Chapter 13 #3
“Fuck both of them for running their mouths about Lexi when she’s not even here to defend herself.” My breaths come heavier, thinking about how much worse it would’ve been if anyone had said that shit to her face. The creature inside me rattles his cage at the thought.
“Not that part,” Weston says, pulling me back to the men around me.
“The pen?” Ronnie asks.
“Oh.” I tilt my head from side to side, tongue sucking on my teeth. “That.”
“Yeah, that.” Weston echoes, voice steelier than I’ve heard it.
“Tell us that was the factory you used to work at?” Ronnie prompts hopefully.
“Not quite. Part of this whole grant thing I did with Aurora to get settled in town… A background check was part of that. I’m assuming my past came up in that.” My eyes are on Wyatt’s, and a single nod confirms he knows more than he’s let on to the others.
My lungs fill with the evening air, somehow balmy and mountain fresh all at once, giving me the push to rip this Band-Aid off. It’s not like I hide my history from others, but it’s not easy for people who didn’t grow up in the life to understand. I learned that real quick when I got straight.
“Right. I did some time.” Might as well just get it out there.
Ronnie’s eyes roam my frame, for once I’m not in a chef jacket and pants.
The cloth drawstring shorts don’t quite hit my knees and with the oversized tee draped over my torso plenty of my ink is on display.
My thigh tats make a rare appearance, and more of my arm and neck pieces are visible than usual too.
That also goes for my scars.
“I never would’ve guessed,” Ronnie says, his gaze still locked on the letters across my knuckles where they grip the water bottle.
“Jesus, Ronnie,” Wyatt mutters, but Weston and I laugh, my bark parting the night air around us and launching clear across the parking lot. Some of the people still meandering down Main look our way but pay no real attention and keep walking.
“What? Am I supposed to say he isn’t scary as all get out? If he knocked on my door I’d join his gang real fuckin’ fast. You’re lying if you say you wouldn’t.”
Wyatt shakes his head at his best friend and busies his mouth with another sip of water rather than bothering to respond.
“I wasn’t a gangbanger.”
Ronnie leans closer, almost whispering. “I’m not super up to date on the etiquette about ex-con criteria, forgive me if I have to ask Emily Post what I’m supposed to say in this situation. Am I allowed to ask?”
A chuckle puffs out of my lips and I shake my head. This guy would get himself shot in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I wouldn’t recommend asking too many questions of most guys who have my past.” I gesture to myself. “But I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Oh, hell yeah,” Ronnie says, settling in, tucking his legs under him on the tailgate and patting the empty space next to him for Wyatt or Weston to join him. Wyatt strolls over and leans back against it, legs outstretched, arms crossed over his chest. “Tell us everything, bud.”
“I was raised in a different lifestyle,” I say simply.
“You make it sound like you were vegan or your parents didn’t believe in baths or something.” Ronnie makes himself laugh.
“Sure, something like that. If baths were the legal code. In my case, let’s say it was more like we lived outside the laws civilians liked to follow. The norm for the men in my family, going back a couple generations.”
This is the point in the story where the rich white women in New York would grip their purses a little tighter, regret shining in their eyes for asking about my past, already planning their exit route.
They might like the look of a guy who’s lived a rough life, but the reality was always too much for them.
Luckily, these guys seem to have some grit, so I keep going.
“Thought I’d be on a different path for my life,” I confess.
“Following my pops’ footsteps. Started out with smaller stuff as a teen, learning the ropes with small shit.
I was just an associate at that point. Had me doing errands like running packages, shit like that.
” I blow out a big breath, some of the memories coming back with the story I rarely share.
Shrugging my shoulders, I finish it. “Ended up getting put away for trafficking charges before I could climb the ranks.”
Ronnie huffs out a big breath, blowing his cheeks out. “Fuck, man.”
“Yeah. I was seventeen when I got locked up, but they tried me as an adult. Did four years and seven months upstate. Got kitchen duty while I was there, gave me a passion for feeding people and making ’em smile instead of cower in fear.
Then my pops got taken from me while I was gone.
My mom shortly after. I didn’t want any part of the life after that. ”
“Wait,” Ronnie says.
Neither Grady brother has spoken so far, and I wonder if they’ve got me figured out, or if they see me in a worse light now. Seems like their friend isn’t scared to keep asking until he’s got the whole picture though.
“What do you mean by the life? You said you weren’t in a gang.”
Chin to my chest, my eyes flash up to his, one brow raised. “Not exactly a gang. My family had…other connections.”
“Oh shit!” Ronnie claps a hand over his mouth, then whispers so loud he may as well shout the words. “Like the mafia?”
“How dumb are you?” Wyatt stares down the guy to his right.
“Pretty dumb, most days,” Ronnie says with a shrug. “Thought you’d be used to it by now.”
Weston turns in a circle, shaking his head and trying not to laugh with his back to us.
“That’s not a word I’d use,” I hedge.
“But that’s the life you were in?” Wyatt asks his first question of me.
I nod, shifting my stance to crack my hips. “Never fully. Obviously.”
Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.
That’s a life you don’t walk away from unless you’re in a casket.
“But it’s the path I was on. Negotiated my way out of it after I got out on good behavior.
Think the boss was having a soft day or some shit, I dunno.
Prolly felt bad about my old man. Or how I was twenty-one and had already done four years and wasn’t even made yet.
Had nothing to show for it. Whatever it was, he let me walk away. ”
The note on my front door back in Queens flashes through my mind.
Don’t really feel it’s a necessary part of the story to add in that he might be rethinking that deal.
They’d never look for me in the Heights. Never been big on social media, nothing to trace me to here, even if they cared to. All that cash I saved over the years left no trail on my escape route.
Plus, it wouldn’t be worth their time to hunt me down, all this way.
Once I got past the Poconos, I took my first deep breath.
Not much pulls the outfit that far, definitely not a nobody like me.
Now that I’m ten hours away from their turf, every breath fills my lungs deeper than it ever did before.
That part of my life is over. Glance down at my right hand for the reminder.
The word FREE stares back at me.
Cazzo, I can’t even remember the last time I checked the headlines. It was before the opening. Last week?
I shake my head and keep going. “Started working any job I could get in food service to put myself through culinary school. Became a chef. And here we are.”
“Just like that,” Weston muses.
“Don’t worry,” Ronnie says. “We won’t tell anyone.”
Well, I didn’t think they would, but now I’m wondering.
Ronnie’s mouth keeps running. “Except our wives. Unless you’d kill us. Then we won’t.”
Wyatt shoves Ronnie so hard he flies off the back of the truck and sprawls on the ground, complaining loudly.
“You’re going to get us killed, Ronnie,” Weston whines.
“Please.” I wave them off. “I was never that guy. Not even my dad was that guy. It’s not that glamorous these days. Shit, we didn’t even have a butcher shop to hang out in front of. Really felt baited and switched after watching The Sopranos.”
“You did look like you were gonna kill Gary for a second in there,” Ronnie defends, wiping his hands on his jeans and fixing the hat on his head after his spill.
“Wanted to,” I admit.
Okay, so maybe I have it in me.
The darkness I relied on to get me through prison still lives under my skin. It still likes to come out and play sometimes.
But I’ve adapted to the civilian world. Aside from putting the occasional fuckwad in his place, I don’t live a life of violence these days.
He would’ve been fun to fold into origami though.
But nah, I don’t want to disrupt this town with that part of my past.
“One time I took Old Man Jenkins’ car for a joyride,” Ronnie throws out, offering a crime of his own, like our backgrounds are intertwined.
“Just stop,” Wyatt pleads.
“Guess there’s no getting out of the group chat after this.” Weston grins, waggling his brows at his brother. “This here feels like male bonding.”
Ronnie tilts his head back and howls into the starry sky, “Heights Hotties!”
Wyatt shoves him to the ground again, and it’s not a bad night out with the boys.