Chapter Five #2
"No," I agreed. No one could even accuse me of getting around.
Maybe I had a little fun right after I first moved out of home as a young adult.
Back when my life was just about paying a few bills, having fun, having complete freedom.
It had been short-lived though. Slowly, but surely, my brothers moved in.
And while they were having their fun, I had sort of been put back in the position of being big brother, of being the responsible one.
Then, well, Mom died. And Scotti was in need of a steady parental figure.
My life became about providing for her, taking care of her.
Once we were adults, it became about avenging our mother.
Which left no time for attachments. Or even many casual encounters.
Once Scotti settled down in Navesink Bank with Mark Mallick, we all decided to set down roots.
And once that idea came to me, I knew I was going to lose another couple of years to building a new life.
Women simply weren't in the equation. I always figured I could find someone someday.
We'd likely have to forego the kid thing.
Or maybe I would find someone with kids already, get a chance to be a step-dad.
"So if you liked her, I can't figure out why you didn't make a move.
I mean, if you felt weird about the whole Peyton situation, you could have had a talk with her.
And I think we both know what her response would have been.
Something that involved some sex tips and recommendations of the best toys to incorporate in the act. "
A laugh rippled through me, pretty certain that was exactly how it would have gone down if I had approached Peyton with the idea of dating her friend.
Peyton was simply that friend. The crazy one.
The one always tricking her other friends into getting into some kind of trouble with them.
The one who was the 'bad influence.' I'd heard some story about Savea pouring honey on some frat guy.
And, well, let's face it, Savvy was not the pouring-honey-on-strangers kind of person.
So that was all Peyton's influence—and likely the copious plying of alcohol seeing as Savea was a notorious lightweight.
"Savea doesn't belong with someone like me," I mumbled, a bit annoyed at the self-deprecating tone of that, but knowing it was the truth.
"What? A successful, good-looking, family-oriented, kind-hearted man? I know, right? She belongs with some deadbeat drug dealer who smacks her around, huh?"
"Scotti, be reasonable."
"I am. I'm not so sure you are. I've never known you to be insecure, King. Maybe not quite as self-assured as Atlas or Rush..."
"Because no one in the world could be as self-assured as they are."
"Exactly," she agreed. "But you've always known your worth."
The breath I pulled in stretched my chest to its capacity, the air burning on the way out. "I'm a criminal, kid."
I didn't know she'd stopped walking until I found the space beside me empty, making me turn back, finding her watching me with parted lips, brows drawn close, looking at me like she had never seen me before.
"Is that really how you see yourself?"
"Is there really any other way to see myself?"
"I don't know... do you look at me, and your first thought is that I am a criminal?
" she asked. "Because, I don't know if you somehow missed it all those years, King, but I was right there beside you every single time you broke the law, every time you plotted to do it.
I was there. I participated. So if you think that about yourself, that at your core, that is all you are, then that must be how you see me. And Nixon and Atlas and Rush."
"I don't see you that way," I told her, shaking my head.
"I don't see there being much of a difference."
"I was the one who could have—and didn’t—stop us, steer us in a new direction. I should have been the one demanding we leave all the anger and revenge behind us. That should have been my place."
"Oh, so you're God," she said, eyes rolling.
"I was an adult. Nixon, Atlas, and Rush were adults.
We all chose the route we all took. we were active participants.
We were willing participants. You could have shouted at us until you were blue in the face.
We still would have done what we had done.
And you would have gone along because you wanted to keep an eye on us.
And then what? Would you have expected us to feel guilty for dragging you along? "
"Of course not." But I was seeing her point.
"Exactly. You're being ridiculous. We made those choices as a group.
As a bunch of kids mourning the loss of their mother.
As people marrow-deep angry at a world that allowed her to die that way.
We wanted someone to pay. And we made them pay in a small way.
We all chose that. And, need I remind you, it was also what led us here.
It led me to Mark. And, by extension, the Mallicks.
It led to my children. None of this was a mistake.
None of this was something I would choose to take back.
None of this was something that should be regretted.
Even if, yes, we used to be criminals. Besides, don't you think Savea knows all about what we did? "
I hadn't actually given that much thought before. I had always assumed she'd been unaware. That someday, she would learn who I was, what I had done. And that was the day she was going to look at me like I was a stranger.
It never occurred to me that she already knew that me and all my siblings were former armed—though non-violent—robbers.
That we had toured the country, getting jobs at different stores in a giant box store chain, learning the inner workings for weeks or even months, then pulling off perfected, orchestrated jobs over and over again.
Because we were angry.
Because the rage was the only other sensation we had to cling to other than the grief.
Our mother had been our world.
When our father died, she had needed to enter the workforce for the first time in her life. In her thirties. No work history. No one wanted to hire her.
Until she got a call from a big box store who offered her minimum wage with five mouths to feed. But it was something. Some way to keep food on the table for all of us.
They kept her under full-time by two hours a week so that she couldn't collect benefits.
But we never really got sick.
Until the day when she did.
Very sick.
Stage three lung sick.
The bills piled up fast. We had no idea how much until after she passed. Half a million in medical bills.
We didn't find out until she wasn't around anymore either that she had opted out of further treatment to avoid accruing more debt.
She'd chosen to die. Horribly, I might add. Because she couldn't afford to live. Because her work refused—even when she had begged—to let her get on the health insurance.
They spouted that "pre-existing condition" bullshit at her.
They signed her death certificate.
And we wanted them to pay.
So we did.
Little by little, store by store, year by year. It became all we knew. All we could focus on was the end result. Making them pay for her debt. And then a little more for our future.
We'd gotten there.
We'd been planning on the bug-out plan.
China, Russia.
When a job went a little sideways. Which was how Scotti met Mark, throwing our life in an unexpected direction.
I never thought that Savea could be privy to all that information. I figured it was a hand held close to the vest.
But then again, Savea knew that the Mallicks were loan sharks and enforcers. She knew that Peyton's man was an arms-dealing biker.
Of course, she would know what we had all once been.
Yet she still looked at me that way.