Page 23 of Hide and Keep

“Wipe your ass with them.”

“I would’ve given them back to you if I had.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re poor.”

“Come up with better insults.”

“You’re ugly.”

Crue doesn’t respond at all. He just lowers his head so that the bill of his hat casts shadows over his face.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep the projectile apology vomit in. I didn’t mean it, and if I could, I’d take it back. He’s never going to take his hat off now.

“We can’t change what we’re born, only what we become.”

Crue’s words play on a loop in my head, searing themselves into my memory.

Just as the cop’s approaching, I rush out, “Good luck keeping up that optimism when you’re someone’s prison bitch.”

“What?”

Crue twists his head to look at me wide-eyed, but the knock on the driver’s window saves me from having to explain myself. In a few more minutes, I won’t need to anyway.

As soon as the window lowers, I hear, “Crue Brantley…no shit? I thought that was you.”

The copknowsCrue?

“Ronny Veen,” Crue greets. “What’s up, man? What’ve you been up to?”

Crueknowsthe cop?

“Oh, you know.” Ronny takes a step back to let us marvel at his uniform. “Stopping crime.”

“Just like your old man, huh?”

“Much to his relief.” With a chuckle, Ronny’s posture relaxes a fraction and he grips the door with both hands. “Remember that time in high school when we found those forged hundred-dollar bills and tried using them in the school’s vending machine?”

“We didn’t try. We did use ’em.”

“That’s right. I was on my fifth bag of chips when the principal came into my classroom to pull me out, my dad already out in the hall waiting for me.”

“If it wasn’t for him, we would’ve got in a lot more trouble than we did.”

“That’s for sure. What about you? Where are you working these days?”

“Uh, all over really, but I just started working for Munreaux Motorcycles.”

“Munreaux?” Ronny whistles and ducks his head, catching sight of me in the passenger seat. “And your friend here… She’s…”

At the same time Crue says, “Not my friend,” I stretch my arm out, my hand in front of his face as I shake Ronny’s with more friendliness than I’ve given Crue all day.

“Ever Munreaux. You’ve probably heard of my father, Arthur Munreaux, founder of Munreaux Motorcycles and Crue’s new employer.” Make sure to put that in the paper. It’ll embarrass my father as much as he’s embarrassed me by repeatedly forcing “guards” down my throat.

Ronny doesn’t take his gaze from mine as he asks Crue, “So…your boss’s daughter?”

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