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“The company might fall apart,” he whispered, staring into my eyes. He took my hands and held them. “One of my only friends decided to abandon me. And I owe a drunk and a liar one million dollars.”
“We have Desmond’s address,” I said, almost pleading, desperate. “We can go out there and fix this.”
He nodded, his eyes hardening, and he kissed me again, but this time his hand swirled into my hair and he pulled me tight against him, his lips tough and almost painful in their sweetness, and when that kiss broke apart I knew he wasn’t giving up—even if things looked black and he was at his worst.
20
Rees
We rolled down a quiet Chicago neighborhood in a black rented sedan and Millie didn’t speak a word. The whole trip over had been heavy with tension and uncertainty, and I didn’t feel like talking about it. I knew she wanted to discuss what happened with Lady Fluke, and maybe get me to admit that it hurt me, because yes, it hurt me, and it pissed me off, and it made me think the whole world was one fucked up place that only cared about profit, and friendship could go sit and screw, but I didn’t say any of that.
I kept it to myself, because we had work to do, and I didn’t want to upset her.
I was always surprised by how many trees there were in Chicago. It was so different from Philadelphia: lots of green, grass and plants, all growing along the gap between street and sidewalk. Philly was an old city, a tiny city that hadn’t sprawled much, build for walking and for horses, whereas all the cities moving out west were bigger, constructed when cars were a thing, when they needed to spread out to make room for trucks. Chicago still had some of that old city feel, but not like Philly. The houses were larger too, and some of them single family units, not connected in a row, sharing walls and roofs with strangers, sharing rats and whatever else crawled along the basements.
The address was a rundown structure with a black wrought iron fence out front. We pulled up at night, around eleven. The streets were empty. The house was probably painted light blue once, but the siding was chipped and peeling, and the windows looked like they needed to be updated. The steps leading up to the sagging front porch seemed treacherous, and I didn’t want to test them. Overall the neighborhood was nice enough, quiet and residential, lots of cars parked along the curbs, a school several blocks over, a little park not far away. It was the sort of place people raised kids, and it was quiet in the middle of the night, nobody out walking their dogs, nobody on their porches.
I parked the car across the street and we sat there with the engine off and stared at the house, not talking for a while. I knew she wanted me to break the silence first but I wasn’t ready. Inside, Desmond waited—although I wasn’t sure he was aware we had his address yet. If I had to guess, Alvin would hold off on telling him for as long as humanly possible, and maybe even disappear once my check cleared.
Wasn’t my problem though. I had other worries.
I leaned back in my seat. It was strange to imagine Desmond living here. He was always a lavish man, used to creature comforts, and in the years right after we parted ways, he was always posting pictures on social media of his new cars, and bragging about girlfriends. I wondered where the girls and the cars were now, and knew they were gone, with everything else.
All he had was a grudge and maybe some cash stored away. Enough to keep himself going, and to keep a drunk like Alvin on the hook.
“I know this isn’t what you signed up for,” I said, shifting slightly to face Millie.
She smiled at me, and the soft glow of the street light reflected off her eyes. I wanted to touch her, to run my hands through her hair—but something felt like it held me back, and I wasn’t sure what.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s amazing how far we’ve come, you know. And how long’s it been since we started?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Feels like forever.”
“Three weeks, I think. But yeah, it does feel like forever.” She tilted her head, studying me, and I looked away toward Desmond’s place. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“No,” I said. I knew what she meant: Lady Fluke. I didn’t want to talk about that at all.
“Okay, we don’t have to, but we can when you’re ready.”
“Thanks.” I leaned my head back on the seat and wished I could explain how I felt about everything, how it hurt, but also didn’t hurt—because I wasn’t surprised. I knew one day Lady Fluke would find some reason to stop being my friend, like everyone else in my life found a reason to walk away.
