Chapter 157
Summer's POV
The cake box sat solid against my lap as Mia navigated through Friday evening traffic toward Southie. Outside, the sky was bruising into dusk—that particular shade of purple-gray that made everything look cold and fragile. I kept my phone face-up on my thigh, watching for any new message from Kieran that never came. My mother's notifications glowed above his silent thread—two missed calls, three texts, each one sharper than the last. I swiped them away without reading. The dinner could wait.
"You're doing that thing again," Mia said, glancing at me.
"What thing?"
"Where you stare at your phone like you can will it to ring." She turned onto a street lined with triple-deckers, their porches sagging under the weight of too many winters. "He already said thanks. That's... something, right?"
I pressed my thumb against the corner of the bakery box. "It's not about the text. I just—I need him to know someone saw. That someone cares that he got ninety-eight points when he's been living in that apartment with his dad circling like a—" I stopped myself.
Mia's hands tightened on the wheel. "Like a what?"
"Nothing. Just... he deserves to have someone celebrate with him. Even if it's just me showing up with chocolate."
She was quiet for a moment, navigating around a double-parked delivery truck. "Summer. You know this isn't just about the cake, right?"
My throat closed. I watched the buildings slide past—corner stores with barred windows, a laundromat where a woman folded clothes under flickering fluorescent lights, a church with a broken stained-glass window patched with plywood. "I know."
"Do you?" She pulled to a stop at a red light, turned to look at me fully. "Because from where I'm sitting, you look like someone who's about to do something she can't take back."
The light changed. I said nothing. Mia sighed and drove on.
---
The Happy Patty sat on a corner lot, its neon sign buzzing in the dimming light. Across the street, I could see the tutoring center where Kieran sometimes taught, its windows dark now. Mia parked a block away, engine idling.
"You want me to wait?" she asked.
I nodded, reaching for the door handle. Then I saw them.
Catherine stood on the sidewalk maybe thirty feet ahead, Lily pressed against her side. Even from this distance, I could see the tension in Catherine's shoulders, the way she'd positioned herself between her daughter and the man in front of them.
Drake.
I couldn't hear the words yet, but I could read the body language—Catherine's slight backward lean, Lily's face half-hidden in her mother's coat, Drake's casual stance that somehow felt predatory.
"Summer." Mia's voice was sharp. "Get back in the car."
But I was already frozen, watching as Drake gestured toward the building behind them, then back at Catherine. His mouth moved, words lost in the distance and the ambient noise of the neighborhood. A bus rumbled past. Someone's music thumped from a third-floor window. Normal Friday evening sounds, except nothing about this felt normal.
Catherine shook her head. Drake stepped closer.
"Summer." Mia grabbed my wrist. "We should go. This isn't—"
"Wait." I pulled free, moved to the edge of the building's corner, using a bare tree as partial cover. My heart hammered against my ribs.
Drake's voice carried now, rising above the street noise. "—just need to know where the money is. I'm cleaned out, Catherine. You think I'm asking nicely? I need cash. Now."
"You signed away your rights." Catherine's voice was so quiet I almost missed it. "When you—when the court—"
"Shut your mouth about the damn court." He cut her off, voice dropping to something uglier. "I did my time. Every last day. So here's what's gonna happen—you're gonna tell me where you keep the money, or I swear to God, I'll find it myself. And you don't want me showing up where the kids are, do you?"
Lily whimpered. I saw her small hands fist in her mother's coat.
"She's scared of you," Catherine said, and there was something broken in her tone. "Please. Not here. Not like this."
Drake's laugh was low, almost gentle. "She's scared because you made her scared. Turned her against me with your stories." He leaned in, and Catherine flinched. "I know you've been lying about me. Telling her I'm some kind of monster."
"You put him in the hospital." The words came out strangled. "You almost—Kieran's hand still—"
"That was years ago. I was drinking. I've changed." He reached out, and Catherine jerked back so violently she nearly stumbled. "Come on, Cath. You know me. The real me. Remember how it used to be? Before everything went wrong?" His voice shifted, turning slick and mean. "You were moaning my name two nights ago, remember? Couldn't get enough of me then. Funny how quick you turn cold the second I need a little help. What, you think spreading your legs makes you better than me? You're no saint, sweetheart. So quit acting like one and give me what I'm owed."
A couple walking past gave them a wide berth. No one stopped. No one intervened.
My nails bit into my palms. The cake box pressed against my ribs where I'd clutched it to my chest.
"I don't have money," Catherine said suddenly, desperately. "If that's what you're—we barely make rent. Kieran's scholarships only cover so much, and Lily's therapy—"
"You think this is just about money?" Drake's voice hardened. "I want my daughter. My son. My family. All of it. The money's just the start." He paused. "Unless you'd rather I go through the proper channels? Family court loves reunification cases. Especially when the father's been clean for two years and the mother's struggling to make ends meet. How's that gonna look, Cath? Huh? You can barely keep the lights on, and here I am, ready to step up. Judges eat that shit up."
Catherine's face crumpled. Lily started to cry, silent tears tracking down her cheeks.
I took a step forward before I'd consciously decided to move.
Mia caught my arm again, harder this time. "Don't. You'll make it worse."
"He's threatening them—"
"And you're a seventeen-year-old girl who weighs maybe 120 pounds." Her voice was urgent, scared. "Summer, please. Call someone. Call Kieran. Call the police. But don't—"
The sound of bicycle brakes cut through everything else.
Kieran appeared at the far end of the block, still in motion, his messenger bag bouncing against his hip. He must have seen them from the corner because he was already off the bike before it fully stopped, letting it clatter to the pavement as he strode forward.
"Get away from them."