Chapter Six
West
“Never thought we’d be doing this shit again.”
It’s like Ricky’s grumbled words are pulled straight out of my head as we stand outside an apartment door. A door belonging to a girl who made our lives hell for so many years. And now, we’re taking the first steps to find out if she’s at it again, or if we have a much bigger problem on our hands.
As Ricky knocks, I take a deep breath.
Despite the date with Blue going smoothly, I hardly slept last night knowing Ricky and I would be standing here this evening, possibly getting our questions answered.
For so many reasons I’m hoping Shawna’s involved.
That would make for a fast and easy cleanup, and God knows we need fast and easy right now.
I’ve already got enough shit on my plate without this going from bad to worse.
Footsteps on the other side of the door have me holding my breath. There’s a long pause when we hear Shawna walk up. My guess is she’s staring at us through the peephole, maybe wondering if she should make a run for it.
“If you’re thinking about leaving through the window, my boys are already waiting at the bottom of the fire escape,” Ricky says flatly, rolling his eyes with the words. He’s unnaturally comfortable right now, and I can only guess how many times he’s done things like this.
Eventually, Shawna’s locks click and the door eases open. It’s been years since we’ve seen her, and the moment her eyes land on mine, it all rushes back. How she deceived us, even managed to work her way into our circle through my brother Dane.
My jaw tenses, and I shake off the anger. We don’t need her scared of us. We need her talking.
“May we come in?” Ricky asks, but I think we all know we’re entering this apartment one way or another.
When Shawna reluctantly steps aside, it’s clear she understands this.
“Can’t say I’m surprised you’re here,” she says, closing the door behind us.
“Yeah, then I guess that means we don’t have to explain the purpose of our visit.”
Shawna swallows when Ricky finishes speaking, then gestures toward her couch for us to take a seat.
She drops down into an armchair, and it isn’t lost on me that she’s having trouble holding eye contact.
What’s hard to determine is whether the guilt I see in her expression is guilt from what she’s done in the past, or guilt from the bullshit she’s done recently.
Like, resurrecting Pandora.
“Talk,” Ricky commands, and that single word has Shawna flinching.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
“You can start by telling us whether it’s you or not, posting all this shit, being an even bigger pain in our asses than you were back in the day.”
Before he even finishes, she’s already shaking her head, denying it all.
“It’s not. I wouldn’t,” she adds. “When I showed up at West and Blue’s wedding that was the last of it. I was… still angry, still dealing with some shit, and it was misguided, and I’m sorry, but… this isn’t me.”
I study her, and when Ricky doesn’t rush to speak, I’m guessing he’s doing the same. This girl’s been a master manipulator for years, which is why it’s hard to tell if a single word she’s just spoken is true.
“Why the hell should we believe you? After all the shit you’ve pulled?” Ricky asks. He’s clearly struggling to keep his voice low, but we don’t need her shutting down on us right now.
“I can prove it.”
My brow tenses, wondering what proof she could possibly have, but as she rises to her feet and retrieves her computer, she’s clearly just as anxious to share that info as we are to see it.
She drops back down into her seat, clicks around for a few seconds, then places her laptop on the coffee table facing Ricky and me. She slips off the cushion to sit on the floor where she points and clicks, opening her screen to a folder in her email called Evidence.
“There were signs, but they were smart to break into the site in the middle of the night while I was asleep. That meant I missed all the notifications and couldn’t do anything to stop them.
These are all the emails from failed login attempts,” she says.
“Honestly, my first thought was that one of you had paid someone to destroy the site. You know, doing damage control once you guys found out you were moving back. I… didn’t blame you.
I only knew you guys weren’t involved when posts started going live, and I saw the things she was saying. ”
Snapshots of all Pandora’s posts run through my head, and I feel the rage, feel my mood darkening. Shawna must’ve noticed because that look of guilt on her face deepens as she turns back toward the screen.
“Eventually, whoever’s doing this succeeded,” she says. “They got in, changed my password, my recovery email, the linked phone number, effectively freezing me out.”
“No idea who would’ve been able to do this?”
She shakes her head, answering my question, and frustration bubbles inside me.
“No, I’m sorry,” she says, and it sounds like she actually means it. “I did reach out to a friend, though. He’s super tech savvy, and sometimes even uses his powers for good.”
Smiling a little, she clicks around again, opening another email.
“I told him what happened, and that I hadn’t logged into the site for years, so he said that meant it wasn’t spyware or a keylogger or anything like that. So, I asked if he could help me track down who hacked me, and he came up with this.”
She highlights a string of numbers and periods.
“All the password reset requests originated from the same public IP address. This IP address. It’s from a twenty-four-hour coffee shop downtown. I hadn’t been before this, but I made it a point to visit as soon as my guy nailed down the location.”
“Why?” Ricky asks, glaring at Shawna.
She can’t hide that he has her shaken as she shrugs. “I guess I… just needed to see the place. I’m not sure what I expected to find, but I felt compelled to go.”
“And did you see anything that tipped you off? Maybe someone who worked there looked familiar? Anything?”
She first answers Ricky’s string of questions with another head shake.
“No. Nothing.”
In my peripheral vision, I see Ricky’s jaw tick. He hates dead ends, and while we got some info out of this, it’s not nearly enough.
“Write down the name of the coffee shop,” Ricky says, dropping a business card on Shawna’s coffee table as he stands. “And call if you think of anything else. I mean any-fucking-thing.”
He holds Shawna’s gaze for a moment, sending a silent warning that he isn’t bullshitting, then she lowers her gaze to write down the info Ricky demanded. She hands it over, and we start toward the door.
“Wait.”
Ricky and I stop in our tracks, turning just as Shawna stands from the floor. She chooses to keep her eyes trained on the carpet when she can’t seem to look at our faces.
“I… just want you both to know that I’m not that person anymore,” she says.
“What I did to you before, I… this version of me wouldn’t even consider it.
I’m in therapy, and my mom and I don’t speak anymore.
I’m not blaming her for the shit I did but letting her go—at least until she can own her own shit—is for the best. But, yeah, I just needed you to know that. ”
She doesn’t look up until she’s finished speaking, and despite all the pain and drama she caused, I can’t seem to hold a grudge. We were all assholes in high school and college. Thank God we’ve grown up now.
“It’s in the past. Everything’s all good.”
When she smiles, I can guess that hearing my words, knowing I forgive her, matters.
“Thanks. And I’ll definitely reach out if anything else comes up.”
“I’m counting on it,” Ricky shoots back, then we leave Shawna to whatever she was doing before we showed up.
We walk the hallways and take the elevator in silence. This isn’t the outcome either of us hoped for, but at least we can cross Shawna off the list for now. Ricky doesn’t speak until we reach the parking structure, and his frustration is apparent.
“Another fucking dead end,” he sighs.
“I’m over this shit.”
“Been over it,” he adds. “You think she’s legit?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I do. She seems to genuinely want to help.”
Ricky nods. “Yeah.”
We slip into silence again, and I know his wheels are turning too—maybe doing the same thing I’m doing. Going through a mental list of who one of us might’ve pissed off enough to do some shit like this.
The silence is broken when my phone rings, and I glance down. “It’s Coach. I’ve gotta take this.”
“For sure. We’ll talk later,” Ricky says, then we walk in opposite directions toward our trucks as I take the call.
“Hello?”
“I was just about to hang up. Thought you might be busy,” Coach says with a laugh.
“Sorry about that. I was out with a friend, but I’m about to head home now. Everything okay?”
I unlock my truck and finish the conversation there.
“All good. Just following the wife’s orders. I’ve been ordered to extend an invitation to you and Blue for dinner at our place tomorrow, and I’m not to let you off the line until you accept.” He laughs again, but I’m not nearly as amused.
“I—uh. I’ll have to see what Blue has on her schedule.”
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough,” he teases. “You know Meg, but I know her better. If I don’t get a solid yes before we’re done here, I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight, son.”
Another jovial laugh leaves him, but I’m starting to sweat.
Pandora’s made some very pointed threats lately.
Threats that directly involve Coach Wells.
There’s little to no chance Blue and I will make it over to the Wells’ residence without someone reporting back, and who knows if that’ll be what triggers her.
“She’s making meatloaf, homemade mashed potatoes, broccoli, and her famous dinner rolls. Trust me, you don’t want to miss out on that,” he adds.
He’s damn-near begging, which makes me feel like a piece of shit, because he and his wife have been nothing but good to me. Under normal circumstances, accepting the invitation would’ve been a no-brainer. But here I am, stammering like some ungrateful asshole, trying to find a way out of this.
“You still there, son?”
I swallow deeply, close my eyes, and give the only answer I can, seeing as how I’m backed into a fucking corner.
“Sure. Of course, we’ll be there.”
Damn it. Damn it all to fucking hell.
“Perfect! We eat at six, and don’t bring anything but your appetite.”
I force a tight smile. “Sounds good. See you at six.”
The call ends, and I squeeze my phone, questioning whether I’m more angry or scared right now.
Angry because decisions like this shouldn’t feel like life or death. Scared because… the future of my career could be shot to hell by one simple post.
And by dinnertime tomorrow, I might be completely screwed.
Fucking great.
*
@QweenPandora:
Well, hello, #KingMidas and #SexyBeast. Looking for me?
How’d that go?
Actually, I think I can sum it up on my own. You visited a ghost from the past, made a few empty threats, only to discover you’re no closer to uncovering my identity than you were when my first post went live.
Sound about right?
Not sure what you expect to come of all this, but fair warning…
Since you’re stepping your game up, I’m thinking it’s time I do the same.
Sleep tight, #GoldenCrew.
Later, peeps :)
—P