Author's Note: Hi. I'm back, with an update. This author's note has no real purpose but to thank all that reviewed. I love reading your feedback, so keep at it, fellas! Also, I've just got to say, that I'm quite excited (and relieved) that we're at this point in the story. Things go downhill really fast after this and I love to torture. So enjoy.

"Damn, Racetrack, wheah the hell were ya?" Spot called as soon as Racetrack was close enough to hear. Spot had spent the entire afternoon pacing the length of Spar Street, waiting for Lunch Money and Racetrack to get home.

"I was woirkin'!" Racetrack called back, rolling his eyes, "Whadd'ya think I was doin'?"

"Shut up," Spot ordered offhand, barely listening to Racetrack's response, "Jus' c'mon." He said, turning Racetrack around and shoving him in the direction from which he'd come.

"Whatcha doin', ya idiot? Home is that way." Racetrack gestured behind them, towards the house, where Jack was inside, probably looking around for something to turn into dinner for eight hungry urchins.

"Ya ain't goin' home; we're goin' ta get Lunch Money."

"She woirks fa' anudder hour. And why are we doin' this again?"

"Look, I need ta talk ta you'se two. An' we need ta talk away from the others." Spot explain concisely, "I don't wanna answer they're questions yet; you an' Lunch need ta know what's goin' on foirst."

"Heya, Lunch, how's the hats?"

"Scram, Conlon."

"Aw, c'mon Lunch, I gotta talk ta ya." Spot said, approaching the front counter, where Lunch Money was tallying up the day's receipts, a scowl on her face. Racetrack stayed near the door, not wanting to get in the middle of another one of their lover's spats. After so long, their bickering became very tedious.

"No, I ain't done bein' mad at you." Lunch Money said returning to the papers and numbers. Spot didn't answer right away; he just leaned against the counter, watching her work. Racetrack rolled his eyes; he wanted to fast forward through the fight and find out the nature of the urgent news Spot wanted to discuss. Lunch Money looked up, glaring at Spot.

"Get out."

"No."

"Spot, I mean it."

"Me too."

"Racetrack!" Lunch Money appealed to her brother, "What the hell are ya thinkin', lettin' him come heah? He's supposed ta be stayin' outta sight, fa' one t'ing--"

"Ah, it's nice ta see ya still care if I get hauled off ta the refuge." Spot interjected, smiling. Lunch Money ignored him.

"...An' fa' anudder, I still ain't talkin' ta him! You know that!"

"Hey, hey!" Racetrack protested, "Don't drag me inta this! I was mindin' me own business-- he's the one who made me come all'a way down heah ta talk ta ya about Gawd knows what--"

"Ta talk about Cassie," Spot said in a rush, "She came ta see me taday an'--"

"I don't care." Lunch Money said shortly, turning away. Spot glanced at Racetrack, who shrugged hopelessly. Spot gritted his teeth and sucked in a deep breath.

"Lunch, you wanna know why I neveh toldja how I know Cassie?" He paused, then all in one breath he told her the truth, "Because me an' Cass used ta be engaged."

It took a long time for Lunch Money to react. She just stared at Spot for a second; trying to process the words he had spoken. Then she slammed the register drawer shut, and marched around the counter, past Spot. She stormed to the windows, pulling the shades down with a little more vigor than necessary. Lunch Money elbowed past Racetrack, locked the door to the little hat shop, signifying that they were closed for the evening, and turned around to face the two boys. She looked furious. Racetrack vaguely wondered if Lunch Money was going to kill them. There were no witnesses, and it would be just like Lunch Money to make their death look like a terrible accident.

"Talk." She said in an icy voice. Lunch Money took a few steps to the right, where a display of cylindrical hatboxes were stacked neatly and perched herself on top of them, seated comfortably. She waited for someone to explain. Racetrack looked at Spot. This was Spot's show.

"I didn't tell ya how I knew Cass, 'cos I didn't want anyone ta know about my parents or wheah I grew up." Spot explained, "I grew up on Park Avenue, on the same street as Cassie."

"You was a rich bastard!" Lunch Money exclaimed, fuming. This was huge. It was bigger than huge. This entire time, Spot had kept this to himself, creating the illusion that he was a street rat just like them. It was too bizarre to think about Spot wearing a nice suit and living with his parents in an elegant manor. It was like he wasn't even Spot anymore. "How could ya have kept that from all a' us fa' so long? You been lyin' this whole time--?"

"Lunch, shut up, I ain't done." Spot interrupted, "I used ta be engaged ta Cassie--"

"Yeah, ya mentioned that one." Lunch Money growled, "I can't believe you! Ya said that your damn secrets weren't important! I think ya mighta mentioned you was engaged before ya started doin' me!"

"Hey, I didn't bring it up 'cos it wasn't important!" Spot snapped, "I didn't exactly expect that ya brudder was gonna bring my former intended home wit' him!"

"That doesn't change the fact that ya been lyin' about who ya are!" Lunch Money argued, "Racetrack, can you believe this? Don'tcha-- Why aren'tcha mad?" She asked Racetrack, who was watching the preceedings with an amiable air, "Racetrack, how are ya not angrier about this? He's been lyin' about this fa' years... Ya knew." She accused, now livid, "You knew about all along an' ya didn't tell me?"

Racetrack decided to take the fifth and just shrugged. Lunch Money was on her feet. She couldn't believe them! The two people she trusted most in the world had been lying to her!

"Lunch Money, sit down, you can yell when I'm done." Spot said in a tired voice. Lunch Money shot him a murderous glare, but took her seat once again, "Okay. Fuck, a fella can't even get a woird in edgewise. Now what I wanted ta talk ta you'se two about was Cassie. She came ta see me today. Henry," He began, addressing Racetrack, "Knows about you an' Cass. Nex' time ya wanna sneak into a goil's room, try makin' a fasteh getaway, huh Higgins?"

"Ya slept wit her?" Lunch Money asked her brother in a disgusted tone, "Ya slept wit that bitch? Holy shit, I'm scarred fa' life with that mental image--"

"Oh, you'se is unbelievable!" Racetrack protested, "I get the lecture when ya find out the slightest detail about my sex life, but it's perfectly okay for me ta jus' walk in on you'se two goin' at it!"

"Oh, that was one time, and me an' Spot weren't even havin' sex, so it didn't count--"

"Will you'se two shut up?" Spot interrupted loudly, "Believe it or not, this story still gets worse."

"Right, right," Racetrack said, refocusing, "Henry found out about me an' Cassie?"

"Yeah, he did." Spot said, dreading the information he now had to impart to the Higgins siblings, "An' now he'd blackmailin' her. Sounds like Henry'll only keep quiet as long as he keeps gettin' sex. He raped her this mornin' afteh ya left, Race."

Racetrack felt like he was choking. He couldn't breath. He ignored his spinning head and focused on staying on his feet, "What?" he croaked, "Why... why didn't she come talk ta me--?"

"Because," Spot cut across Racetrack before he could finish his thought, "Because as soon as she was able ta get away, she came down heah ta talk ta me, so she could try ta talk me inta goin' back ta Park Avenue so that I can marry Cassie instead."

A ringing silence followed this announcement. Neither Racetrack nor Lunch Money knew what to say.

"You're gonna marry Cassie." Lunch Money said blankly, trying not to feel anything. Trying to be numb.

"No." Spot answered emphatically, "I ain't. I ain't neveh goin' back dere."

"So ya gonna let Cassie marry that creep?" Lunch Money asked, an unreadable expression on her face. Spot didn't answer that question. He didn't want to think about that.

"I gotta go." Racetrack said, going for the door, "I should let you'se two talk it out, this doesn't really have anyt'ing ta do wit' me."

"Race, it has everyt'ing ta do wit' you!" Lunch Money said, standing up.

"No, really, this is a decision fa' you an' Spot ta make wit'out me. I-- I'll see ya lateh." Racetrack said hastily, before shutting the door behind him and taking to the streets. He wanted nothing to do with this. It was a lose-lose situation. If Spot returned to Park Avenue, Lunch Money and Spot were miserable and Cassie was married to Spot. If Spot didn't return to Park Avenue, Cassie was married to that fucking bastard. This was a game Racetrack could not win.

Lunch Money and Spot watched him go. It was silent in the shop for a long time. This was an impossible problem. They spent their quiet minutes thinking and searching in vain for a loophole, a way out of this mess.

"You're gonna marry Cassie." Lunch Money repeated a long time later.

"No, I aint." Spot said, "It's my life, an' I can't go back dere, ya have no idea how horrible it is dere. How can I go back in that cage when I know what it's like ta be free out heah? I can't leave ya, Lunch."

"Yes, ya can." Lunch Money said sharply, "It's Cassie's life too. What'll happen ta her if ya don't go back? Ya won't eveh forgive yourself if ya don't."

"I won't forgive myself if I do."

"Spot," Lunch Money said. She came toward him and grabbed his hand, "You hafta go."

"Yeah, I know." Spot muttered, "Dammit, of all the times ta be reasonable, ya hafta be reasonable now?"

"Sorry."

They shared a long look. This was how it was going to end. After everything they'd been through. After everything, it would be over, just like that. They both bitterly realized that if they had let go of their stubborn pride and fear, they could have had so much longer together. Spot drew Lunch Money into a deep embrace. She buried her face against his shoulder, her arms around him.

"I'm gonna miss ya." She whispered.

"I love you."

"I love you too. I hate that I love you. It'd be easier if I didn't."

Spot smirked, kissing the top of Lunch Money's head.

And then he remembered. If he was going back to Park Avenue, there was one last piece of business he had to take care of. It meant that his last, most carefully guarded secret would have to be revealed. Spot Conlon was not out of surprises yet. He had another skeleton in his closet that would have to be released. At this realization, he cursed himself silently. And the key around his neck suddenly felt twice as heavy.