“Why didn’t you and Deck get together back then? Before all the stuff with that Chi-chi character? You said you never told him how you felt, but you also said he probably felt the same way. I know you were young, but…”
I looked up at the ceiling. “It’s not my place to give up his secrets, but Deck has his own demons. They gave him a reason to run from me. Going to prison convinced him he was right all along to stay away.”
“That’s why he didn’t answer your letters,” Marcus spoke up. “To give you a clean break from his ‘demons.’”
“I don’t know if that’s incredibly sad or incredibly romantic,” Britta said. “For what it’s worth, he looked at you today like he really, really liked you. And if you’re working through the stuff from your past, maybe he is too.”
“Maybe.”
“Hopefully, this is okay to ask…” Marcus said slowly. “But whatever happened to Chi-chi? Are you safe?”
I hmphed. “Interesting footnote. Turns out, the cops had eyes on the big man Chi-chi ran scores for and had plenty on him already. That’s how they picked up Cruz. In exchange for a reduced sentence, Chi-chi rolled on his boss and got a nasty prison-yard death for his trouble. Shanked right in the back. Bash got the same two months later.”
“Jesus,” Marcus breathed out.
I shrugged. “Meh. That’s what you get when you snitch like a little bitch.” I couldn’t drum up much compassion for the man who’d assaulted me.
Marcus did a double take. “Damn, Cori. At no point in our relationship have I ever thought I’d hear you utter the phrase ‘snitch like a little bitch.’” He cracked a smile.
“Shut up.” I laughed.
Britta cackled. “Oh my god. Say it again. Except give me a sec to grab my phone. I want to record it for Instagram.”
“Fuck off.” I threw a pillow at her.
I knew they weren’t making fun of me. They were letting me know that, whoever I was and whoever I’d been, it was all okay with them.
By the time they went home, our conversation had turned to the more benign topics of Marcus’s squabbling interns and Britta’s next work trip. But the glow of unburdening myself lingered, of finally being in the right headspace to relay all the gory details of my past.
I wondered about Deck. Being in his arms was one thing, but being in his head was another. I didn’t understand the full extent of his demons, but I couldn’t stop myself from imagining what might be on the other side of him conquering them.
Chapter twenty-six
Deck
Monday morning, I arrived at the Center early to work on the bathroom tile. Reign would be in to help later, and I needed to make good progress for the project to remain on track, since it took longer when I spent time instructing them on how to do things.
I was also hoping to run into Cori so I could apologize. I’d been sort of rude yesterday, especially after learning she and her friend Marcus had once been a couple. Been engaged.
It shouldn’t have taken me by surprise. Obviously, Cori had lived her life while I’d been locked up. Not to mention the past few years. I knew from Johnny that she didn’t date much. Had Marcus been her only serious relationship? And was that the kind of man she was into? A perfectly nice and boring white-collar guy with awesome manners who probably had a closet full of, like, sport coats. He seemed like the type of person who kept in touch with his fraternity brothers and had a favorite author. Meanwhile, I’d had to buy a new outfit to avoid embarrassingmyself at brunch, and the only reading I did these days was my daily doomscroll through social media.
I thought we’d been getting somewhere on the dance floor. The euphoria of holding her in my arms had flooded my senses. But I’d let myself have it. And made no apologies for wanting it.
Then I met Marcus, and the familiar insecurities came rushing back.
When I reached the office, Cori was on a Zoom call with Quincy, the accountant. I lingered outside, trying not to eavesdrop. Then I heard my name. Quincy’s voice was muffled, but I caught snippets of Cori’s end of the conversation.
“Deck is saving us a ton doing all this repair work for free… I know. I saw the maintenance line item, we will need to fix that… Yeah, the foundation is pulling back on all their grants, so we only have this year… We pushed him on fulfilling his get-or-give commitment, and he quit the board instead… No. Ana feels good about it. Goal is still the same.”
Hearing the click signaling the end of the call, I rapped on the doorframe. Cori sat at the desk—in a new chair—with her head in her hands.
When she looked up, I confessed sheepishly, “Sorry, I might have overheard some of that conversation.”
She waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. You’re part of the team now, right? None of this is sensitive or confidential. I can tell you straight out that the Center’s finances are still totally fucked. We need an influx of money. There’s no way to get out of this with cuts or efficiencies. We need the gala to make eight hundred thousand. Minimum. That’ll buy us another year to figure out a long-term plan to remain sustainable.”
“And if the gala doesn’t make that much?”
Cori’s expression tightened. “We’ll look like a sinking ship. Funders will pull out. It’ll snowball. Donors don’t like throwing money at lost causes. That’s why some of our board membershave already bailed. They thought the numbers were too daunting.”
