Fifty
THE GROUP CAN READ FAILURE ON MY FACE. DOWNCAST GLANCES and slumped shoulders from the rest of the crew greet us when Tom and I return to our table. With how intensely Kevin is fidgeting, I’m surprised his fingernails remain intact. Security is approaching, about to arrive.
“You tried,” McCoy reassures me. “Sometimes that’s all you can do.”
I can’t manage a smile. My whole family has done nothing but get in the way at every turn. This is my fault. In the end, I didn’t factor in the variables. I didn’t understand the extent of the risks.
I picked the wrong people to steal from—my own kin.
What’s the word for mastermind, except not? Mediocremind?
I don’t want to cry in front of the crew. I just feel like fate is repeating. Since my parents’ divorce, I’ve developed the habit of imagining life in endings. The end of the home I knew. The end of high school, which will—without the day’s heist—leave me with no certain future. The end of my relationship with Jackson, more devastating for how it felt like proof my pessimism was well-founded.
Except, in the months of planning the heist, I felt like… everything wasn’t just endings. It felt like the start of something.
I was wrong, I guess. I’m the queen of endings.
“You did your jobs perfectly,” I say, knowing it’s what I owe them. Honesty is, ironically, my final refuge. It’s the inversion of the euphoria I felt when we ransomed the safe numbers out of Mitchum. We’ve failed. “I’m so sorry. You probably—”
“Hey,” Deonte interrupts me. His voice, like his gaze, is gentle yet firm. “We’re a team. This is on us, too.”
“Yeah.” Tom joins in immediately. “We made our choices. You can’t blame yourself.”
It only makes everything worse. Their kindness wrecks me, reminding me how much I care about the people at this table, more than everyone here who shares my last name. The realization would feel like finding the fortune I never expected, except for one little problem—I’ve already destroyed it. I’ve ruined everything. Olivia the ruiner. Like I ruined my parents’ marriage. Like I ruined my relationship with Jackson, vindictive and distrustful. I’ll earn nothing from my first heist except the consolation prize of caring for the people I’ve put in handcuffs.
My first and only heist.
“You guys are my best friends,” Kevin says.
For once, no one laughs or makes fun of him. While we’ve only spent a handful of hours together, Kevin isn’t entirely off the mark. I’ve put my trust in each of them and been rewarded for it. They didn’t betray me as others have in the past. Instead, they stood at my side, saw my worst impulses, helped me even when I pushed them away.
They make me think maybe there are people who… stay. I lift my eyes to Jackson’s with fragile hope.
McCoy pats Kevin comfortingly on the back.
“Looks like we won’t get to watch Kung Fu Panda together. Unless they have it in prison,” Tom says. “I was sort of looking forward to it, for real.”
Impossibly, I smile. I’m legitimately impressed Tom’s sense of humor endures even now.
His words reach Kevin differently, however. Our newest crew member stands suddenly, determination etched on his features. It’s startling, yet weirdly captivating. “No, we’re going to hang out,” he declares as if he’s his middle-namesake, George Washington himself. “I owe it to you after what I did with Lexi.”
Deonte claps a hand on him, trying to pull him back down. “Man, don’t do anything foolish.”
Shaking him off, Kevin remains determined. “I have to do this,” he says.
I’m watching him with wide eyes, inspired if uncomprehending. “I appreciate the sentiment,” I say slowly. “But what exactly can you do to get us out of this?”
“Give me my phone,” Kevin requests.
I evaluate. Yes, handing over evidence to Kevin Webber is not, conventionally speaking, wise. How much more do I have to lose, though?
Under the table, I open my clutch. Kevin grabs the burner from inside.
He stands sharply, staring into the distance, resolute. “I’ll go down for the team,” he announces. “And afterward, we’re having a movie night.”