Bored, Ford pulls out his phone and starts a game of Candy Crush, muttering, “We know about the brawl, old man.”
“Bet you don’t know the reason behind the brawl, though. Do you?”
“We’ve heard that one, too,” Hawke interjects. “Tight Ass has had no issue giving us all the details?—”
“Because your father’s such an honest man,” Judge replies.
My ears perk. Is he hinting there’s more to the story? It wouldn’t shock me. Not really. Between the way my family tiptoes around all things The Drift, and my uncle’s sudden appearance after my dad caught us behind enemy lines one too many times, I always assumed we were being left in the dark for one reason or another. Hearing I might be right is vindicating to say the least. Actually receiving confirmation, however, feels like a lost cause. Even so, I can’t help myself.
“Okay, Judge,” I return. “Why don’t you fill us in?”
“Your dad has worked very hard to keep Harden Heights separate from The Drift. Do you know why?”
“Do you?” Roman interjects. The man’s usually so quiet, most forget he’s there unless he wants to be seen. The fact he interrupted my uncle? He must really care or been so wrapped up in the conversation he forgot who he was speaking to.
Judge hesitates, eyeing Roman warily as if realizing the same thing. Hardens aren’t the only ones in the room. At least, not blood-related Hardens. “It’s family business,” Judge mutters.
With a scoff, Roman turns on his heel. “I’ll see myself out?—”
“Don’t bother,” Judge decides. “For now, I think it’s best if you lie low for a bit. You know, until you get your heads out of your asses and you figure out you’re playing with fire…from both ends.” He stands, wiping his palms against his thighs. “See you at the banquet.”
Then, he walks away.
As the front door clicks closed, Roman mutters, “Well, that was a lot of nothing.”
“I dunno, I got a thing or two out of it,” Ford decides.
“What do you think he meant?” Hawke questions. “About Tight Ass doing his best to keep Harden Heights and The Drift as separate as possible?”
“You mean, other than his aversion to poor people?” Roman jokes.
Ford chuckles. “Yeah, it’s a real shocker.”
“At least it’s one thing that’s not genetic,” Hawke adds dryly. “Maybe there’s hope for us after all.”
“Nah, I wouldn’t go that far,” Ford quips. “Speaking of poor people, though.” He turns his stare to me. “I think it’s probably smart if we address the elephant in the room one more time.”
Feeling an impending headache take hold, I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “What is it?”
“You gonna stay away from Violet?” Hawke questions.
I drop my hand. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You heard him,” Ford pushes. “If Judge can piece together what happened in the haunted house, then others can, too.”
“We already had this conversation–”
“Listen,” Ford snaps. “I know you said no one would question you without proof, but I want you to do us a favor. I think youowe it to us after we covered for you, lost a night of sleep, and helped Violet move into her new place.”
The asshole’s right. They’ve done more for me in the last twelve hours than I deserve. The least I can do is hear them out. “What kind of favor?” I mutter.
“Give us the three weeks we discussed after the haunted house and before she showed up on our doorstep,” Ford requests. “Lie low for that long, then you and Vi can ride off into the sunset and screw each other’s brains out. All right?”
I open my mouth to tell him to mind his own business, but close it just as quickly. After last night, then this morning, the idea of keeping my distance from Violet is…unpleasant at best. But so was Judge’s warning.
“Jag?” Hawke prods.
“Okay,” I cave. “Okay, I’ll give it three weeks. Let shit blow over. Someone else from The Drift will get jumped, we’ll have another Harden Night, and this weekend will be nothing but a blip on everyone’s radar. Deal?”
