“Wait a second,” I say, turning to face him, placing a hand on his arm. My eyebrows pinch together, my concern evident. “How often do you come here to drink? You know you’re supposed to be sober. Staying clean was—”
“Come on,” he says, cutting me off. Mark’s mouth curves into a comforting half-smile, managing to put some of my nerves atease. “ Yeah, I come have a drink or two every now and then. It’s not like I’m here every day. I promise, I’m still sober.” His eyes meet mine, and I can see the sincerity there. “What your family’s done for me… I won’t fuck that up, Jett.”
I let his words sink in and try to trust them. He’s been on a straight path for a while now. He’s yet to relapse when it comes to drugs. What’s the harm in a drink every now and then?
“Yeah, I believe you, man,” I say. Just then, I hear an obnoxious-as-fuck laugh from directly behind us. I spin to face the source.
“Well, boys, look who it is,” the older guy says. He’s freshly shaven, well dressed, and looks clean, a complete contrast to the five guys standing around him, looking like they’re bad off and haven’t showered in weeks.
Who the fuck is this?
All the men laugh, as if something funny was said. It’s then that I look to Mark and see his entire demeanor shift. His cheeks redden, his shoulders slump forward, his head hangs slightly, and he’s fidgeting with his hands in his lap like he always does when he’s nervous.
He knows them, and every instinct in me is screaming that it isn’t in a good way.
“If it isn’t our Marky boy,” the clean-looking guy in the middle says. It’s clear he’s the leader of whatever this little group of theirs is. “Mark, my man. Who’s your friend?”
Mark audibly swallows hard, clearing his throat, his eyes darting to me. There’s an apology in his gaze. “Th-this is Jett,” he manages to say, his voice small.
I’ve never seen Mark like this. Not since he’s gotten clean. It’s as if these men walk in and he’s lost all the confidence his sobriety has brought him. It’s then that it hits me.They’re from his past.It’s obvious, and I don’t know what to do with that information.
When we took Mark in, I was aware of his bad standing with his dealers. I didn’t give a shit. Should I have? Is this one of them?
“Ahh,Jettson Cole,” the man says on a laugh. “Look boys, we finally get to meet Mr. Cole himself.”
What. The. Fuck.
How the hell does this sketchy fucker know who I am? Is Mark still in contact with these guys?No. He can’t be. There’s no way in hell Mark would do that. He’s come too far.
My hands begin to sweat, and tension rises in my shoulders—this whole encounter makes me uncomfortable. What do they want?And how the fuck do I get us out of this?
“Yeah,” I say cooly, keeping my tone even and confident. Taking a sip of my whiskey, my eyes stay locked on the mysterious man. “That’s me. And you are?”
The man steps closer to us, wrapping an arm around Mark’s shoulder. Mark visibly tenses, and I can practically smell the fear radiating off of him.Fuck, this isn’t good.
The man smirks, asking, “Marky boy, aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“Jett,” Mark clears his throat nervously again, “this is Tony.”
“Hey, Tony.” I push to stand, extending my hand out for him to shake.I need to get his hands off of Mark.“Nice to meet you.”
Tony lets out a forced, fake-as-shit laugh. “Oh, Jett, the pleasure is all mine.” He takes my hand in his, giving it a firm shake before releasing his grip. “You have no idea how grateful me and the boys are for all you’ve done for our buddy, Mark, here.” His eyes flash to Mark’s, and Mark’s gaze drops to his hands, still fidgeting nervously in his lap.
“We’ll let you two get on with your night. Just know, Jett, if you ever need anything, you give me a call. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done to… help Mark.” He smiles widely,too widely, and his words don’t match his tone. A wave of unease washes over me. Something really isn’t fucking right.
But, before I can overthink it, the men walk away just as quickly as they approached us.
What the fuck just happened?
I look to Mark, who visibly relaxes when the men retreat further away. “Mark, what the fuck?” I shout in a whisper. “Who the hell was that?”
Mark’s eyes briefly flash up to meet mine before dropping to the ground. “That… That was the ghost of my past who still haunts me.” He looks at me again, and it’s then that I see the shame in his features, in the way he clears his throat and avoids my eyes. “I wasn’t perfect, Jett. You knew that then when you took me in. But I’m trying, man. I’m fucking trying.”
I allow his words to register before responding. “What do you mean, he’s the ghost of your past who still haunts you? Is he still bothering you?”
Mark laughs, keeping his gaze averted, taking a big gulp of his whiskey. “Once you’re in with Tony, there’s no getting out.”
“What does that mean, Mark? Can we speak clear fucking English here, please?” My tone is clipped, annoyance clear in my voice.
