Ivy squeezed my arm to remind me why I was subjecting myself to this level of disrespect. Why the fuck were they all still breathing? If they only knew how that one action had spared them their lives tonight they’d kiss her feet.
“Babe,” Ivy said, reaching into her bag to pull out a red and white checkered picnic blanket.
Why the hell—let me not even ask. Though as she spread it out on the ground, the people she put it in front of glanced down at her like…like I was in my head. When she finished she stepped out of her heels, placing them by the side of the blanket, and sat down, crossing her legs. I sat beside her as she reached into her bag, pulling out the juice box and handing it to me before taking one for herself.
“I thought we weren’t trying to waste time?” Ivy asked him before sucking on her straw.
“Let’s get started.” Cillian nodded at the man beside him, ignoring her. Finally sipping on the apple juice, I watched as Cillian stepped forward to address the growing crowd. “Our neighborhood is nothing new to anyone here, and while I know many of you have found it to be a little primitive at times, you’ve never spoken out against it. We all know who founded this tradition. While we may not be fond of them”—he looked directly at me—“we must acknowledge that they have merit. However, seeing as we are no longer subjects of that family, we should decide here, does anyone wish to put an end to the meetings?”
Ivy flinched and I placed my hand on her thigh to calm her down. She needed to have faith. They wouldn’t vote to end the meetings.
“Are other neighborhoods stopping?” a woman with short brown hair asked.
“We aren’t other neighborhoods. This is all about you. It’s your choice. Not mine. Not the Callahans’. If we want to move away from this, that’s fine,” Cillian replied.
No one spoke for a moment.
“We can’t stop! I’m still waiting for that motherfucker to pay me back,” some man yelled, pointing to a man a couple people over.
“She almost killed my son! You stupid drunk whore!” a woman screamed.
“Tyler, I know it was you! Where is it? You stole it, didn’t you?”
From there, anarchy unfolded quickly with everyone screaming about the insults the others had inflicted on them.
“LET US VOTE!” Cillian had to yell, which made them calm down.
“Yea, let’s vote!” a few of them repeated.
“All for ending the meets?” he asked and no one raised their hands.
“All for continuing?”
Seeing their choice, I leaned over Ivy and whispered, “When you allow the majority to have a voice, the ones who are the angriest speak the loudest and when put between doing the right thing and being self-serving they will always choose themselves, which makes everyone else do the same.”
Everyone was ruthless. They just didn’t realize it.
“Fine, who’s first?” Cillian stepped back, and Elroy stepped up.
“Me!” Ivy rose, while I sat.
Elroy snickered. “You? Really, and while you’ve both been huddled in your little safe house, like cowards, who managed to harm you?”
Ivy lifted her finger to point to her right. “Her. Rory Donoghue, and now I’m seeking justice.”
The people around her shifted, allowing everyone to see her. There was not a sound…with the exception of me as I sucked the last of the juice and the crickets.
“I knew it!” Rory hollered, dressed in tight jeans and a blue Red Sox jersey. “I knew you’d still be pissed about Pierce! You weren’t even here!”
Pierce smugly shook his head. “Ivy—”
“Shut up. No one is speaking to or about you.” She put her hand up and then turned back to Cillian. “Seven years ago, Rory Donoghue, then Rory O’Davoren, hit and paralyzed a young dancer in Chicago. Instead of owning up to her crime, she framed me for it.”
“I did not.” Rory crossed her eyes, glaring.
“Do you have proof?” Cillian asked her. “Or are we all just supposed to take your word for it?”
“Babe.”