CHAPTER 16
LUCK CAME EARLY

ONCE SLOANE WAS back inside the penthouse, she pressed her back against the elevator door and exhaled heavily. Her heart was raging, beating a mile a minute. She could still smell the Irish Spring lingering on Peter's exposed skin, and it reminded her of the same scent that wafted off of Spider-Man in the chilly November air. The woody aroma and fresh citrus notes had her mind in a tizzy, and Sloane was now wondering why fucking Irish Spring soap was suddenly doing it for her. How did something so simple that anyone could buy at a CVS make a person more attractive? It was the soap version of cheap cologne.

But there was something about the way Peter leaned into her, the way the scent blew into her nose on a cold breeze – everything about it had her shivering and sweating at the same time.

Sloane thought about his lips, what it would be like to kiss him –

No, no, no, her mind chastised. She already wanted to fuck some stranger in a mask that she met on abandoned rooftops. The last thing she needed was catching feelings for said stranger's nerdy sidekick; the man who had thought the world of her in high school, when she had been at her lowest.

Sloane collected herself and walked through the foyer to the dining table, expecting to help clean up. But Frank already had everything collected off the table and cleaned, as if nothing had been there in the first place. He was currently standing in the kitchen, nursing a glass of scotch. Sloane raised a suspicious brow. Had Frank cleaned this all himself, or had it been a maid service? She didn't put it past him.

In the living room, Sloane spotted her mother watching the small flames in the fireplace and pouring herself a glass of whiskey. When she set the bottle down and looked up, she noticed her daughter standing in the doorway and motioned her over. "Come," she said, an oddly pleasant smile on her wrinkled face, "have a drink with me."

Well, Sloane certainly wasn't going to deny a free drink.

She walked over to the couch and sat beside her mother. It reminded her of old times, back when they lived in the triple-decker. Except her mother used to hand her glasses of hot chocolate or juice instead of whiskey, and her father was right next to her, reading her a story. Something about it felt so familiar as Sabrina placed the wide glass of whiskey in her hand, and Sloane wondered if her father's ghost was next to her right now, a book in his hand. A chill ran through her.

Sabrina clinked her glass against her daughter's and they both drank at the same time. The whiskey was like liquid fire in Sloane's throat, burning more than the fire in the hearth before them. This bottle was obviously expensive. She didn't even want to guess how much it cost, but she could practically taste the price as the remnants lingered in her mouth.

"You know, Sloane," Sabrina began, giving her daughter a certain kind of look, "I like that Peter Parker."

Sloane took another large sip, refusing to savor the flavor. Another ten sparks erupted in her throat.

"He's very hospitable," Sabrina continued, setting her glass down on the coffee table, "and respectful."

If he was so respectful, where had she exactly put the bouquet he gave her earlier? Sloane's eyes slid around the room, not finding a vase insight. She lifted the glass to her lips and swallowed, the alcohol already making her vision swim.

Sloane instead asked, "You want to adopt him too? Maybe Everett could use a brother."

Sabrina's stare narrowed, detecting the sharpness in her tone. "You know that's not what I meant."

The elder daughter rolled her eyes. "Peter and I are friends, Mom. He's been helping me a lot with my article." Sloane noticed her mother's expression sour at the mention of her work, so she changed the subject. "I actually think he tutored me back in high school. At least, that's what he's told me.

"Oh!" Sabrina raised a finger. "I knew he looked familiar. I also think your father used to work with his uncle before ... well, the tragedy."

Sloane sunk deeper into the cushions of the couch and frowned. Memories of her dad haunted her like a ghost, and the chill that kept lingering by her side wasn't helping. She took another sip of whiskey and muttered, "Yeah, almost a year in between."

Sabrina's pale eyes had been on the fire, and when she turned to her daughter, her brows pulled together with confusion. "What?"

"Peter's uncle," Sloane added. "He died almost a year after dad did."

Her mother scoffed and set her glass on top of a wooden coaster. With a disgusted expression, she asked, "Why must you remember such morbid things, Sloane?" She slapped her hands against her thighs. "And not, for example, my birthday?"

"What are you even talking about?" Sloane seethed. "Besides, I always call you on your –"

They both turned their heads as voices echoed down the hall. Sloane heard a pair giggling, and not long after, Everett and Naomi appeared in the living room, happy as clams. Naomi bowed her head with gratitude toward Sabrina and said, "Thank you for allowing me to come, Mrs. Harper." She then looked to Frank in the kitchen and waved. "And you too, Mr. Harper."

Sabrina's smile was tight. "Happy to have you, Naomi." She enunciated the name, looking in Everett's direction.

His eyes rolled before he glanced at his girlfriend with an innocent smile. "Let me show you out. Did you get an Uber already?"

The two teenagers finished their conversation as the front door closed behind them, and a deep silence fell between the mother and daughter on the couch. Sloane swallowed hard, holding her drink close to her chest. Her eyes were getting blurry, and her face drooped.

Sabrina turned to her daughter with a surly expression. "I did not like her."

Sloane's eyes perked up at that. She looked at her mother with confusion, one brow arched. "Then why did you just act like you did?"

"That's a silly question, Sloane. If I show how I really feel, she'll just go to her family and tell them how rude I was. I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

She couldn't be serious. Sloane blinked slowly in her direction. "What the hell did you find so wrong with her? She seemed like a nice kid."

Sabrina's voice lowered. "I know her family. I've noticed her mother at a few PTA meetings. Total hippie. I've seen her try to sell her shit paintings to some of the other parents."

Sloane looked into her suddenly-empty glass. She frowned at both the lack of alcohol and her mother's words. Without thinking, she said under her breath, "You're so negative."

"What was that?"

Her head snapped up, eyes zeroing in on her mother. Sloane didn't hesitate when she snarled, "I said you're fucking negative, Mom."

Sabrina blinked, taking in her words slowly, carefully. After a moment, she finished what was left of her drink and slammed the glass on the coaster. Sloane watched her mother as she got to her feet, refusing to look at anyone else, and walked out of the living room.

━━━━━━

Sloane didn't see her mother at breakfast the next day. In fact, she didn't catch a glimpse of her the entire morning. Frank had said she left bright and early – earlier than Sloane waking up at the sunrise – to go food shopping. It was a bullshit excuse, of course, seeing as the fridge was stocked full of leftovers and she had gone shopping just this Tuesday. Sloane wouldn't be surprised if Sabrina went day drinking with her friends, something she had inherited directly.

Clearly, her mother wanted to make a stink after last night. Sabrina was going to completely ignore her daughter's presence until she received an apology. While Sloane could understand now with a clear mind that she had been harsh, it was nothing short of the kind of treatment her mother gave her daily. And what she said had been the truth. If Sabrina was waiting on an apology, she'd be waiting a long time. Sloane wasn't up to giving one.

Instead of ruminating on her mother's ignorance or writing – she really did have the worst writer's block at the moment – Sloane decided she was going to pay her friend, Larry Fogelman a visit the right way. She picked up two black coffees and a chocolate frosted donut from Black Star Bakery before grabbing a cab to the 104th Precinct in Ridgewood. Like the last time, Sloane didn't go in with a plan. She was hoping this ancient, grey building would provide her a spot of luck again. As the cab pulled up to the entrance, Sloane paid the driver and froze in front of the precinct. She stood there for a while, even as the cab drove away. Her hand holding the pastry bag got sweaty at the thought of going inside. What if they arrested her for the dumb shit she did last time she was here?

"Oh, shit!"

Sloane snapped her head in the direction of the shout, and then smirked. Luck came early.

Larry Fogelman stood by his busted-up Nissan with his head angled toward the pavement, where his cup of hot coffee had just dropped. Liquid poured over the gravel, creating a pool by his feet. Larry released a loud groan, and Sloane knew this was the best time to move in.

"Larry!" She called, holding up her hands full of goods. The investigator's face drooped even more at the sight of her. Sloane approached him with ease, plucking one coffee out of the tray and holding it out to him. "Looks like you could use one of these."

He simply stared at her, unblinking. His hand didn't reach out for the coffee. "Not you again. This morning has already been bad enough." He lifted his eyes to the sky, exhaled heavily, and looked back at her. "I know what you did. I should have you arrested for going through my files."

Sloane continued with her shit-eating grin. "But why would you do that when I brought you this?" She dangled the brown paper bag in front of him. "C'mon, take it."

After a moment of hesitation, Larry snatched the bag and peered inside. When his eyes met hers, he snapped, "A donut? Really? You couldn't get any more stereotypical?"

"Nope," she replied, popping the P. "You still gonna arrest me now? If you are, you should know all the pictures I took of your files ended up blurry." Good thing Spider-Man got copies for her.

Sloane wet her lips at the thought of him, wondering when she'd see him or Peter again. Her stomach did flip-flops at the thought of both of them.

Wait, was she into two men that were helping her investigate a serial killer for work? Sloane inwardly groaned. Why did life and feelings and lust get even more complicated after you turned twenty-six?

Larry took the second coffee cup from the tray, bringing her out of her thoughts. He took a sip before asking, "What do you want, Press?"

"I'm not the press," she clarified again, digging through her purse for her phone. "Well, maybe I kinda am. I just wanted to ask you a few questions for my Jawbreaker article. Is that okay? Can I record you?"

She had already pressed record on her phone as he began shaking his head. "What did I say before, Press? I'm not answering any of you people." He adjusted the briefcase strap on his shoulder. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get back to the case at hand."

Sloane stepped in front of him. "You don't have a lead in the case, Larry. You don't even know what the murder weapon is. You're not fooling anyone."

His eyes narrowed. "If you know so much, why even come to me in the first place?"

"Because I need your opinion. I need your voice in this article." She gave him an innocent smile. Larry tried going around her, but she blocked his route again. "Okay, at least one simple question. It's about the vandalism."

Larry stopped and looked down at her with dark, serious eyes. He stuck up his nose. "Fine, simple. Make it snappy."

Sloane held out her phone to get a clearer recording of their voices. "Now I know that even if you did have any info about the Jawbreaker, you wouldn't share it. I get it –"

He grumbled loudly. "Not snappy enough, Press –"

"But the vandalism," she continued, and Larry halted in place. "You know the ones I'm referring to. Do you think they have anything to do with the murders?"

Larry glanced around the empty lot before lowering his voice in her direction. "We don't know for sure, okay? It could just be some kids playing around. I doubt a cold-blooded killer is doing this too. Besides, they've only been using spray paint and fake blood so far."

He seemed too calm about this, but he was probably one of the laziest New York cops she'd ever met. Sloane arched a brow. "What happens when the messages start coming in real blood?"

Larry snorted, and finally squeezed past her small form. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

She kept up with his long strides, holding out her phone's mic and hoping it wasn't just catching the insane gusts of wind that almost send her backward. "It can't just be a group of kids doing this," she argued, following him to the door. "What if they're working with the killer to distract everyone? The last vandalism was done inside Isabella Woods' former home. A group of kids couldn't have gotten in there on their own. I don't believe the vandalisms are being done by the Jawbreaker, but he has to be working with the group doing it –"

Larry came to a standstill once his hand was on the door of the entrance. Sloane stopped short, almost colliding with his back. He peered down at her and said, "If you follow me inside, I won't stop anyone from arresting you. Do yourself a favor and get lost, kid."

Sloane's mouth dropped a little and with a short huff, she ended the recording on her phone.

"You made the right choice," he said, saluting her as he opened the door. "See 'ya later, Press."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: little bit of a filler chapter 😔 don't kill me!! trust me when I say that what I have planned for the next one is gonna be giving dramaaaa. thank you guys for being so patient with me while I've been sporadically updating! life has gotten crazy, especially with work, but I'm so excited that you guys are excited and so kind about when I post ❤️ also!!!!!!! THANK YOU FOR 15K FOLLOWERS!!!!!