I don’t answer Deacon because his brother is touching me again. “Cassidy Cakes,” Powell says. “What’s the good word? Nate says you’re starting grad school. An Eli.” His voice is accusatory, as if my brother had told him a lie.
“Come on, Powell. What’s the first thing you learned in kindergarten? Hands on your own body.”
“Still as uptight as ever. Guess some things never change.” Sucking down his beer, Powell smiles. “So, did you and Avery ever reconnect?”
“Actually, I saw her a few weeks ago. Are you guys dating?”
“Dating? Avery and I can barely make it through one evening without an argument.” His eyes light up, like he’s stumbled on a sunken treasure. “If I recall, you and Avery had your own tête-à-tête.”
“That was forever ago, Powell.”
In high school, during one of Nate’s blowout parties, Powell sidled up behind me and pressed his cock against my ass. “I’m gonna split you in half,” he growled. A year later, he cornered me in Nate’s bedroom and wrestled me to the floor. Powell was heavy, like a tank. His weight flattened me as he thrust a knee between my legs, dug his fingers into my thighs. I was struggling to push him off when my brother walked in. “Whoops,” Nate said, misinterpreting. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Powell scrambled to his feet. I ran out of the room, trying not to cry.
He’s repulsive, I think now. Repulsive. Pressure pulses behind my eyes. “I have to go,” I announce, licking my teeth. My mouth is numb. Earlier Nate offered me cocaine; I should’ve said no. When I try to stand up, my legs give way. I grab the lip of the bar for support. Behind me, I hear Powell talking to Nate about Billy.
“I know for a fact he’s innocent. Of course, he’s innocent. He can’t plead out.”
My lips are tingling. “What the fuck do you know, Powell?”
Nate whirls around. “Lighten up, Cassie. Deacon and Powell are on Billy’s side.”
“Seriously?” Powell is indignant. “You think I don’t know how a guy gets railroaded? Brody Leighton’s cousin? At Duke? Met a girl on Tinder. Took her for dinner. Used a condom. Stayed the night. The whole fucking nine. Still, the girl reported him. Next thing the guy knows, he’s booted out of Duke and working at Best Buy.”
“A condom?” I feign incredulity. “That’s consent right there, brah.”
“Don’t be an asshole, Cassie,” Nate says. “Can’t you just relax for once in your life?”
“Actually, no, I can’t.” My jaw aches, my head roars. Nothing makes sense. Why is he discussing Billy in public, much less with Powell? It’s our family’s private business. “Nate, he doesn’t know anything about Billy’s case.”
“We know everything, Cassie Quinn.” Powell slides his hands over my bare legs. “Everything about you, everything there is to know.”
Oh, how I wished Nate had rushed to my defense. In my fantasies, when he saw Powell humping me, Nate shoved him aside. He raised a hand. Made a fist. Boom! Again and again, Nate punched Powell’s lights out. Get off my sister, get off her, get off her, get off her.
“Get off me!” I smack Powell’s chest with open palms. “Get the fuck off me.”
“Hey! That hurt.” Powell is laughing.
I’m shaking. I need to calm down. I stalk off to the ladies’ room again, and when I return, Powell and Deacon are gone. Nate orders two more drinks. I sip mine slowly, trying to straighten up. Soon, the bar is almost empty. It’s just me and Nate, and he’s wasted.
“Why were you such a bitch, Princess?” Nate’s supporting his head, barely, with an elbow on the bar. “Those guys believe in Billy. They’re standing by him. That means something.” He signals for Tess. “Absolut and tonic, please, Tess-tosterone, Tess-ticle, Tess-la, Tess of the d’Urbervilles.”
“You sure you need another drink, Nate?” Tess looks at me.
Shaking my head, I mouth a no. I pull on Nate’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
He won’t budge. “Those guys know Billy is innocent. Their support matters. We need them.”
“I understand, Nate. But we have no idea what really happened that night—or what they’ll say about Billy in court. Maybe he should take the deal. I told you, I tried talking to him, but he got angry at me. I just wanted to help. I didn’t mean to piss him off.”
Nate’s eyes flutter open; suddenly, he’s wide awake. “Cassie, for someone so smart, you are so stupid. Billy is never gonna talk to you. Never. Billy hates you, Cassie. I mean, he doesn’t hate you—he loves you, you’re his sister. But he can’t stand the sight of you.”
“What are you talking about?” I’m panicking. The bar feels too dark and too loud. My scalp prickles.
“You know, Cassie. Don’t pretend you don’t. Diana and Billy broke up because of you. You’re the reason for this whole mess. It’s your fault. So don’t you dare suggest that he plead guilty just to save yourself.” Nate stands up. “I love you, Cassie. You’re my sister and a sour pickle, but you are also one dangerous cunt. Right now, I wish we never let you into our family. Actually, I wish we never met you.” He staggers out.
“Nate, wait.” My eyes fill. “Nate, don’t leave me.” Nate, I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I do know, of course I know.
34
ALONE, I TRAVEL UPTOWN. WHEN I FINALLY GET HOME, IT’S two-thirty. I stop by the celebration room and find Lawrence in his recliner, flipping through channels. The TV casts off murky shadows that move across his face, making him look like he’s underwater. Though he’s still wearing the button-down shirt and khakis he had on earlier today, he took off his shoes. On the floor, near the coffee table, his loafers are neatly aligned. They’re expertly polished, but both backs are broken where he slides into them.
“You came home.” When he glances up, Lawrence’s glasses go dark. For a second, he appears to have no eyes. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Stop saying that.” I’m very twitchy, too twitchy to sit with him. My brothers hate me. I don’t blame them. “You’re my family. Where else would I go?”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“So what?” I’m not as drunk as I was earlier. Between the mean things Nate said and the cab ride from Tribeca, I sobered up fast.
“Cassie, I’m just trying to connect.” Lawrence sounds hurt. “I’ve missed you.”
You’re repulsive.
He pats the couch. “Come, Forever Girl, have a seat. Tell me what’s what.” There are no whiskey or wineglasses around, but I can smell the booze. “Where’s Nate?”
“At his place. We went to a bar in SoHo.” I yawn. “I’m exhausted, Lawrence.”
“Just two minutes. Please?” His voice, deep and gravelly, pulls me toward him. “It’s lonely without you.” I do as he asks. Together, we stare at the soundless TV.
“I’m happy you’re home,” Lawrence says softly. When he talks, I see two heads, his own and his shadow, on the wall. “Everything is better when you’re here.” He reaches for my hand, which he cradles, gently, in his own.