“I ain’t ask her to do that. She ain’t say she was gonna do that.”
All she said was that she’d take care of the situation with Melo even though nobody asked her to.
Arnez belts out a sarcastic laugh, making the hairs on my arms stand up. “But I bet you won’t give her any pushback like you do to me—just like when she popped back up on our porch again after twenty years asking about me, you …and Daddy, and begging us to let her help. You just let her waltz her ass back in our lives so she can play out all of her unfulfilled step-mommy fantasies. What the fuck is wrong with you? She needs to stay out of this. This is family business and she ain’t family.”
I swipe my heavy hand across my face, but it doesn’t do shit. It doesn’t get rid of the headache pounding against my skull or the memories of that bone-chilling quietness that covered Joliet after I did what I did.
“She was the only one that wasn’t scared to knock on our door during that time besides Smit. It felt good to see her.”
“And because it felt so good to see her, that means we should believe her and this flop of a plan she came up with because of some guilt she’s been carrying? She thinks turning you into a boxer is the answer to this problem? Does that make any sense to you? You turn into a boxer and then what? Then you’ll just be a boxer with a bounty on your head? Melo won’t even talk to us after what happened, but she thinks because she’s so high and mighty he’ll talk to her.”
“Nez—”
“And you’re actually letting her back in because she used to sneak you birthday cakes and…and comb my hair…and made you feel less lonely one day? Then she brings her self-righteous husband into the mix because he supposedly boxed with a couple of famous niggas back in the day andalmostmade it to the Olympics? Do you really think he cares? You been wasting your time in that stupid gym for two months to appease her. He won’t even put you in an amateur fight. Hell, he won’t even put gloves on you because he doesn’t trust you.”
I slam my swollen hand onto the tailgate. “Arnez!”
“What?” she yelps.
“Watch your mouth.”
She points toward Lucky’s. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? We’re puppets! He’s controlling us. He’s showing everybody around here what he’s capable of. We’re just throwing money into a void until he gets tired of looking at you.”
“Does it even matter? I can die in the pit any Sunday. I could’ve died before any of this happened.”
“But the difference is that you had a choice. You could’ve walked away at any moment, and all you had to worry about was tarnishing Daddy’s legacy, but Melo took that choice away, and it’s my fault. I was stupid enough to believe he’d actually help us.” Her voice cracks. “I don’t give a fuck what Daddy put in your head…but…but I can’t lose you too. The more I sit in those classes at Lockwood and listen to those kids talk about their lives, the more I realize this shit ain’t normal. Our lives aren’t normal. Their legacies are doctorates and master’s, and ours is the fuckin pit.”
“Yourlegacy is a doctorate or a master’s.Mineis the pit.”
Hard breaths barrel out of her nose, and her shoulders hike up.
I just knew we were finally gonna make it through a Sunday without her tears, but that was wishful thinking. She’s different now. She abandoned the old Arnez when Jamari left.
Somehow his absence makes her question me and Senior about life and death more than she used to. Now, she’s loved, lost, and started college, and her brain had morphed into something that scared the fuck out of Senior.
She rubs her forearm against her red eyes, looking away from me while I finally gulp in the air I’ve been chasing.
“Awe! Boyd didn’t even complete the route!” the sportscaster yells. “Caldwell’s pulling him to the side now—looks like they’re having a heated discussion.”
Our eyes dart to the phone at the same time.
She sniffles, swiping her nose. “I ran into Tamryn at the washateria this morning.”
“Okay?”
“She asked me how your friend was doing,” she mutters. “I asked her who she was talking about.”
I try to gulp in another gust of wind, but Slim ain’t having it. It’s like she snatches it away as soon as I open my mouth and replaces it with the taste of her sweet tongue.
“She said, ‘The girl that was crying after Pup stomped out creepy ass Wendell in my grandma’s backyard. The pretty girl that dresses real nice. My grandma said she’s Ms. Faye’s niece.’”
She points to her phone, sniffling again. “He’s number ten.”
Her finger follows number ten’s navy blue jersey across the field while I try to fight that nauseating feeling oozing from my stomach to my throat.
He’s real.
It’s not that I ain’t expect him to be. It’s just that after hearing Slim talk about the fucked-up things he did to her, he kind of felt like the invisible boogeyman Arnez swore lived under her bed when we were six.
