Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(67)

“Or what?” I don’t know what this temper tantrum is meant to accomplish.

“Simple. It’s like this. I will not release her album so long as you are in her life.”

“What? That album doesn’t have the first thing to do with me.”

“Like hell it doesn’t. You’re the guy whispering in her ear that she doesn’t owe me anything.”

“She doesn’t,” I snap, and then instantly regret it. I care too much. And now he knows it.

“Bullshit,” he fires back. “I put too much time into this to let you walk away with it. You’re just a piece-of-crap jock from a family of criminals, and I will let the world know.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, feeling suddenly calmer. “You played that hand before. And when I was in high school, I fell for it. But you don’t get to play me twice. Tell whoever you want.”

“Check your email.”

“For what? I can’t do that when I’m on the phone with you.”

“Check it later, then. I just sent you a parole-release notification.”

“A what?” But even as I ask the question, I realize what he means. “Wait, he’s out?”

Brett’s chuckle makes me want to lean over and throw up. Because he’s done it again. He’s two steps ahead of me. When I open that email I know what it will say. Everett Joseph White is released on parole, subject to the following conditions…

“When?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“Almost two months ago.”

Two months. And I had no idea. I don’t even bother to play it cool anymore. “Where did you learn this?”

“It’s public record.”

A few more gears click into place for me. My father’s parole was just a lucky find for Brett Ferris. But it means that he went digging for something on me, and this just happened to pop up.

Unless it’s not true.

Fuck, it probably is.

“So?” I say, unclenching the fist that I’ve made with my free hand. “Thanks for that fun little news nugget. But I still have a plane to catch.” I have to talk to my mom, for one. Now more than ever.

“No. You don’t go near Delilah. If you do, I won’t release her album. And furthermore, I’ll send someone to find your daddy and tell him your mother’s brand-new name and where she lives.”

My mouth goes dry.

“Just walk out of Delilah’s life,” Brett says. “No explanation. No blame. She’s the biggest new voice to break out in a decade. She doesn’t need you, anyway.”

That is probably true. But it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want me. I find my voice. “You know, high school has been over for seven years. You and I are not in competition anymore.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “I already won.”

There’s a click as he disconnects the call.

I think I stand there for several minutes, adrift in the middle of my bedroom, wondering what the hell just happened. I’ve never understood Brett. Even when I thought we were playing the same game, he always went further than I expected a sane person would go. So I can’t rule out that threat of him disclosing the whereabouts of my mother.

I need to talk to her. That’s definitely a priority. But I can’t call her yet until I process this. I can’t be a panicked voice on the line, at least until I figure out whether it’s the right time to panic. Who can look at this parole notification and tell me if it’s real?

Carl Bayer. That’s who. So after I spend one more minute on deep breathing, I call him.

He answers on the second ring. “Hey there, kid! I thought I might hear from you.”

“Why?” My voice sounds strained.

“Because I sent your girl some security company names.”

“Oh.” Your girl. I feel a pain in my chest just thinking about her. “Thank you. But that’s not what I’m calling about. I just had the weirdest run-in with her ex. I think I have a problem.”

A beat of silence passes by. “How do you feel about a burger at Peter Luger’s?”

“What?” I’m not even sure if he’s talking to me right now.

“They have the best burger in Brooklyn. It’s a half a pound of prime beef on a bun. And they only serve it at lunch. Go downstairs, get into a cab, and meet me over there in fifteen.”

He hangs up.

Once again I stand there, contemplating all my life choices. I’m supposed to be heading to the airport right now. But I can’t, because of Brett’s highly specific threats. I can’t stand to let that fucker win a round. Delilah is expecting me tonight, and now it looks like I’m not going to show.

That’s exactly what Brett wants. I shouldn’t give it to him. But the alternative is pretty terrible for two women I love.

I go downstairs and stick my arm in the air. A yellow cab turns the corner and stops in front of me. “Peter Luger,” I tell him as I slip into the back.





The largest burger I’ve ever seen in my life slowly disappears as I tell Carl the story.

He makes grumbling noises interspersed with chewing noises while I talk. “I don’t know how the guy got your number,” he grouses. “Team security and I are going to have to have a talk.”