“Yeah. By the time we went back home, I was old enough to make sure there were no signs of neglect. And Dixon was old enough not to say anything that would get us taken away again.”
“You wanted to be home with your parents?”
“We didn’t want to be separated. By then, I’d heard a lot of the sick shit that some of the kids went through in their foster homes. I wasn’t taking a chance that Dixon went through that when I wasn’t around to protect him.”
“That makes a sad kind of sense.”
“Eventually, I got hooked up with a local crew where I could earn money to feed us, since I was too young to work more than a few hours and that wasn’t gonna cut it. Eventually, I hustled my way into being able to get my own place. Don’t think my parents even realized my brother was missing when I took him with me.”
“Good for you. I’m sure he was more stable with you, even if you did kind of kidnap him,” she said with a little smile.
“I tried. We still struggled on and off, but I did everything I could to protect him from shit like hunger and cut-off lights and no air conditioning.”
“It’s why he seems… lighter,” she said.
“That’s the best compliment you could give me,” I said, feeling the words settle deep in my chest. Because it didn’t matter how hard I tried, some part of me always worried that shit weighed on him too, that he was using all the fun and humor to mask some hidden stressors. I imagined it was the same way any parent might feel if they’d raised kids in less-than-ideal situations.
“You were just a kid too,” she said, shaking her head. “But you stepped up to be a parent. That says a lot about you. I can’t imagine that responsibility. And I’m a full adult.”
“You don’t want kids?” I asked.
I had no fucking idea where that question came from. I’d never asked someone that before. Let alone found myself caring about the answer.
Because while, when I’d first joined the club, I’d seen it as a break from the responsibility of being a parental figure, the more time I spent around the club kids, the more I walked back that mindset. Did I want kids tomorrow? No. But it was on my mind now. What it might be like to do it without poverty, with a support system, as an adult with a fully formed frontal lobe.
“Well, I don’t want to do it alone. And since I’m not seeing anyone,” she said, shrugging.
“You got time.”
“If we can figure out who is shooting at me before they get me.” It was the first time I’d heard her sound anything other than completely sure of herself.
“We will.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, nodding. “We will. So finish your food so we can get on it.”
That’s my girl, my mind whispered.
Even though she wasn’t, in any definition of the phrase,mygirl.
CHAPTER TEN
Noa
Eating was a mistake.
With a full stomach, I was suddenly feeling the grittiness in my eyes, the heaviness of my limbs, the way my brain went sluggish.
But there was no time for a nap. Not with such a big shipment in the wind.
So I bummed a giant stainless steel tumbler from the clubhouse and made myself forty ounces of coffee to take with me before we all headed out to the driveway.
“I’d offer to drive,” Caymen said as he rounded my car’s hood. “But I think you’ve proven that you should be the one behind the wheel.”
I liked that.
How easily he let me take the lead.
Without grumbling and making it clear he thought it threatened his masculinity.
