by K. Webster
Fuck.
Roan is going to murder me.
Shoving those thoughts out of my mind, I spray down another plate. This job isn’t so bad. It’s my first full week here. Mondays are slow, but Tuesdays are their biggest night for Taco Tuesday. All week, I either worked or hung around Roan’s place, watching movies with Hollis and Roux since it was their last week before school started back up. I’d managed to avoid any babysitting jobs for baby Ramirez and didn’t have to see Juno or Renaldo. I also didn’t see much of Roan, because he works his ass off, though we did manage to hit the gym a couple of times together with Cal and Terrence before they fucked back off to college.
I still can’t believe Roan’s a fireman.
Pride courses through me. For as much shit that Roan has gone through in his life, he deserves to be happy. And if putting out fires with the guy who’s banging his husband’s mom makes him happy, then I’m happy.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I dry my hands off to check my messages.
Juno: Kayden’s meeting some Rockford guys today after school. Traitors. They think they deserve to wear red. Make sure he doesn’t get jumped by those sketchy motherfuckers.
I groan because I fucking hate watching this kid. But it’s better than the alternative—chopping cars—and they’re leaving the Hoodlums out of it. That’s all that matters.
Cal texts me next, chasing my bad mood away.
Cal: Terrence doesn’t think I can bag the dean’s daughter. I told him not to insult me.
Me: How old is the dean’s daughter?
Cal: Legal. You know I won’t touch them unless they can vote.
Unlike me.
Fuck.
Me: Don’t die.
Cal: I’ll try not to. T and I made it back to campus. Hit us up though if you need us. We’ll be there in a few hours. Hoodlums always have each other’s backs.
I send him a thumbs-up emoji—which he hates with a fucking passion—that earns me about fifty middle finger emojis. I’m still laughing and about to pocket my phone when someone taps my shoulder.
I’m tense as I turn, only to deflate at seeing the owner.
Bob Gonzalez.
His real name is Roberto, but he told me when I started, he likes to go by Bob because no one fucks up how to pronounce it. I can’t fucking say Bob with a straight face, though. Bob is a guy who wears a brown suit, has a comb-over, and sells insurance.
Not a Mexican with face tattoos, a few gold teeth, and a gray and black beard that goes to his goddamn belly button.
“What’s up, Bob?” I smirk because I can’t fucking help it.
He grunts, swatting me upside the head and knocking one of the AirPods into the floor. “Don’t be a smartass, kid. Someone’s here to see you.”
My first thought is elation.
Roux.
Then irritation because I don’t want the cooks looking at her.
“A girl?”
Bob snorts. “No. A cop.”
Oh, fuck no.
“I don’t do cops,” I snarl, picking up the AirPod and pocketing it.
“Calm your tits, boy,” Bob says with a boisterous laugh. “He’s a regular. Says he knows you. Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
My eyes drift to the loser on the grill who’s staring off into space, probably dreaming about pussy. Frederick, I think his name is. “He’s about to burn that meat.”
Sure enough, he starts to curse when the meat smokes. Bob grumbles in irritation, stalking over to Frederick to do damage control. I walk over to the door into the dining room of El Juarez and peek through the small round window.
As soon as I see him, I recognize him.
Captain Scott Fitzgerald and Officer Jessica Kline.
They were two people who testified on my behalf at my trial. If it weren’t for Fitzgerald calling me off the ledge that night, I might have turned that gun on myself. Kline was the one who pulled Roux out of there, promising me she’d be safe. I owe it to them to at least say hi.
With a sigh, I take out my other AirPod and shove it into my pocket before pushing through the door. As soon as Fitzgerald sees me, he grins, motioning at his table for me to take a seat. I pull a chair out, flip it around, and sit backward to face them.
“Hey,” I grunt.
“Good to see you, kid,” Fitzgerald says. “How are you holding up now that you’re back in the real world?”
Working for a gang and almost fucked a teenager.
“Fine.” I force a smile and nod at Kline. “Officer Kline.”
She laughs. “It’s lieutenant now.”
“Congrats on the raise. It’s great seeing you two and all, but this is my first full week on the job. Bob back there might be pissed if I’m out here shooting the shit while on the clock.”
Fitzgerald chuckles. “Roberto and I go way back. He’s a cool guy. Someone you can trust.” He cocks his head to the side. “Do you have anyone like that, son?”
I thought I could trust my parents, but they’ve both ghosted me since I’ve been released, which feels fair since I did the same thing to them.
At least I have the Hoodlums.
Even the little one.
“Yeah, I have people.”
He nods in approval. “I spoke to Samantha.”
I stiffen, my eyes dragging through the restaurant of people to see who’s around. Fitzgerald, the smart bastard, picks up on it immediately.
“I’ve already made sure we were safe to talk candidly,” he assures me, though he lowers his voice. “She said you have an appointment with Tom.”
My heart hammers in my chest. I hate that Samantha runs her mouth so much, but she’s my attorney. Everything she does is to help me.
I give him a one-shouldered shrug. I’m not admitting to anything.
Fitzgerald’s lips press into a firm line as he studies me. He has that way about him. With his salt-and-pepper hair and concerned eyes, he plays the part of worried dad well. But he’s not my dad. My dad is working himself into a grave at the tire factory, trying to forget his son killed four men and went to prison for it.
“You’re not alone, Jordy. You never have been. When you finally realize that and start to rely on other people, you’ll see. It can only go up from here.”
I’m barely out of the pen and I’m getting in fights, driving a stolen car, and am so close to sticking my dick in Roux.
Shit can only go down from here.
“Break time’s over,” I grunt, giving them both a nod. “See you around.”
“You will.”
His promise makes my blood curdle. The last thing I need is a cop trying to be buddy-buddy with me. I don’t even want to know what Renaldo would do.
Fuck.
Why can’t my life just be normal?
I’m minding my own business, pulling hot plates out of the dishwasher, when Bob checks in on me again.
“Frederick quit,” Bob says, scowling. “What do you know about cooking?”
“A lot more than doing dishes.”
His eyes skim over my work. I spent the better part of my first day of work last week fixing the disorganization the last dumbass who worked here left for me.
“You ever cooked on a big grill?”
“No, but I cooked at OSP for whiney-ass inmates. Also been cooking with my mom since I was little.”
He nods. “You’re fired from dishwashing and hired as a cook. Tomorrow grab an apron and shadow me. I need someone reliable.”
How he knows I’m reliable after one week of work is beyond me. I do, however, need this job to keep my parole officer happy.
“Yeah, man, I can do it.”
He opens his mouth to say something when we’re interrupted by a waitress named Sheila. “We need a mop!”
Bob slaps me on the shoulder. “Today you’re still a dishwasher. Go clean that shit up.”
I roll my eyes at him but do as I’m told. Once I have the mop, I saunter back out into the dining room. The lunch rush is over, so the c
rowd is thinning out. A brunette woman, sitting in a booth with her back to me, is fussing over a toddler in a booster seat beside her. An empty glass sits on the table and the mess has been cleared away there by Sheila. The floor is still soaked.
With my head down, I start mopping. The woman gasps, drawing my attention to her.
“Jordy?”
I let my eyes skim over her face. “Sidney.”
She’s stiff as she takes in my appearance. I’m not exactly a revered hero in this town. Especially not to her. I used to be such a dick to Sidney.
“Got knocked up, I see.” I guess I still am a dick to Sidney.
She scowls at me. Sidney’s always been beautiful with her bright green eyes and shiny brown hair. She’s also a bit of a skank, especially where my friends are concerned.
“Don’t be rude. I’m married. We have a son together.” She crosses her arms over her tits that have grown. It’s then I realize she’s barely showing, pregnant again.
“Who the fuck married you?”
“Fuckfuckfuck,” the little kid parrots.
Whoops.
“Sebban, sweetie, that’s a no-no word.”
“Nononono.”
“Who’s the dad?” I know the kid sure as fuck isn’t mine. I never fucked Sidney, though she tried to get me there on more than one occasion. He’s not dark-skinned like Terrence. But those eyes…
“Gio,” she says with a huff. “Duh.”
“Hmph.”
“Don’t hmph me, Jordy. I see you judging me. I’m not the same person as before.” It’s then I take in her appearance. She was always trash like the rest of us. Poor as fuck, but at least had good looks on her side. Now, she really is different. Seemingly more mature and put together.
“Gio took his certifications. He’s selling insurance now. Does really well. If you need car insurance, he could hook you up.” She sighs. “He wanted to go into finance and go to college, but with the baby, that wasn’t an option.”
“Does the nerd still drive a minivan?”
She rolls her eyes but lets a smirk tug at her lips. “God no. I made him trade that in the second we were married.” A genuine smile tugs at her lips. “He’s a good dad, you know. I know you guys used to give him hell in high school, but Gio’s a good man.”
Guilt niggles at me. We were all such dicks to poor Sidney. All she wanted was attention and for someone to love her. None of the Hoodlums had it in us to love her. Glad the nerd stepped up. She’s not a bad person and it looks like he really pulled the good parts out of her.
“Stay-at-home mom?”
She bristles. “Yes. Have a problem with that? I want to go to dental school to be a hygienist, but Sebban needs me. He’s busy and likes to hide. I don’t think a babysitter could keep an eye on him like I do.”
“My mom stayed home with us when we were little. Not knocking it, Sid.” I finish mopping and then lean the handle against a vacant table. “I’m sorry I was a dick to you back then.”
Both of her perfectly sculpted brows fly up and Sebban starts chanting my newest fuck-up.
“You’re sorry?” She laughs, shaking her head as though she can’t believe it. “I guess what they say is true. Prison really can change a man.”
“What eye color does Gio have?” I ask, boring my stare into her.
Her face blanches. “Brown. Why?”
“No reason.”
“The kid’s not yours, Jordy,” she hisses. “We didn’t screw. Stop being so defensive.”
I steal one more glance at the kid. “Thank fuck. I do not need a kid right now.”
Sebban grins at me and then throws his sippy cup at me. Little bastard is nothing but an ankle biter and already sticking up for his mom whether he realizes it or not. Good kid.
“You should come to Campfire Chaos,” I tell her. “Catch up with the Hoodlums. Like old times.”
Her face burns bright red and she scowls. “I’m a married woman with responsibilities now. I’ll pass.”
“Consider it. I bet Roan and the guys miss you,” I challenge.
“I don’t miss them,” she throws back.
I leave her be.
For now.
God only knows I have enough shit on my plate.
Roux
I hate school.
Always have, always will.
When I finally manage to escape this prison, I won’t be going to college. Roan will freak, but I don’t care. He knows how hard school has always been for me. It’s not that I don’t try, because I really do. It’s because my brain muddles when it’s time to make sense of what I’ve learned. If the teachers would give me my tests verbally, I’d probably ace them all. There’s just something about staring at the paper that gets confusing.
Karen—or Principal Frazier to everyone else—says I have a learning disability, but I even shut down when I’ve been tested for that. She’s made special allowances now that I’m at the high school. I’m given reduced homework compared to the others. I’m allowed breaks during tests and can ask questions. All sorts of crutches to help me pass.
And I still barely keep my head above water.
My senior year will be more of the same.
“Miss Hirsch,” Mr. Ewing says when the final bell rings. “Can you stay back for a minute?”
I nod and then skim my eyes over to where Charlotte is sitting. She won’t look at me or speak to me. We’re going on over a week of not talking. It’s not a phase. She won’t get over it like Kelsey thinks. It guts me.
Today, Charlotte was glued to Ryan and his inner circle. A girl named Rena has buddied up to her. Isaiah and Gunther—the two guys also messing with her that night—hang out with her and Ryan like nothing ever happened.
I guess I shouldn’t have butted in after all.
The class leaves, all of them eager to go home. It makes me wonder if Kayden will be in the parking lot when I finally make it out of here. He’d tried to pick me up for school this morning, but I ignored him to climb into Hollis’s car. I know Kayden was pissed, but we’re broken up. No matter how hard he tries to deny it.
Mr. Ewing clears his throat, drawing my attention his way. He’s a few years older than Roan. Definitely cute if you’re into the tall, lean-built, nerdy professor type. I like him because he loves poetry and has already assigned us some poems to read. I may fail his class, but at least it’ll be one of the few classes I’ll enjoy.
“I spoke to Ms. Frazier,” he says as he stands from his desk and walks over to where I’m sitting. He sits on the edge of the desk across from mine. “She said you needed some modifications for my class.”
I nod, no longer embarrassed by the spiel. This haze has followed me through my entire school career. “They usually give me extra time to take the tests or let me ask questions.” I puff out a sigh. “Though it’d be easier if you’d read the questions to me and just let me answer them.” I let out a laugh because that’s something they never allow.
“Okay.”
I jerk my head up. “Okay?”
“I can do that. Not during class because of the other students, but we can make arrangements for verbal testing after class since this is the last period of the day.”
I grin at him. “Really? Thank you!”
“Your GPA isn’t anything to write home about,” he jokes, “but I read what you turned in today. It was a good poem.”
“I love poetry,” I say with a sigh. “I love that it doesn’t seem to have order or make sense. Kind of like my mind. I have tons of it stuck to the walls in my room.”
He smiles. “That’s something we can relate on. I started a book of poems.”
“Like Atticus?”
“If only I could be that successful. Maybe you could give me some feedback one day.”
I’m shocked. Teachers never want feedback from me. Mostly I’m an annoyance—someone they have to work extra hard for.
“Mr. Ewing, I’d love that.”
“Call me Wes.” He smirks. “When we’re al
one, of course. The other students have different rules.”
His words make my stomach twist in a strange way and I don’t know why. He’s just being friendly. Still, I have a small bout of nerves suddenly.
“Okay,” I mutter. “Sounds good, er, Wes.”
He chuckles, scratching at his jaw. “Don’t sound so horrified. I’m just a regular guy like your brother. How is Roan these days? He played basketball with my brother Brody.”
“He’s well. Mostly, he works for the tire factory, but he also volunteers for the fire department. Married now.”
“Married, huh? I never took him for the type to settle down with some girl, but I guess when you find the one—”
“A man.”
His brows lift. “Oh?”
“They’re happy.”
“That’s all that matters.” He nods and motions to the door. “Your boyfriend is waiting.”
I snap my head to find Kayden loitering, looking like I kicked his puppy. Grinding my teeth, I gather my bag and shake my head.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
Mr. Ewing—Wes—flashes me a knowing smile. “See you tomorrow, Miss Hirsch.”
“Roux.” I smile and give him a small wave. “Bye, Mr. Ewing.”
As I make my way over to Kayden, he’s glaring at Wes. I roll my eyes, shoving past him and into the hall. Ignoring him, I head for the stairwell.
“Roux!” Kayden calls out. “Jesus, slow down. I want to talk to you—to apologize.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I grumble, taking the stairs down quickly.
He grabs my arm, stopping me. “Roux-Roux.” His lips are pouted out and his brows are furled. This act used to work. It got him his way with nearly everything where I was concerned. “Please don’t shut me out.”
I scowl, shifting on my feet. “What?”
“Forgive me.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“But it is, baby. I was fucked up that night. I didn’t mean to get so rough with you. That party was dangerous and I let it get out of control. It wasn’t safe for you to be there.” He steps closer, running his knuckle along the side of my throat that no longer bears bruising or hickeys. “I’m so sorry.”
“Apology accepted. Can I go now?”
He runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up. “I want us to get back together.”