On and on he wandered, pushing aside thoughts of motherfucking O’Donoghue. The nerve of the guy!
Keith’s words came back to him. He felt the tornado of change coming too.
O’Donoghue wasted no time rearranging Walter’s office, as though Walter wouldn’t be back.
Did he know something Lucky didn’t?
He could always call in favors from Victor and Nestor, if he wasn’t too proud to beg for help. He’d clean up his own messes.
An enticing green sign caught his attention. Starbucks. He could do with some coffee, full caffeine, and about half sugar. But no, come home on a caffeine and sugar high and Bo would know. Besides, Georgia Tech merchandise shone in the windows, and inside folks younger than most of Lucky’s socks sat around chatting, sipping lattes, or staring at computers.
He didn’t need a bunch of college students reminding him how old he’d gotten. Nope, he kept on going, around the corner and down the street. Scaffolds surrounded an older building getting a facelift, and graffiti covered the sidewalk.
He caught whiffs of fried chicken, coffee, exhaust fumes, and more as he ambled the streets.
Atlanta. His city. More so than the wide spot in the road he’d grown up in.
Lucky shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and stalked on. He’d wind up somewhere, sooner or later. Right now, keeping going and never looking back sounded good.
But what about Walter? Bo? Rett?his nuisance of a conscience asked.
To which he replied, “What about them?”
There he went, talking to himself. He could try calling Charlotte, Mama, or even Rett or Bo, but they couldn’t help him. At least not till he’d scraped away the bullshit and figured out what lay beneath.
There before him appeared a former haunt he’d not seen much of lately: The Varsity. His stomach rumbled. Man, he missed the burgers and fries there since Mr. Healthy entered his life.
Bo might forgive him easier for eating at The Varsity than swilling down a cup of liquid adrenaline. He went inside, the scent of sizzling meat nearly sending him into a carnivore frenzy. In his mind Bo growled,“Down, T-Rex.”
Better to ask forgiveness than permission. He ordered and took his meal upstairs to watch passing cars from the glassed-in dining room.
Before Bo he’d eaten there often, chowing down during lunch. Back when he’d been alone and hating the world. He wasn’t alone anymore, but him and the world weren’t seeing eye to eye lately.
Big mouthfuls of greasy burger made amazing comfort food. Not the sort of comfort Bo provided, but enough to keep Lucky from pounding the next coworker to cross his path.
His recovering liver might not thank him.
Letting off steam at the gym might help, taking his frustrations out in a boxing ring.
Or he could sit right here, letting the world go by.
If only he could talk to Bo. Or Walter. Or Rett. But would they believe the shithead taking over the department schemed to railroad him right out the door? Especially with all Bo’s training to bow to authority.
Who’d that leave?
What wrong turn had he taken in life that his greatest ally happened to be his worst enemy?
Well, maybe not worst, but Keith came close.
Maybe he should try contacting Nestor after all. Nah, that would be too much like hollering for Daddy when one of his brothers pissed him off.
Besides, no telling what Nestor might want in return.
Still, if O’Donoghue tossed him out on his ass, at least he might have a job waiting.
What the hell was he thinking? He couldn’t work with Nestor, and by extension, Victor, and he couldn’t leave Bo here while he traveled the world doing God knew what.
He washed down the last of his burger with a mouthful of sweet tea. Caffeine. And sugar. Too late now when he’d already swallowed half of the glass.
