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Harper presses her lips together. The nonverbal skepticism sets my teeth on edge. “I know people in my father’s position could pay off someone to clear his name,” I say, “but that’s not what happened. I promise.”
She nods. “I don’t care about your dad right now. The only thing I want to know is why the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, a wet dream in a suit, walked behind this counter and acted like he wanted to kill some random customer for giving you a hard time. Care to explain that?”
“I can’t. Not when I don’t understand it.”
“Fine. Just so you know, I hate you a little right now. Pure jealousy. I admit it.”
“Don’t be. That lawyer said the most horrible things about my father, and he practically bullied me while I was on the stand.” I shudder as remnants of his accusations echo in my mind. “I don’t hate Mr. Bennett, but I’m not far from it.”
Harper tilts her head. “Was it personal, or was he doing his job?”
I open my mouth, close it, and try again. “It felt personal.”
“I can’t imagine a court case that wouldn’t. Look, all I’m saying is, after what Mr. Hot-as-fuck Bennett did today, I wouldn’t be so quick to judge him.”
“Hey girls.” Alex, the manager and owner of the Sugar Cube, walks up to us. “How’s it going today?”
Harper gestures to the nearly empty room. “Same old, same old.”
I nod, but it’s a lie.
It feels like nothing in my life will ever be the same again.
* * *
“Want to catch a rideshare with me?”Harper asks.
I inhale the evening air, letting it cleanse me from the inside out. “I can’t. You live in the opposite direction, remember?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” she says, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I just don’t like the idea of you walking alone at night.”
“Well, it’s not like I can sleep in your dorm room.”
She shrugs. “You could. My hook-ups do.”
“I swear you spend more time having sex than studying art.”
“The human body is a canvas that I utilize at every opportunity.”
A laugh bursts from me. “I’d believe that if you were a sculptor. Go on.” I nudge her playfully. “I’ll be fine.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
She smiles at me, the expression wobbly on her pretty face. I give her a little wave and shove my hands in my pockets, grabbing the pepper spray. The feel of it in my palm gives me the courage to face the trek back to my apartment.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I am beyond desperate.
I lift my chin, square my shoulders, and tighten my grip on the tiny canister before taking off. New York is a city that never sleeps, whether that be the good or the bad parts of it. The safe or the dangerous.
The only thing that gets me through is the lingering thought that this can’t last forever. Eventually, I’ll earn enough money to pay the P.I. to find my father’s killer. Once that’s done, I can lay this all to rest and begin to build my life. Or what’s left of it.
I’ve made peace with the fact that I’ll never live in the upper echelon of society or have access to that type of wealth again. It was never that important to me anyway. The only part of my former life that I miss was having a family. Even if it was only my father, some of the kids at the shelter, and the members of my household staff. It was improper to have friendships with them, but I never cared.
Family isn’t defined by a number of people or the social construct. It’s defined by the number of heartbeats, shared laughs, and a love that goes beyond borders or restrictions.
I sigh, the sound loud now that the noises of the city are beginning to lessen. Although my awareness increases. The buildings towering above encase me in shadow, the street lights weak against the magnitude of the darkness. The ground underneath my tennis shoes changes from the pale gray cement to the cracked asphalt found in less-cared-for parts of the city. The places I didn’t know existed until I was forced to live there.
