My phone buzzes insistently on the floor beside the couch, screen lighting up the scuffed concrete like a flare. I fish it out carefully, not wanting to jostle her, and squint at the barrage of texts from Raul.
Where are you at, cuz?
You at the unit?
Bro. Answer me. Where the fuck are you? Call me NOW.
Yeah. We're here.
His reply pings back in seconds.
I'm on my way. 10 min out.
I thumbs-up the text and check the time.
It's only 1:30 AM. My vision's still blurry as hell, eyes burning from rubbing the sleep out with the heel of my hand. My head is thick and foggy from the emotional whiplash of the night. Harvee stirs slightly in her sleep, murmuring something soft and incoherent, her fingers twitching against my shirt like she senses the shift.
I brush a soft kiss to her temple, lips lingering on her warm skin, breathing her in one more time before shit gets real again. Raul's coming, and whatever plan he's cooked up better be airtight. For her sake. For Ma's. For whatever the fuck this is turning into between us.
A few minutes tick by in the heavy quiet, the drip in the corner counting them out like a shitty, relentless metronome. Gravel crunches outside. Raul's Cadillac pulling up slowly. My phone buzzes sharp against my thigh.
Come outside.
I ease off the couch without waking her and slip out into the dark. The humid air hits like a wet slap, stars smudged behind low clouds.
Raul's leaning against his car, a joint dangling unlit from his lips, arms crossed tight over his chest. A thick manila envelope's clutched in one fist, edges worn like it's been worried all night. He shoves it at me the second I'm within reach, no preamble.
"Here."
"What the fuck is this for?" I take it, feeling the dense stack of bills shift inside — hundreds, maybe thousands.
"It's for your ma." His jaw clenches hard, stubble rasping under his palm as he rubs it. "I know dialysis is gonna bleed you dry, even with whatever shit insurance covers. Can't help but feel like it's my fault for hooking her up with more Plex. Thought I was helping…"
"Nah, man." I clap his shoulder firm, meeting his eyes. "You're fine. I get it — you saw her hurting and wanted to fix it. We all did. I'm sorry for earlier."
"Well, now I'm helping even more." He shrugs, but it's forced, shoulders hunched like he's carrying the weight of Ma's pain himself. "This isn't much, but it's half my cut from the hit. Cover what you can. I'm so sorry again, cuz."
His voice roughens at the end, eyes glistening under the porch light. Before I can say anything, he yanks me into a hug. Tight, back-thumping, the kind that rattles your ribs. We don't do this — grown men with reputations and regrets. We nod, we fist-bump, we don't hug — so it lands heavy, cuts deep. Reminds me of scraped knees and shared secrets, of the kid who'd lie for me without blinking.
"You have no idea how much this will help, man," I mutter thickly into his shoulder, clapping his back once. "Seriously. Thank you."
"Of course." He pulls back, swiping quick at his eyes, forcing a grin. "I love you so much, man."
"I love you too." The words feel rusty coming out, scraped raw from some dusty corner of my chest I haven't cracked open in years, but they land true between us. "I'm scared, bro."
"Me too." Raul's voice drops low, all cocky edges stripped away, leaving just the kid I grew up with. "Aunt Val was practically a mother to me too. When Ma died, Dad lost it — booze by noon, bad bets by night. We showed up on your doorstep more times than I can count, two starving mouth-breathers with nowhere else to crash. Val never turned us away. Fed us from her last pot, pretended the electric was fine when it flickered, tucked us in on that lumpy couch like we were her own. Clothed us, scolded us, loved us when we were unlovable. We're both so fucking grateful for everything she's done." He swallows hard. "We'll be here every step of this process, okay? Hospital runs, bills, whatever. You're not carrying this alone."
"Promise?" My voice comes out smaller than I mean, throat burning.
"I promise, bro." His grip on my shoulder turns vise-tight, eyes fierce and unwavering in the buggy porch light. "Family first. Always."
"But holy fuck," I huff a rough laugh to shake off the sap choking my throat, rolling my shoulders like I can physically shrug away the vulnerability, "I'm going back to bed. I'm fucking exhausted."
He winks, smirk sliding back into place like well-worn armor. "Don't keep that gorgeous lady in there waiting."
"Yes, sir." I snap a mock salute, crisp and military, the old rhythm between us snapping back easy. We hug once more —quicker this time, man-to-man, a solid back-clap that echoes louder than words ever could — before parting ways. His Cadillac's taillights bleed red into the humid dark as he crunches down the gravel drive, engine rumble fading into the chorus of crickets and distant traffic.
I stand there a beat longer, envelope heavy in my pocket like an anchor, staring at the empty road swallowing his lights. Raul's got my back. He's bled for me, lied for me, split his blood money without blinking. Ma's fading, though. Harvee's a target. This life's a noose tightening slow.
