This gives me a chance to look at one, then the other, of my two youngest brothers. They look good. They look filled-out and healthy. Their eyes aren’t glazed and they don’t have that strung-out exhaustion behind their expression—the measure of someone who’s spiraling, which we all learned to watch out for in our mother. And then our father.
They don’t have that look. Apollo looks like the movie star he is. He’s sun-tanned and has that L.A. thing going on. He’s obviously been working out and spending up large on everything he’s wearing. Boone has the family good looks too, and also his very own brand of charm and charisma that I always thought was the best of us. “It’s good to see you both.”
Apollo pats me on the back. “We came to check up on you. Looks like it’s a good thing we did.” We keep tabs on each other. We notice when something’s not right because of the way we were raised. Things were constantlynot rightand you learn to try to pre-empt that shit, if it’s possible.
Who knew it would bemewho spiraled. Not from drugs or alcohol but from the effects of a sassy little goddess from New Orleans.
One who I absolutely can’t bear to spend a single second of my life without. Where are you, baby girl?????????? I can’t fucking handle this.
“Who are you and what have you done with our work-obsessed, incapable-of-falling-in-love brother?” Boone jokes.
“Do you want a job?” I ask him. Until I get my Amelie Thibodeaux back, any ability I have to summon a sense ofhumor has apparently left the building. But my offer is genuine. Boone is smart. He’ll turn twenty-seven soon and he already has an impressive real estate portfolio. He’s also acted in a couple of movies. Even though Apollo’s the one who’s made it into a career, all four of us get offered roles on a regular basis. Boone’s taken a few of those offers and is starting to make his own name for himself. Boone also knows his way around an investment spreadsheet, partly through osmosis because I handle all of my brothers’ investments and he was always the one most interested in what I was doing. And I suddenly don’t want to be a workaholic anymore.
I want to spend all my time with Amelie Thibodeaux, basking in her golden glow.
If I can find her.
Fucking PLEASE don’t disappear on me. Whatever I did or didn’t do, I’ll make it up to you. God, universe, please just let me fucking FIND her.“Can you drive any faster?” I ask the driver gruffly, impressed with myself for not swearing, ringing his neck or punching something.
“Not unless you have the power of levitation and can fly us to the East Village, chief,” the driver replies. The guy’s a regular fucking comedian. But there’s not a damn thing I can do to speed up our pace so I have no choice but to wait. I mentally weigh up jumping out of the car and sprinting to the East Village but we’re not close enough yet. This will still be faster.
“What, as CEO?” Apollo chuckles at the question I just asked Boone.
“Yes. I’ll act as co-CEO-at-large and advisor. I’ll teach you everything.”
Boone considers this for a second. I happen to know he’s been at a loose end for a while, playing every field, both romantically and professionally. We had a deep and meaningful talk a while ago about whether he wants to commit to something but he doesn’t feel like he’s found a perfect fit, in either department. He’d be far better at the dealing-with-people part of the job than I’ve ever been. He’s got more natural charm than anyone I’ve ever met. “Okay,” he grins at me.
If I wasn’t drowning in withdrawal symptoms and the most cutting kind of worry and panic I’ve ever known, I’d smile. As it is, all I can manage is a brief nod. “Good.”
But then I notice the traffic has come to a standstill. We’re not moving.
And we’re close enough.
“Let’s go,” I tell my brothers, pulling a couple hundred-dollar bills off the roll of them I always carry in my pocket and handing them to the driver.
Then we’re out of the taxi and running through the East Village like a trio of maniacs who just escaped from an insane asylum.
Which is where I’m going to end up if I don’t find her. Some sixth sense tells me something’s wrong. That something’s going to happen. That she needs me.
My perfect little gorgeous love of my life, I’m coming. Just stay safe for me until I get there. Please.
41
The club is packedand very loud. Strobe lights flash to the pumping vibrations of the bassline and the dance floor seethes with writhing, energetic, purple-tinted people. The place has a fake palm trees and a tiki bar, like we’ve just stepped through a portal into a tropical dance party.
Sadie leads us to a booth, where Saskia and some of her friends are doing shots. A bottle of tequila sits half full on the table between them. Saskia introduces us to her friends but it’s hard to hear their names over the music.
I don’t know Saskia well. She’s three years older than Sadie. She was a senior in high school the year Sadie and I met as freshmen. After she graduated, she moved to Florida for a few years and she just recently moved to New York.
All five of the girls at the table are clearly already tipsy.
Sadie and I slide into the booth. She does a shot and handsthe shot glass to me. But I pass it to one of the other girls before anyone can fill it. I’m already feeling kind of queasy. And I definitely don’t do tequila. It sits squarely inside the circle I know to be devil’s poison. I’ve watched far too many people get messy on it in a way I have zero desire to do. It’s one of those things, like bourbon, that can destroy your life before you realize you’ve just stepped onto a very slippery slope with no ice pick.
My life is already in shambles. I hardly need to add more wreckage to my pile of rubble.
Especially now.
I do my best to listen to the conversation. But it’s loud in here and I’m distracted.
