“Sure,” I say. “I’m listening.”
“I told you that I worked on the docks back in Milwaukee. My whole family works there, too. My dad runs the place.” He sighs, then squeezes the bridge of his nose. “He works with an organized crime ring.”
I blink, not sure I heard him right, but then my mind flashes back to the mafia tattoo he hadn’t wanted to give. “Wow.” I pull both of my legs underneath my body and keep my hand on Joey’s knee. “The whole time you were growing up?”
Joey nods. “Yeah. I started to figure it out in high school, and my dad pulled me into the business when I was eighteen. He runs a legitimate business through the docks, too, and there’s only a small crew who’s in on the rest of it. But he moves cargo for this crime ring, and, well, he does a lot of other stuff he shouldn’t do to keep that secret.”
His words sit there. I try to think about what it must have been like for Joey, growing up in a family like that. He’s so sensible and also so authentically good, I can’t imagine how he’d live with the constant stress of shipping illegal cargo hanging over his head.
Unless that’s part of how he turned out the way he is. If everything is done properly and all the details are taken care of, then the family never gets caught. Maybe he learned to be so considerate and careful because he had no other choice.
“Did your dad… hurt you?” I ask, scared to say the words but suddenly so aware of the scar on his face, where my eyes now latch.
“No,” Joey says quickly, two fingers on the scar. “Not like that, at least. The scar is from a fight I got in with another worker. I caught him moving cocaine, before I knew that was something my dad approved of. It came to blows, but that was a long time ago.”
I let out a shaky sigh and rub my hand up his thigh, my mind whirring with the information. Cocaine and fistfights and organized crime are all foreign to me, and it hurts to think of Joey in that world. His face quivers, just slightly, and then he clears his throat.
“Milo, I just… I’m trying to tell you. I haven’t been away from the business that long. I’m never going back to that part of my life, but I’m in no place to start a relationship. I worked for my dad for years, and I’d be a damn fool to think I can be free of it all this easy.”
Strain tears at his voice. My eyes are watery, and I just keep rubbing his leg and looking at his steady face until he talks again.
“When I was in my early twenties, almost ten years ago, I told Dad I wouldn’t work for the outfit anymore. I thought he might kill me, it went that bad. I only worked on the legitimate business after that, but the break came after years of helping, running cargo that I didn’t even realize was guns, drugs, god knows what. And my name is on everything. If they were ever in trouble, if anyone…”
His voice trails off, and I lean forward, then throw my arms around his shoulders. I squeeze Joey tight because I can’t help myself. He’s hurting. There’s shame and pain hounding him, but he’s sitting there across from me, still holding his back straight and telling me the truth because he thinks I deserve it.
I’m not sure how I feel about what he’s saying. It’s not the kind of thing I know how to process, but I don’t need to, at least not right now. Because I can feel Joey’s hurt, and I need to make that better.
“You’re okay,” I tell him. “You’re okay, Joey.”
We pull back, and Joey pushes the heel of his palm against his eye, then grunts. “Fuck, sorry. I just don’t talk about this ever.” His jaw tightens. Then he takes my hand. “I’m not supposed to share this with anyone. I hope you don’t mind…”
“I understand,” I say quickly. My heart is beating because I can’t believe what we’re talking about right now. “I’ll be careful not to blab. No Instagram posts about this one.”
Joey lets out a rough laugh. “Thanks.”
We’re holding hands, and it’s strange how intimate it feels, but also, it’s right for the moment. I rub my thumb across the back of his hand and let out a soft hum. “I’m really glad you got away.”
“Yeah,” Joey agrees. “Thought it was impossible for the longest time, but I made it happen.”
I try to think of what to say. He’s showing me a lot of trust, sharing this with me, and I want to be respectful of that. But my head swims with questions, and it’s all so complicated all of a sudden.
He’s telling me why he can’t be in a relationship, and my stomach sinks with the realization that he really means it, even as another part of me insists it can’t be that bad. He’s just being cautious and careful, the way he always is.
“It doesn’t make me see you any differently,” I tell him, hope rising up that he could still change his mind. “I still want to spend time with you. I’m just sorry that you had to grow up in all of that. It sounds, well, really shitty.”
Another tense moment passes, and then Joey sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“That I can’t… That I…” This time, he’s the one to turn his eyes away from me. “I wish it was different.”
I want to tell him that it can be different. He’s left that life behind, and if he wants to start a new life, he can start it with me. It can be different with me. Whatever is happening between us, I’ve never felt anything like it, and we owe it to each other to give this a chance.
But the words die on my lips because honestly, I’m scared, too. I grew up in a boring small town, and I’ve spent my adult life in school. I don’t know anything about crime rings and illegal cargo and shady criminal pasts. If Joey’s living with that risk, a big part of me wants to be brave and say I’ll live with it, too, but what if I’m not that brave? What if I’m too soft for him after all, too gentle for something like that?
Maybe he’s right. Maybe we aren’t meant to truly be together, even with every fiber in my being screaming that we should be.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I tell him, forcing my voice to hold steady, strong like he always is. “And hey, you still want to keep hanging out, right?” I add, my voice lifting hopefully. “We can still have fun together, maybe even hook up, even if we’re not going to get married or something.”
