The Dirty Ones

“No, really.”

“You read all of them?”

He nods. “Yeah, she writes funny stuff with positive messages.”

“Gross,” I say.

We both laugh.

Then he says, “I’ve missed you, Con.”

I grin and look at him. “Yeah, ditto. Feels good to be with you guys again. I’ve had Bennett in my life for what seems like forever. But it’s not the same. I’m not glad that book was written, but if it had to be written then I’m glad it brought us all back together.” Then I think about it a little more thoroughly and add, “Well, except for Emily.”

“Why not Emily?” he asks.

I just laugh at his joke.

“No, really. Why not Emily?”

“Because she fucking shot Kiera, Hayes. She could’ve killed her.”

“But if all that shit in the tower is true—”

“What do you mean if it’s true?”

“—then it wasn’t her fault.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” But even as the words are coming out of my mouth I’m picturing Emily this morning. I didn’t do it.

“I’m just saying that she did what she had to, that’s all. It was an impossible situation. I think we all agree on that. Some nameless, faceless stranger controlling us without our consent. Making us perform sexual acts and shit. It’s so fucked up. You can’t really blame her.”

“Well, yeah, I can. Because she did that the very first night. Nothing even happened at that point. We didn’t know what that year was gonna turn into. She just… got an order and followed it. Which is fucked up. So yeah, I blame her. She split us up from the beginning. Maybe if we had a chance to talk shit over before—”

“Talk what over?” Hayes asks.

“Whatever.” I laugh. “The tower.”

“Have you ever been back there?”

“Why the fuck would I go back?”

Hayes shrugs. “I dunno. Just to see if you could get back in. Take a fresh look at things from a ten-years-later perspective?”

“No, thanks,” I say, kinda feeling sick just thinking about it.

“You never showed for any of the alumni dinners.”

“No. Why did you?”

“Not at first,” he says, looking me dead in the eyes. “But the past few, yeah.”

“Huh,” I say, trying to picture that. “Did anyone else go?”

He nods.

“Who?”

“Louise.”

“Hmmm,” I say. “Weird. She’s so fucking weird.”

“Do you know what she does?”

“No,” I say. “Never saw her again. Never heard anything about her again.”

“She’s a doctor.”

I nod. “I guess I can see that.”

Hayes holds my gaze. Too long, so it becomes uncomfortable. I’m just about to ask him why he’s looking at me that way when he says, “Yeah. I’ll be interested to see your reaction to her on Saturday.”

“Speaking of Saturday,” I say. “How did you know my father was going to throw a party at her house? Bennett said you mentioned it earlier.”

“Just a really good guess.”

Which is a really strange response that deserves all the follow-up questions, but the car stops in front of a building that must be Sofia’s, and Hayes opens his door to get out.

He looks over his shoulder, one foot already exiting, and says, “Forget about all this shit for a night. The girls are waiting upstairs.”

And then the rest of him is out on the street and the door closes, leaving me alone.

Sofia’s apartment is like a smaller copy of her building lobby twelve floors down below. Black marble floors with glittering gold lines separating each tile. Long sheer black curtains flanking each of the floor to ceiling windows, crushed-velvet yellow couches placed facing each other, and armchairs in deep navy blue on either end creating a seating area that reminds me of Hayes’ third-floor library.

She and Kiera are busy in the gleaming stainless steel chef’s kitchen when Hayes and I enter the main living area, their backs to us.

“Hey!” Sofia calls out, putting a tray of bread into the oven. “I hope you two are hungry.”

Kiera looks over her shoulder, washing her hands at the sink, and smiles as she turns and wipes them dry on an apron.

I stop where I’m at and just stare at her. Fresh now, like me. She’s wearing an outfit similar to the ones I’ve seen her in all week. Beige leggings, long brown sweater with a low-hanging neckline, and those shearling boots that make her look like a model in a brochure for mountain cabin rentals. Her unruly blonde hair is pulled up in a ponytail, but it’s not a neat one—like how Sofia has her hair today—but messy and wild. Just like her.

I smile back. Let myself get lost in her for a moment.

“Let me help,” Hayes says, hanging his coat on a hook that holds an assortment of aprons. I stop and wait, wondering if he’s gonna put on one, but he doesn’t. Just unbuttons his shirt cuffs and starts rolling up his sleeves as he leans in to give Sofia a kiss on the cheek.