I step into her room. Cackle peers out from beneath the bed. Danica sits on the floor next to him, a bereft expression on her face.
I squat down next to her. “What happened?”
She points to the bed behind her. I stare for a moment, confused, until I see her open laptop.
It’s open to a page filled with text. I pick up the machine for a closer look.
My eyes widen in horror.
It’s a list of every one of Troy’s arrests and the charges associated with them. It goes on and on, providing details, cataloging everything that he ever did or was accused of doing.
Holy fuck.
I rub the back of my neck, trying to relieve immediate tension. No wonder Danica yelled at him. Seeing everything spelled out like this would be really fucking scary to someone who isn’t involved in the business.
“Danica, you know these are just arrests. Half the time, he was never charged. And he was never convicted?—”
She scoffs. “Right. He was perfectly innocent. Just like Patrick. If you think that, then you can get the fuck out, too.”
“It’s not that I think that—I know that. He did some of it, but not all?—”
“Out.” She points to the door.
Jaw tight, I leave, closing the door behind me.
When I return to the living room, Troy is in the same spot on the sofa. He stands and gestures toward Danica’s room. “So, what the hell happened?”
“Amber.”
“Amber…what?” Troy looks aghast. “Did she come here? Did she talk to Dani?”
“I guess I should be honest. I don’t know for sure it was Amber. But I believe it was.” I shake my head. “Someone sent Danica a list of your arrest reports, and I think it was her.”
He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out minute. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. Danica’s making connections to her cousin, probably because of the DA’s sexual abuse allegations.”
“Fuck. Fuck.” He starts down the hall.
“You should really give her some time before trying to talk?—”
He bypasses her room entirely and continues to his.
I follow him. “What are you doing?”
“Packing.” He grabs a duffel from his closet and starts throwing in pants.
“For what? Where are you going?”
“I’m out of here. I’m done.” He empties a drawer of t-shirts and boxers into the bag.
Anger and panic make my gut churn. “What the fuck are you talking about, Troy? What do you mean you’re done? Where are you going?”
“I’m done working for your family. I’m going somewhere else. It’s none of your business anymore. If you’re any kind of friend, you’ll arrange it so your dad and grandfather don’t send anyone after me.”
“Of course I wouldn’t let them do that.”
He zips the duffel and throws it over his shoulder. “Good.”
