Page 82 of The Deals We Make

Mrs. Moray pushes the door fully open and wraps her arms around herself to fend off the cold. “She told me the two of you were becoming friends.”

Impatience sparks in my veins, but I try to remain cool. There’s a childish curiosity in her tone.

“We are.” The kind who have mind-blowing sex. “You got her cellphone number? I really need to call her?”

“Not sure I should be giving it to you. What if she doesn’t want you to have it?”

“Mrs. Moray. You know me. Have my whole life. Even when you were mean to me, I did things for you. I wouldn’t be asking for her number if it wasn’t important.”

She disappears inside and when she reappears, she hands me an old phone. “It’s in there.”

Quickly, I find the contacts and transfer Calista’s number to my phone. But I see a shift in Mrs. Moray’s face as I hand her phone back to her. The confusion lifts for a moment, and she reaches out her palm to my cheek. “You always were a good boy.”

My heart stops for a minute. It’s probably the closest I’m going to get from Mrs. Moray that she’s sorry, and I need to accept it as such and let go of the years of frustration and hurt.

And then, she closes the door on me.

As I walk away, phone ringing in my ear, I’m terrified something is going to happen to Calista while she’s all alone.

Because while I would feel the loss at a visceral level, I don’t think Mrs. Moray would ever recover.

25

VEX

“Where are you?” I ask when Calista answers her phone.

“I’m scared, Ti,” she says, and her voice shakes.

“Where are you?”

“The boardwalk. By the Paramount on Ocean.”

“Talk to me,” I say.

I can hear her panting as she walks. “It’s probably nothing. But there’s a black car, a sedan. I’ve seen it before. On Mom’s street the morning I crept out. I think it’s a woman. It must have followed me from Mom’s house all the way to the shore, even though I didn’t notice it at first. I thought maybe I was being paranoid. But then…”

I straddle my bike. “But then, what?”

“Every time I stopped, it stopped.”

“I’m coming to you. Eight minutes, max. Go into one of the buildings. Find the public. Find the cops. Whatever you need to do. I’m on my way.”

I’m glad I’m on my bike because I can steer it onto the fucking boardwalk. My heart races as I skirt through traffic,never more grateful for all the gritting that’s happened on these roads.

An old guy takes his time making a turn, and I ride in front of him. It’s a risk, but I need to get to Calista. Tell her I’m sorry for walking out this morning. Help her find out whoever the bitch that’s trailing her is.

As long as she doesn’t get to her first.

The minutes feel like hours as I turn onto Fifth Avenue, looking all the while for a black sedan. My first priority is to get to Calista, but if I see a black sedan lurking, I’m taking out the fucker’s tires just to be on the safe side.

I pass the pale green Wonder Bar and drive straight onto the pedestrian area next to the iconic theatre. At the sound of the bike, Calista steps out from behind the concrete stairs.

She’s shaking, but I don’t have time to comfort her right now.

“I don’t have leathers,” she says, her voice quavering.

“Get on the damn bike, Cal,” I say, and she does as I say, her long legs climbing on behind me. “I’ll drive safe.”