Never Say Forever

“Given how your grandfather—”

“What is it they say about throwing stones around glass houses?” I retort, jabbing an angry finger his way. And then it dawns on me. Everett isn’t trying to goad me into a reaction as payback for whatever he thinks is going on with Fee. “You’re worried about Remy. About his family’s past.” A past linked inextricably with my own and with Rose’s. Like some unholy trinity.

“I don’t like secrets.”

“That is unfortunate, considering who you work for.” I like Remy, but the man makes me look like an open book.

“I’m paid to keep his secrets.”

“Which, in turn, will keep mine.”

The man glowers at my answer. “Unless you’re doing something stupid. Something to risk it all coming out.”

“Which I’m not.”

“You’re a loose cannon, Hayes. And you make no fucking sense,” he spits, his contemptable gaze roaming over me. “But I’ll get to the bottom of this, and when I do, you’ll wish you’d just fucking told me.”

“You think I’m just some playboy messing with people’s lives? Well, fuck you. I enlisted because my mother was one of those poor unfortunates stuck in the North Tower on 9/11. I enlisted because I was a stupid kid who wanted to make sure that no one, no one person, one family, one city, one fucking country, would lose a loved one because of terrorism.”

It fixed nothing, achieved nothing, except pissing off my father for throwing away my education. My station. My life. He could barely bring himself to look at me, worried that the loss of my mother had made me a zealot.

But I wasn’t. I was just an asshole kid. A couple of days into my first tour of Afghanistan and I was swiftly abused of my lofty ideals. But then my father died, still not understanding, and I went to work for my grandfather. And that was where I discovered terror comes in many forms.

“That’s . . . surprising,” he answers soberly.

“Try fucking senseless.” Stepping back, I glance down and straighten my cuffs, though my insides are still boiling with rage.

“And the other?”

I feed my hand into the inside pocket of my jacket, pulling out a card. “Let me save you the trouble of digging. Call this number and meet with Tucker. He’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Tucker?” He’s still frowning as he lifts his gaze.

“That would be one of my prostitutes. You know, if I’m the pimp.”

I walk out without looking back.

14

Fee

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I answer on the third ring, just as we’re coming in through the door on a grey Tuesday afternoon in September. Despite it being autumn, sorry, fall, the air outside feels heavy, but maybe that’s because I’m still not used to the bustle of people and traffic. It’s hard to believe I have been here more than a month already and harder still to think I’ll ever get used to the array of smells—good and bad—the crush of people and the rumble of the subway under my shoes.

“Hey, you,” I answer with a smile. Tucking the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I pull off my jacket.

“Hey yourself!” Rose’s greeting is as exuberant as my own, which makes my smile all the wider. Knowing she misses me as much as I miss her is the next best thing to a warm hug.

Lu’s shoe suddenly flies through the air, narrowly missing a mirror.

“That’s not how we take our shoes off, Lulu,” I warn, pulling the phone away from my ear.

“Sorr-ee,” she sing-songs back. “Who’s on the phone?”

“Tante Rose.”

“I want to speak to her.” Lulu makes starfish grabby hands, her smile taking up half her face.

“Shoes and bag first.”

“Aw!”

“Did I call at a bad time?” Rose’s voice echoes down the line and across continents.

“No, your timing is perfect. We’ve just this minute gotten home.”

“Home?” Her delivery of that one word is laden with a dozen things and most of them teasing.

“Well, it’s home for now, at least. But I have news on that front. We’ve found somewhere to live!”

“Well, that’s great. Did the realtor help?”

He helped annoy me, I suppose, by showing me nothing but ridiculously priced apartments and those too far away.

“No, actually one of the girls at work has offered me her sister’s apartment. She’s moving in with her boyfriend, and apparently, it’s quite a volatile relationship so she doesn’t want to let the place long term.

“That sounds a little less than great. What happens if they split up?”

“Well, nothing for the first three months because I’ll sign a lease for at least that long. And by then, I’ll have been in Manhattan for almost six months.”

“Halfway to coming back to France. How does that feel?”

“Ask me in three months.” I laugh. “I feel like I’ve just gotten here.”

“Yeah, I guess. So, have you seen this apartment?”

“Yep. I picked Lulu up after school yesterday, and we went to view it. It’s pretty much perfect. It’s furnished so cutely and is practically ready to move in to.”