by Olivia Chase
Hudson’s brow furrows as he considers Axel’s questions.
“That’s bullshit,” Hale says. “We can do it. How hard can it be if those meatheads can make it work? I mean, Smith is no fucking genius, dude.”
Axel flushes. “So how much do you know about running a bar, Hale? How much experience do you have with customer service, even? Other than punching people in the face.”
Hale glares.
“Okay,” I say, holding up my hands. I’m not sure I can deal with someone else expressing doubts about our plans. Doubts about what we’re supposed to be doing. Everything already feels fucked up as it is. “I’ve heard your thoughts, but I still need to make a decision, and as far as I’m concerned—this is the way it goes. We can’t back away now. Time to make a fucking stand.”
None of them speaks.
I nod curtly. “So let’s get down to the nitty gritty. I got word through text that Smith and his fam are away for the night, so we’ll be able to do this shit without worrying about them hearing us from the adjoining apartment.”
“How are we getting in?” Hale asks.
“We’re just gonna use a crowbar. Fuck it. The point is to destroy everything we can.” I get up and drop my bowl in the sink. “Can we just go get it done?”
The guys nod.
We head to Outlaws, parking a block away as we did before. There were still gloves left, so we put them on. I grab the crowbar from my trunk, and we head to the back door.
“No talking,” I whisper. Then I crack the door open.
We go inside. Using hand signals, I divert each of us to a different room.
And all hell breaks loose.
Axel and Hudson are in the kitchen. I can hear them ripping shit out, ruining plumbing, water gushing everywhere. Meanwhile, I’m behind the bar, breaking and ruining all their liquor while Hale breaks tables.
Ten minutes in, the building sound of sirens hits my ear.
Fuck. Fuck.
They must have gotten wise last time and put in a silent alarm system. I’m a fucking idiot. This was my idea, and it failed. I got us in trouble. My chest is a tight knot as I scramble around.
“Hale, get the fuck out of here, and take Axel and Hudson with you,” I bark.
He frowns. “What?” Then he hears the sirens too. “Oh fuck, we’re screwed. Someone called the cops.”
“There’s probably a new alarm system that notified them. Take Hudson and Axel. Now.” I toss him my car keys. “Go. I’m not kidding. Get them the fuck out of here.”
This was my fucking stupid idea. I’m not going to make my brothers take the fall.
“Go!” I yell, and that does it. Hale runs into the kitchen and gets my brothers, and they make it out the back door. Meanwhile, I run out the front door, acting like I’m trying to make an escape, as cop cars start to flood the parking lot. I pray my brothers made it out in time, but thankfully it seems like all the cars are here with me instead of finding my brothers.
My heart is racing so hard I’m sure it’s going to burst out my chest. But as long as I can keep them from finding my brothers, I’m okay.
They jump out of the cars, guns pointed at me, and I freeze.
“Stop!” one of them yells at me. “Put your hands in the air, sir!”
It’s been a while since I’ve been arrested.
But my luck has clearly run out.
Despite complying with their commands, I’m tackled to the ground and handcuffed roughly, arms jerked behind my back. The asphalt is icy under my cheek, abrading my skin. Fuck. This sucks.
I’m hauled to my feet, surrounded by the fuzz. One of the officers is reading me my rights, and I’m pushed into the back of the police car, hands behind me. All I can think about is how fucked I am right now.
I’m brought into the police station.
Fingerprinted and put in a cell. I ask to make my phone call, and eventually, I’m retrieved by a bored, fat officer who leads me to a room with a landline.
I suck in a shaky breath. I should call my brothers and let them know I’m okay. I should, but the only voice I want to hear is Autumn’s. My stomach is in knots. I’m anxious as fuck. I need to hear her.
I dial her cell phone. It rings three times, and when I’m certain it’s going to go to voice mail, it picks up. “Hello?” Her voice is uncertain.
“It’s Zack,” I say. Shame fills me, tightens my throat. I have to swallow twice before I can continue speaking. “Um. So, I’m in jail.”
There’s a long pause. “What?”
In flat terms, I explain what happened—that in my efforts to sabotage Outlaws, the bar that is rightfully ours, my brothers and I trashed the place, and I was arrested.
She’s quiet the whole time I’m speaking. When I’m done, there’s echoing silence on the other end.
I don’t speak. I let her process.
“I…don’t know what to say,” she finally says. I can hear the weight in her voice. “I’m profoundly disappointed, that much I can tell you.”
Shame sears my skin like a sunburn. I close my eyes and grip the handset. “I thought it was the right decision at the time.”
“I can’t believe you thought the right decision was to trash someone else’s property. That is so messed up. And you don’t even acknowledge that. You don’t apologize.” She sighs, and the heaviness in that sound breaks something in my chest. “I’m disappointed in who you’ve turned out to be. Who your family is. What you represent. And I don’t think I can have any part in that.”
I can’t handle the shattering sensation in my chest at her words. I never wanted her to feel this way about me. But I let her down. My pride won’t let me say I’m sorry. Say I feel like shit that I let her down. I swallow back all the feelings threatening to spill to the surface. “Understood.”
The line is quiet for another several moments until the officer tells me to wrap it up. I can’t muster the energy to ask her to bail me out. Not now. Not after the things she said. When we hang up, it’s awkward, stilted. And I’m left feeling like a sack of shit.
I’m escorted back to my cell, a dank place with a squeaky bed bearing a flimsy mattress, and a toilet that likely hasn’t been cleaned in a hundred years. It’s depressing. I never thought I’d be here.
The hours tick by. I lie back on the mattress and stare at the dingy ceiling, speckled with water marks from leaks. At least it’s not cold in here—the heat is a little too effective, actually, and I strip off my sweatshirt and ball it up as a pillow under my head.
Every choice I’ve made in my life has led me here. Lying in a fucking jail cell, thinking about all the stupid things I’ve done. Thinking about the shit Autumn said last night after we had sex.
Could she be right about Butch?
I just can’t seem to accept it. She has to have been mistaken. There’s no doubt that Butch has people working for him—probably one of them is dealing on the side. Not my dad. He drilled into us the importance of honor, even among thieves. We didn’t have to earn money the way middle-class people did, but we had to work with honor.
We had to be respectable. No way would my dad do something like that.
This bed is uncomfortable, and springs are poking my back through the thin mattress. How long am I going to be here before I’m brought before a judge? And what’s going to happen then?
Yeah, I made a noble sacrifice, hopefully keeping my brothers from getting busted along with me. But I’m going to have to pay for it. And that means jail time.
Fuck.
There’s no way Autumn will ever talk to me again if I end up going to prison. She’s already dealing with her birth father being in there. I can’t ask her to make that effort for me, too.
I don’t deserve her. Never did.
I roll to my side and stare at the wall. Time seems to pass in impossible-to-determine ticks. Has it been an hour? Five hours? I have no fucking idea. I’m lost in my own thoughts, drowning in my misery, feeling stupid as fuck. Wishing I hadn’t gotten myse
lf here.
A part of me is holding on to the hope, the belief, that I did the right thing for my family. I took the fall for them. I was honorable. And if there’s a God, or some kind of higher being, it’s going to work out.
Maybe the judge will be merciful on me and not sentence me to a long time in the joint. Maybe I could even get away with community service. Especially if I explain to him about the debate over the ownership of Outlaws.
I could just make him understand why I did what I did. I hope.
I don’t have any hope in the public defender. The one who represented my father was a fucking moron. He was useless. Mine won’t be any better—I have to gather my thoughts, figure out how to basically represent myself here.
The sound of heavy footsteps resonates down the hallway, and then a burly guard stops in front of my cell. He steps toward me. “Beckett, come here.”
I’m wary, but I take tentative steps to the bars. Was he sent by Smith to shiv me for what I did to the bar? I’m on high alert as I approach.
The guard digs into his pocket and then hands me a cell phone—an old flip phone, but it probably works. “You have friends in low places,” he says with a chuckle, proud of his joke, and then he leaves.
I sit back down on the edge of my bed and open it up to peer at the contact list and see if there’s someone I’m supposed to call. Empty. I close the clamshell shut. I guess the person is going to call me.
Fifteen minutes later, there’s a buzzing sound from the phone. I pick it up and open it. “Hello?” I say quietly.
“Son.” It’s Butch.
I admit, I’m conflicted. Part of me is warmed that my dad reached out to me, pulled all these strings to do so. The other part is still feeling upset about what I heard about him before. I want to believe it isn’t true. But I don’t know what is real anymore. “Hey,” I say back. “So you heard about the arrest, I assume.” I forgot how extensive his connections were—clearly, he’s garnered a lot of friends over the last few years and knows how to bribe guards, inmates, and others.
“Yup, and heard what you did at Outlaws.” I can detect a hint of pride in his voice. “I’m fucking proud of you, son. You took it like a man.”
I know this is where I’m supposed to say thanks. But it’s hard to be thankful when I’m sitting in a fucking jail cell. So I grunt something unintelligible that I hope will suffice as appreciation.
“If you end up doing any time, I’ll make sure you’re treated well,” Butch continues. “I’ve made a lot of friends here. I can even ensure you’re sent here and not somewhere else, so I can take care of you.”
I want to be happy that my dad approves. It’s what I’ve wanted from him for so long—his love. His affection. Him telling me that I’ve made him proud.
And yet, the moment is falling flat. Because I just feel soured by everything that’s happened. I’m soured, because I suspect Autumn was right about him, and I didn’t want to admit that to her.
“Hey, you know a guy named William Haverhill?” I ask him.
He pauses. When he answers, there’s caution in his voice. “Why?”
“Are you giving him drugs?” The blunt words are out, and I can’t take them back. And I don’t want to. I need to hear what he says to that.
“Zack. What the fuck? We’re not talking about that shit right now, especially not over the phone line. Let’s focus, okay?”
That confirms it. My stomach is a knotted mess, and I want to throw up. “You’re dealing drugs? What the fuck, Dad? What about everything we stand for?”
Dad laughs, a harsh ring that echoes in my ear. “Fuck you, Zack. You have no idea what it’s like in here. You’re soft. I’m doing what I need to do to survive and thrive in prison. The last thing I’m gonna listen to is my wet-behind-the-ears son telling me how to manage my fucking business.” He sighs. “Look. I’m proud you took drastic action against Outlaws, even if it did result in you getting arrested.”
And that’s what matters to him. In my father’s world, getting arrested for the cause is a mark of pride. But I don’t feel pride.
I feel disappointed. Disillusioned. Suddenly awake. Aware of the truth.
My father is a liar. My father is no better than the thugs we’ve been working for years to get off the streets in our neighborhood. He’s turned into one of them, and now he wants me to just be okay with that.
“I gotta go,” I tell him.
“We’ll talk soon. Keep this phone handy. I’ll be in touch.” Butch hangs up.
I stuff it under the mattress and sit on the edge of the bed.
Everything Jamison told me is true. I’m going to end up in prison like Butch. My shitty, lying, untrustworthy father.
My brothers and I are wrong. We believed in him, but he’s just about himself. He only cares about getting by, about making sure he’s taken care of. Not about honor or justice or any of the bullshit he used to feed us.
I was a fucking idiot.
I’m going to end up alone.
No life.
No woman.
No family.
A miserable, bitter old liar like my father.
Autumn
I don’t know how I manage to make it through the next couple of days. I feel like I’m sleep-walking at work. I’m teaching my students, but it’s more like I’m a zombie than a real person. I don’t yell at them for misbehaving, and I don’t have the energy to laugh and clap the way I normally do. I just don’t have it in me.
My heart feels like it hurts so much that it’s blown out and it can’t feel anything else besides my pain. I even dodge lunches, hiding in my classroom to eat. I don’t want to face Harper or any of the teachers. I don’t want anyone to see me and have a fake pitying look when they ask me what’s wrong. I’m afraid I’ll yell, or I’ll start sobbing.
After Zack’s call, I spent hours crying in bed, just lost in my own pain.
He got arrested.
Put in jail.
For vandalizing a bar that he believes is his. What kind of man does that? Even if he’s right, why not go through legal means to get the bar? Why would he go to that extent, breaking the law in such a violent way? Is that his father’s influence, or is that just who he is?
And does it matter either way?
Because in the end, Zack broke the law, and he was busted.
I was turned on by him at first. Aroused by his machismo, by the element of danger he brought with him. But now I see the reality of that danger. It isn’t sexy. It’s traumatic. And Zack is going to bring me down with him if I’m not careful.
The fact that his dad, Butch, is fine with destroying my birth father’s life by giving him drugs when he’s trying to get clean is a huge warning flag to me that I’m involved with the wrong person.
I settle into my desk, staring at the empty seats in front of me. My students will be here soon. I have to get my shit together, now.
I have to forget about Zack Beckett, no matter how much it hurts. He’s not the right man for me. He’s just going to bring me down into a bad place. I don’t want to be that woman visiting her boyfriend in jail. Hoping he’ll get out soon. Aching for him. Praying he won’t screw up again and get arrested anymore.
Hell no.
My heart is broken into pieces as I draw in a steadying breath. I have to get my shit together. Can’t let this continue to wreck me. Zack is in my past. This is my present. My future. My students deserve all my attention.
Girls and boys start pouring into my room, greeting me with happy smiles and waves. I smile back, hoping my enthusiasm looks genuine. I don’t want them to see the pain I’m in. Fake it ‘til I make it. Soon enough, the smiles won’t be fake.
“Miss Douglas,” one girl, Penny, says. She twiddles a strand of her red hair between her fingers. “Are you okay?”
I look down into her wide amber eyes and widen my smile. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
“You just seem sad,” she says, then walks to her desk and sits down.
I close my eyes and draw in a slow breath. I have to get my shit together. If seven-year-olds can see what a wreck I am, then I’m clearly not doing a good enough job putting on a brave face. How embarrassing.
My class fills. The first bell rings. I have my students start reading a short story. Leo, as usual, gets up and starts wandering around. I ask him several times to resume his seat, per school standards. He ignores me, getting edgier as I talk.
Frustration fills me.
I jump out of my seat and stalk over to him, standing on the mat in the play area. “Leo. Sit down right now and read your story.” My voice is sharper than it’s ever been at him.
He peers up at me, still. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Then he walks over and hugs me.
And my heart shatters. All the tears I’ve been holding back since the day Zack called threaten to spill out. I lean down and hug him. “I’m sorry for yelling,” I say. “Sometimes adults get upset, but that doesn’t mean they should take it out on kids.”
He pulls back and gives me a sage nod. “I make my mommy and daddy upset, but they say they’re sorry when they yell, too.”
I smile and stroke his hair. “Well, it’s good that they’re so open and honest with you. You’re a good kid, you know that?”
“I am too,” another kid, Derek, says from his seat.
“And me too,” Penny says, raising her hand in the air. “And I knew you were sad first.”
I take Leo’s hand and then urge the kids to come to the carpet to sit. They gather in a semi-circle, and Leo is at my feet as I sit on the small chair. “Emotions are a funny thing, aren’t they?” I say. “Do you ever get mad?”
They all raise their hands.
“My brother pulls my hair,” Britta says with a frustrated whine. “He won’t stop!”
I nod. “Sometimes people upset us. Let’s talk about ways we can make ourselves feel better so we don’t just feel mad or sad.”