phone, hanging out of my hand. “Are you going to record this?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s illegal.”
I shrug, staring at the blank voice memo. Legalities were the least of my worries.
Cree rolls her eyes and digs through her purse. She pulls out a joint and lights up like she needs to be high to gain the courage to do something she should’ve done a long time ago. I don’t need to consume anything because God and Angie settled my twisting insides.
When she unlocks her phone, I learn everything there is to know about her and Cheyenne’s relationship. She’s saved as “Cheyenne Smith” and she lives in Cree’s contact list, not her recents, despite them sitting courtside together just a few nights ago.
As soon as the phone rings, we shove our heads together and I hold my phone up to catch whatever comes out of their mouths.
“Cree?”
The first time I hear her voice is worse than the first time I saw her. She sounds like privilege.
“Hey Chey...how’re things going?” Cree sucks a toke of her joint.
“The grand opening is in like three hours and I’m going to flip my shit if Javi gets an attitude with me one more time. Seriously. How hard is it to pick up the catering from Catch?Somany influencers are coming. I’m literally losing my shit, babe. Where are you anyway?”
