“That asshole,” I say, shaking my head. “He fuckin’ betrayed him. We did that job to help him and here he is on primetime…”

My words trail off as anger starts to bubble up.

“No, Nicholas is the asshole,” Owen says. “He should’ve known better than to trust the FBI. He should’ve known better than to inform on us.”

He uses the word us, when it’s really just him.

I haven’t done anything.

I never turned on anyone and I don’t owe anyone any debts.

“I just can’t believe that he’s a fugitive now,” I say with a sigh.

For the first time ever, I’m actually afraid that something bad is going to happen to Nicholas.

Before, all of my worries were so focused on Owen and now there is suddenly another man in my life to worry about.

The FBI are after him.

His face is all over the news.

When I search his name on my phone, I realize that he’s the criminal of the hour.

There are podcasts and YouTube episodes from indie producers devoted to his case.

“Why are you so upset about this?” Owen asks. “He had this coming.”

“How can you even ask me that?” I say.

“How can I not? He betrayed you. He fucked you over.”

“No, he lied. He shouldn’t have, but he was in a jam. He didn't have a choice.”

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Owen says. “How long will it take you to get it through your thick head that he is a con artist and a liar and he never gave a fuck about you.”

I take a deep breath.

I hate it when he talks to me like this.

He’s drunk.

That’s not an excuse but he would never talk to me like this sober.

Engaging with Owen even more would just make things worse and yet I can’t help it.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I ask as sternly as possible, balling up my hands into fists. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Okay, I'm sorry, Olive. Please,” he says quickly, his words rushing over one another. “I just hate how you still care about him. Don’t you get it? Art is a dick but he’s telling us the truth. He killed his partner. They have a case on him.”

I inhale deeply.

I don’t actually know if he did kill his partner and given his line of work, it’s a real possibility that he did.

“And my girlfriend. He killed her, too. They’ll prove it one day, you’ll see.”

I shake my head and cross my arms.

“You don’t believe me?” Owen asks.

He looks wounded, like I had just shot him in the heart.

“I don’t know, Owen,” I give in a little.