Chapter 3
TYLER
I didn’t blame Foster for kicking me out. I had no money or prospects, and friendship didn’t pay bills. Foster was in a bad spot, too, and he’d had to make difficult choices, but that didn’t make it any easier for me.
It was snowing and I was fucking freezing.
My beat-up coat barely helped keep the wind from attacking my skin, and the bite of stale pastry I’d taken hadn’t warmed my stomach.
I’d gained a strange habit the first time I’d relied on donated food.
Sometimes, I closed my eyes and imagined the food bank leftovers were hot soup, the taste of vegetables and broth sliding down my throat, before I was quickly brought back to reality.
I groaned and settled into the doorway of a craft store that had gone out of business. Mrs. Lyle, an elderly lady with a wobbly walker, paused in her path near a burger restaurant to study me carefully. Her kind blue eyes were brighter than ever.
“Tyler, is that you?” She took a shaky step toward me, her legs thin and weak. “What are you doing back here, eh?”
That was the question of the year.
I had two options. Stay here, where I’d freeze every night and do questionable things I wanted to leave in my past, or take the phone number Eddie had given me and call him. Ask for a home for a while. That meant I had to suck up my pride and shove down my anger.
I didn’t answer her. Instead, I grabbed a raspberry tart and passed it to her, and she flashed her yellow teeth at me in a grin as she took a large bite.
“You know, if you hang out with that, people will rob you.” She pointed a knobby knuckle toward the box of food.
I smiled sadly. “I know.”
Familiar faces lined the street. It was a smaller area of the city and well known as a homeless hot spot.
There were more alcoves than usual to hide in from the cruel wind blasting off Lake Ontario.
Restaurants lined both sides of the street and a couple of apartment buildings were dotted in between.
“Where’s Ezra this afternoon?”
She frowned as she took another nibble of the tart. “To be honest, I haven’t seen him for a while. He left and never came back. I’ve been worried about him. Hoped maybe he got a spot in a shelter.”
I frowned. Ezra was a little older than me.
He’d welcomed me to the streets of New Gothenburg in the only way Ezra could, with a swift nod and a stern warning—people are assholes, be careful.
When I’d chosen to go to A Home for the Heart, an LGBTQ plus shelter, he’d refused to come with me.
He liked to do things for himself, which didn’t make sense.
Occasionally, I’d come to say hello to him, but he was a quiet guy. I didn’t know much about him.
“He’s Ezra. He can handle himself.” And that was the problem. If someone gave him shit, he shot it right back. One day his attitude would get him in trouble.
Unlike Eddie. He was the opposite of Ezra. He tried to please everyone, even if he was hopeless at it. He was also a mess when it came to . . . everything. If you looked up disaster in the dictionary, his name would be there, along with a picture of his apologetic, smiling face.
The thought of my ex-stepbrother and, more importantly, ex-friend brought mixed feelings.
The anger and resentment from all those years ago merged with a warmth I couldn’t quite explain.
Once upon a time, he’d been the only one I could rely on.
He’d been my strength and hope. He’d made me smile and laugh through the shitty way his dad treated us.
Then, he’d left. Escaped without asking me to go with him.
How could I forgive that?
“Well, you be good, eh?” Mrs. Lyle gave me a small wave and pat on the head before she began to move again, taking careful steps in her worn shoes.
I’d asked her once why she hadn’t asked for help, but her answer always haunted me.
“People pretend to want to help, but they’re never there when you need it. ”
She was old. Eventually, she’d die out here or get hurt and end up in an old-folks home somewhere.
But what she’d said wasn’t wrong. The truth hurt. Eddie was an example of that. He gave me his number and address, but that was out of guilt. If I called him—or worse, simply showed up at his house—what would he have to offer?
I groaned and fell back against the wall behind me. Coldness seeped into my bones, chilling me from the outside in. The longer I sat here, reality set in. I didn’t have much of a choice. Living without an apartment was too dangerous.
Too lonely.
Nothing good would happen out here. I’d been lucky once.
I’d jittered my way through waiting for STI test results after I’d gotten my apartment and was sort of on my feet.
Through some miracle they’d come back negative.
I wasn’t dumb enough to think that would happen twice.
If I went back to what I’d been doing for cash the last time I was in this position, I’d eventually end up in trouble.
There were too many men who didn’t like condoms or got off on the idea of me swallowing.
Or simply wanted to brutalize people and thought a homeless hustler wouldn’t go to the cops.
They weren’t wrong.
I shivered and wrapped the coat tighter around myself. Lowering my head, I eyed the guy across the street. He’d been giving me a death stare since I’d sat down, and after each passing minute, it deepened until the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I didn’t know him, but that didn’t matter.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket, startling me. I tugged it out before answering the unknown number. “Tyler speaking.”
“Tyler, this is Margot from élégant.”
My breath caught. I’d gone to a quick interview at the bistro after ditching Eddie yesterday, hoping for something—anything—even if it was the shittiest job possible. I hadn’t expected to hear back from them so soon. “Of course. How can I help you, Margot?”
“Listen, I wanted to be polite and call you to let you know we’ve filled the position, and unfortunately, you were unsuccessful.
” She sounded anything but apologetic, but I wasn’t surprised.
She’d given me a long once-over, the disgust evident on her slim, Botox-filled face.
While people like her changed the way they looked, I struggled for the basics.
“Right. Thanks.”
She huffed. “Have a good day.”
Then, she ended the call, the silence loud in my ear as my heart dropped right into my stomach.
That was my last chance and now it was gone, too.
A sharp pain streaked through my chest, and I dragged my knees up, hiding my face between them.
My future choices were dwindling fast. I only had one direction left to go—Eddie.
Unless I wanted to stay out in the cold.
I wouldn’t survive this time around, and with my phone’s power dying, I had a short amount of time to make a decision.
The sound of shoes scuffing on the cement beside me dragged me out of my downward spiral. The man from across the street was standing in front of me. I peered up at him out of my good eye, his shadowy outline daunting in my right. I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as he crouched with a sneer.
He picked up a wrapped cookie from my box and held it up. “You gonna share this, pretty boy?”
I gritted my teeth so hard it hurt and raised my chin. “If you’d asked nicely, I might’ve.” I forced myself to my feet and ignored the fact that I had to look up at him when he stood, too. That was typical for me. “But now you can fuck off.”
The streets could be a dangerous place. I’d learned to take care of business here, but I didn’t always have the confidence to defend myself. This was one of those times where I had nothing left to lose. I didn’t have a job, a place to live, and I didn’t see a future. I was lost.
But I had fists.
The guy bared his teeth and jumped at me. He was heavier than I’d expected, and we went crashing to the cement. The back of my head rebounded off the sidewalk. I groaned as agony streaked through me, the shattering echo of pain starting at the impact site and shooting down my spine.
The guy bared down on me, his hands wrapping around my throat.
I shoved his face, pushing him back as hard as I could.
My arms felt weak, days without a good meal making them boneless.
His knee pressed into my chest. I struggled harder as his fingers curled into my neck, cutting off my air, and I gasped, a barrel of fear and anxiety hitting me hard and fast. If this was my last day on earth, I wasn’t going without a fight.
I refused.
I wouldn’t be known as that homeless man who died over a stupid box of stale food.
Time to play dirty.
I punched him in the crotch as hard as I could.
He went flying over my shoulder, slamming onto the ground beside me.
He groaned as I rolled over and coughed.
My chest burned, my heart raced, and my nerves were on fire.
My fingers twitched as I smoothed them over my throat, where I was sure I had bruises already.
The stranger turned, but I jumped up before he could get his bearings and slammed my fist into his cheek. His head flung to the side as he flattened against the sidewalk, another groan of pain leaving him. Good. I hoped he fucking hurt because I sure did.
I rose on shaky knees, aware of the attention on me from the other homeless people. I ignored them and grabbed the box of food, moving across the street to hand it to Miguel, a war vet. Most people respected him. “Share it around.”
The old man gave me a smile and nod.
Then, I picked up my bags and left. It wasn’t worth sticking around for another fight. The back of my head throbbed already. My stomach wobbled and I wasn’t sure if it was from the fight or because I was starving for real food. Pastries only went so far.
Everything tilted.
I stopped to grab a lamppost, steadying myself. My ears rang. Panic clamped down on my lungs, suffocating me.
I dug my hand into the top of my coat and grasped the gold chain secured around my neck.
It was the only valuable I had left, but it was also the last chance I had at freedom.
I was stuck, caught in a vortex of choices that got worse by the moment.
Grandma had given me this necklace for my fifteenth birthday, telling me I’d always be special to her.
And I had been, until she’d died of a stroke.
Through all the trials I’d experienced, I’d never considered pawning it.
But maybe I didn’t have a choice this time.
I inhaled deeply, my lungs on fire. The back of my head throbbed harder, reminding me of the possible death I’d been close to, and I exhaled heavily through my nose.
The only pawnshop open to buying things from people like me was owned by Jim Shanahan, who most people knew as Nike because of his shoe collection.
His brother, Mike, was usually the one there running the business, and I hated the bastard.
He was a scumbag. He would take advantage of me, buy products for less than they were worth because I was desperate, and one day, he’d asked me if I was over eighteen while we were haggling.
The second I’d said yes, he’d asked for a blowjob in exchange for giving me fifty bucks more.
Fifty. Fucking. Dollars. For head.
At the time, it had seemed like the only way to survive, the only way to keep my miserable life plodding along, because at least moving forward wasn’t dead.
He started me down the path of hustling and sleeping with people.
I groaned and dropped my forehead against the cold lamppost. Mike was an asshole, but he was one who gave me the time of day.
I moved as fast as my legs would carry me, which didn’t say much because my knees were trembling. I headed through alleyway shortcuts I knew by heart and down shady streets most smart people avoided, until I finally got to the front of the pawnshop.
The small white sign with bold black letters at the front of the worn-down building was only half lit and simply said Shanahan Brothers Pawnshop. It’d been that way since I’d first come here, and with the amount of hustling Mike did, I didn’t know why he hadn’t gotten it fixed yet.
I took a deep breath and stepped toward the door.