Page 6 of Five

“Jesus Christ, Oliver. Shut the fuck up!”

But it’s too late. Rory turns, squinting her eyes into the late afternoon sun as she searches for him. She sees me first, I think. Because she scowls, turns back to the restaurant, and walks inside without a word.

“Park,” Oliver says.

“No,” I say, easing up to the light on Laurel Street. “I gotta get going. And how is she here, anyway? I thought you said she was in the Hamptons this summer?”

“I texted her,” Oliver says with a grin. “Told her you were here. Sent her a plane ticket this morning. And she came, Five. She left her little college world and came here. For you. So fuck you if you think you’re not gonna see my sister today. I’ll call my dad up right now and tell him what you just did inside that apartment. I’ll call your dad up too. And then I’ll tell him you took his shit from inside the wall.”

What the fuck?

“We do have cameras, Aston. Everywhere. And if you think I’m too stupid to figure out you came here to get code from Ford’s stash, well… I’m taking you to school, asshole. Now park the fucking car, go inside Anna Ameci’s and sweet-talk my sister.”

“You got a filthy little mouth on you, kid.”

“Yeah, well. My last name is Shrike. My dad’s a biker and my mom swears like a tattoo artist. What’d ya expect?”

I stare at him for a few seconds. The light at Laurel turns green. Someone honks behind me. Oliver’s gaze is solid. Stoic. Firm. He will ruin everything unless I give in.

So I flip a bitch and park, pulling on the e-brake for effect.

“I’ll make you pay for this,” I say, getting out of the car.

“I can’t fucking wait for it, Aston,” Oliver quips back. “Now go be your charming, stuck-up self and tell my sister everything she’s been waiting to hear for the past six years or I’ll make good on my threats.”

I’d fight it, but what’s the point? I need him to stay quiet about what’s happening to me right now and hell, if talking to Rory—well away from said shit happening to me—is the only way to get that done, I can deal.

So I get out and walk up the steps to Anna Ameci’s. Rose Ameci—an old friend of ours from school—is working. It takes her a second to recognize me, but then—

“Five! Oh, my God, Five! You’re here? How are you here? When did you get back? Rory! Look! Did you know Five was coming home today? Holy shit,” she says, pulling on a young girl, who is walking past rolling her eyes. Her little sister, I think. “Isabella, get Rory and Five a bottle of champagne, will you?”

Rory is standing just inside the bar, looking like she wants to sit down and have a drink, but she’s not quite sure that’s part of her personality.

It’s not. From what I remember, anyway. Six years can change a person.

She looks sad when her blue eyes meet my brown ones. And she says nothing. Neither do I. Not because I have nothing to say—I have six goddamned years of shit to say—but because I just don’t know where to start and all the excuses I’ve planned for this moment just seem… lame.

“You look good,” I say. Which is totally lame and even I have to control my eye roll.

“Why are you here?” Rory is practically growling through her clenched teeth.

Well… she’s pissed. And she has a right to be.

“I have a meeting in Denver.”

“So I’ve heard. But why are you here?” She taps her foot on the tiled floor of the restaurant.

I unconsciously glance outside where Oliver is waiting, then catch myself and focus back on the princess. My beautiful, angry princess.

“Well?” she asks.

“You, of course.”

“Liar,” she spits. “You aren’t here for me.”

“OK,” Rose says, coming between us to break the tension. “This is weird. How about a table near the window for old times’ sake?” She grabs two menus and says, “Follow me, kids.”

I wave a hand after Rose to tell Rory to go first, relieved that she actually follows her, then glance back at the window, where Oliver is pacing outside the restaurant. That fucking kid. He thinks he’s got me. He thinks he’s in control—