Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Luke
" I f you use that elbow one more time, Cam, I'm going to show you what you can do with it," I grunt as I come down on the gym floor with a loud thud.
There's a group of us who have started getting together to play pickup ball at the high school in the evenings. It's a way for us to blow off steam without going to the gun range, or something equally violent. We see so much of it every day, it's helpful to do something that's physical, but fun too. Except when we all get a little too competitive.
"Fuck off, Hartford. That was my two points." Cam wags his finger at me.
JT laughs as he runs right along with us. "I don't think that's what he was saying, Cam. I think he's irritated with you continually fouling him."
"You can screw off too, teenager. This is a man's game. Us adults know what we're doing."
Malcolm is with us too, and he stops to laugh, holding on to his sides. It's good to see him let himself go. He bends at the waist, gripping his basketball shorts. He probably hasn't laughed in a long time. "If this is you knowing what you're doing, I'd hate to see how you play when you don't know."
Cam glares at the two of them. "Cody, I have a complaint." He pants as he runs down the court. "These young buckaroos with the smartass mouths are ruining my vibe. Can they be escorted off the court?"
Troy smirks over at Cam. "You keep fuckin' around with my son, and he's gonna dunk on your head. Quit bitchin' and let's play."
"What he said." Cody breathes hard as he comes down the court with us.
We're all the way down to the other end, and Malcolm goes out of bounds. He motions for the ball, which Cody bounces over to him. His eyes meet mine. He raises his brows and nods toward the ground. "Check."
I catch the ball he bounces over to me. Bouncing it back to him. "Check." I push it back toward him.
His eyes lock on mine, and I'm trying to figure out what's going through his mind as he advances on me. I put my arms out to the side, protecting my space. He edges in, using his elbow as a way to get closer as he bounces further into the play. "Why did you follow me the other night?" He dribbles the ball between his legs, not taking his gaze off mine.
It's impressive, the way he's able to hold a conversation with me while he's focusing on the play at hand, too. "You were upset. Your mom was upset, and I didn't want to see anything bad happen to you. Not because of your dad, not because of him fucking around with your feelings the way he does."
"Yeah, because you said you knew something about that, right?"
I'm unsure what Malcolm is getting at. There's no way I can assume what's going through his head. Kids who have been put in the situation he's been, their minds go to places none of us can imagine. He passes the ball to JT, and we stand there, staring at each other in the middle of the court. "I do know something about that. Is everything okay with you?"
He rolls his lips together, hands on his hips. The laugh he just had is gone. He's back to being the serious teenager he normally is. "I have questions."
I signal to Troy that we're taking a break, and I walk him over to the small amount of bleachers that are rolled out. "You want answers? I'll give them to you. What are those questions?"
Malcolm doesn't say anything for so long that it starts to make me nervous and awkward. Just when I'm about to give up that he's going to ask me anything, he opens his mouth. "Why did you give my mom your cell phone number? Is that standard for a cop to give to a victim? We've been victims before, and no one ever did it. Why was it different this time?"
The fact that he knows I gave his mom my number surprises me. "It's not unusual for me. Lots of cops work their jobs in different ways. I'm the type of cop who wants that personal connection with the people of his jurisdiction."
"So you're saying you'd do that for everyone, not just a single mother who's fallen on some hard times?"
That's why Malcolm is upset. He's afraid I'm going to use my position of authority and the fact that I can be a safe place to land as a way to manipulate. I fucking hate that this teenager is worrying about this shit. There's no reason he should be, and it's one thousand percent his dickhead of a dad's fault. "I'm not. I didn't reach out to her because she's a single mother. I reached out to her because she looked like she needed help. I'm not the type of man who takes advantage of those who have hit hard times, Malcolm. I understand I'm going to have to prove that to you, and I'm willing to do it."
He nods and seems to roll these words around in his head for long minutes. "She's been fucked over so much, and I don't want her to be hurt anymore. I can't stop it..." He swallows hard. "I want to, but I can't."
There are tears pooling in his eyes. He doesn't want people to see this, I know it with every part of me. "You can't, but your mom is a strong lady. She's had to be in order to survive as long as she has."
"Which is why I want her to have a good time, and I trust you because you're a cop, but I don't want to trust you too much."
This kid is gonna be a hard one to crack. He's not going to trust easily. That is, if I can even get him to do so. "You do whatever you want to at your own pace."
"I want you to respect my mom."
"I do," I assure him.
Behind us, a voice cuts into our conversation. "And your mom can speak for herself, Malcolm. Are you ready to go? You know I don't like being here."
I heard about what happened in the gym with Kyle during a basketball game, and that obviously isn't a good memory for any of them.
Malcolm nods his head, muttering, "Can't wait until my truck gets fixed. Can't believe the spark plugs went bad last night." He grabs his stuff and huffs, heading out.
Left with Deanna, I turn to face her. "We weren't discussing you in a bad way, I promise."
She crosses her arms, a small smile playing against her lips. "I heard enough to know that my son is worried I don't have a good head on my shoulders, and if that's not a kick in the gut, I don't know what is."
Taking a chance, I reach forward, clasping her hand in mine. It's not the smooth skin that most women who don't work hard have. Deanna's hands show how hard she's had to labor in order to keep her life together. "Well, this man thinks you have a good one, and is waiting for the chance to show you what a real date, and a real relationship, looks like."
"I know. Please don't move on without me," she whispers.
"Never. We're gonna get a chance, Deanna. That's all I ever want, and that's what we're gonna have."