Dalton dropped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. Not hard as part of some macho posturing, but gently, like a friend. “You can’t go through the world alone, Joey. You need people like Knight. So, I hope you’ll tell him the truth. Not for me, but for you.”
With a final tip of his head, he strolled out. I slid into the booth across from Joyride. His plate was full of hardly touched pancakes.
I pulled it across the table and grabbed the spare set of silverware on the table.
Joyride gaped at me. “You’re stealing my food?”
I shrugged as I unrolled the fork and cut a bite. “You had your chance. You didn’t eat it.”
He huffed. “Still.”
“So,what’s it gonna be?” I asked between bites, sweet syrup coating my tongue. “You going to trust me or tell me to go to hell?”
He hesitated, and for a second, I thought he might run for the door. “It’s not a big deal,” he finally mumbled. “I drank too much.”
My eyes narrowed. “Did you drive drunk?”
Everyone knew Joyride had gone to prison for stealing his parents’ car and wrecking it. If he added driving under the influence, we were gonna have a big fucking problem.
“I wasn’t driving,” he said. “I was at the Fieldhouse with some old friends.”
“Where are they now?”
“The drunk tank, I guess. We got into it. Over my past. They kept asking all these questions about prison and implying…”
He trailed off, but his face reddened, so I could guess what they’d been implying.
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”
He flashed me a furious look. “Who says I’m gay?”
“Your face is telling me right now,” I said. “But it has nothing to do with prison. I’m gay too. Always have been.”
He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I got pissed and shoved Logan. He fell into these bro dudes and one of them punched him. So Heath rushed in, and then it was like all hell broke loose. Everyone was throwing fists. Ihadto fight. It was that or just stand there and get pummeled.”
“That’s how bar fights go.”
“So, it’s not really my fault then, is it?” he said defensively.
“Yes and no.” I tipped over a spare cup and poured coffee from the carafe. I preferred energy drinks, but I’d take what I could get. “You’re not Joey, the rich kid who gets hiswrist slapped. Not anymore. You’re a felon now. You’re on parole.”
“So?”
“So, what if you’d gotten charged with battery or assault?”
“Everyone was fighting?—”
“Even if you got booked on drunk and disorderly, it’d probably warrant a parole hearing,” I continued, talking over his protest. “Best case, they’d impose stricter rules on you. Worst case? Back to prison you go.”
Joyride shrank back, looking small. “I didn’t throw the first punch.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I leaned in over the table. “You’re the felon. All that privilege you had before to just move through the world and have things go your way? That’s gone. At least until you’re off parole. Then maybe, mostly, you can live like everyone else. But people will always judge you, doubt you,suspectyou if a crime goes down near you.”
“What’s the fucking point then?” he groused. “We’re still not free.”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said. “We’re not free to live as we did before—which, honestly, was too fucking reckless. But we’re not behind bars. We’re free to build a new life, a better life. Free to become better men.”
“Why bother if someone’s going to judge me anyway?”
