The swarm of officers in the bullpen makes me sweat and shake, my hands deep in my jacket pockets. Walker stands half in front of me, like he can protect me from the sea of blue, but there’s no protecting me from fear. I spot Mama before our escort does, but I let the officer lead me all the way back, afraid to say anything that might be misconstrued as corrective.
There’s so much to fear in this room.
Mama bundles me into a hug, explaining that Pops got caught in a raid, and I realize for the first time that when we ran, we left a hole in the illegal gambling scene. Sure enough, familiar faces pass through the room, and while I don’t care much that Aiden Johnson was caught in the sweep, I am a little sad to see Donna perched on a chair across the way. They all studiously avoid eye contact with Walker and me, except for Aiden, who immediately starts squawking about Walker and me and our games last year. Then a tan puffer jacket comes through, Officer Reed intercepting theguy, whispering low to him until he shuts up, and for probably the only time in my life, I’m glad to see a cop.
I don’t plan on that feeling lasting long, however. Cops and I won’t ever mix.
Mama gets my attention, and then Pops is in her arms, stiff for a moment before he puts on his usual grin, like this isn’t a major fuckup.
“RJ,” he says after my mom lets him go.
“Pops.”
“Say, Diane, why don’t you bring the car around while I finish signing these papers. Then we can get home. I don’t want to take any more of your night.”
Mama looks between us, her face grim. “I’m not sure I should,” she says.
“It’s okay, Mama. Pops and I just need a word in private.”
Walker steps in, chatting with my mom like he’s known her all his life, playing a version of himself that he rarely does—one full of false openness and Jansen-like cheer. But my mom lets him lead her out of the station, my dad directed to sign here and initial there as my sweat soaks into my sweatshirt.
Reed steps in just as Pops finishes, sending the officer helping us off to do other things.
“Busy night. All hands on deck,” he says, acting like he doesn’t know me.
“Wish I were back at home on my computer, if I’m being honest,” I say, hoping he understands that I have nothing to do with this, that I was working on exactly what I said I wouldbe.
He nods, then lets us go, like he had to verify I was still on the up and up. This is such a fucking mess.
The night air bites, a blessing after my body’s reaction to being surrounded, but still, I jump when a siren chirps as it leaves the garage.
“So, about that deal,” Pops says, looking across the street instead of at me, not noticing my discomfort.
“You reneged.”
“Yeah. Messed that right up. You should have seen me—I was up when the cops came in, two kings in my hand, a third on the flop and…” he trails off, realizing that I’m not looking for a tall tale. I’m looking for him to be better.
“How much?”
“Was I up?”
I take my hands from my pockets, hopeful they’re not shaking anymore, needing something cool against my wet palms. “Did you lose?”
He takes a few more steps forward, like he doesn’t want to see me in his peripheral vision. “A grand, give or take.”
“How long have you been hitting this game?”
“First time.”
I take a few quick steps so I’m in front of him. “Do not lie to me, Pops. How long?”
He glares at me, then deflates. “A few months.”
“Damn it, Pops.”
“You don’t get it, RJ.”
“You’re right. I don’t. Mama, the girls, they think you hung the goddamn moon in the sky, and you take that trust, that love, and you throw it away. For what? A little bit of a high?”
