I jog into the station and catch Alessi’s eye the second I near the desks. I drag him into an empty interview room and shut the door. “What’s the deal?”
Neither of us is in our uniform blues, but Alessi has on his date attire. His eyebrows are as slick as his hair, his dress shirt and pointy shoes probably more expensive than my entire wardrobe. Arms folded, he bounces his knee. “Crenshaw knows we’ve been looking for Jericho, so he nearly blew his load when he realized who he busted.”
“Drug dealing?”
“Not even close. Robbery, fraud, and uttering threats. The fucknut pulled a fake gun on some lady outside the Pacific Centre. Full under-the-coat job. Forces her to unload cash at the ATM, then bolts. But she saw his car and called it in, and Crenshaw picked him up. For a guy lying low, Jericho needs to work on his game.”
“Are they questioning him?”
“Yeah. The victim already identified him in a lineup, and there was a witness. Pretty cut and dry.”
The whitewashed walls are stark, the desk and chairs between us as ordinary as furniture gets, but I’d swear a swarm of bees circles my head. “Have they asked him about Josh? If I know that little shit, there’s no way he’ll cop to the drugs and car.”
“Normally I’d agree, but today is your lucky day.”
I grip the edge of the chair. “Elaborate.”
“Jericho didn’t pull this stunt on his own. His kid brother was in the back of the car, playing video games, while big bro was claiming the World’s Dumbest Criminal Throne. When Crenshaw pulled them over, he booked them both, now Jericho is ready to shit out a lung. Apparently he has feelings for his mini-me.”
I shift on my feet, spinning through the possibilities. This kid is leverage. If we use him as bait, real or implied, it could be the key to getting Josh cleared. Jericho might be willing to offer information in exchange for the kid’s freedom. One brother for another.
I flex my hands and work my jaw, too wired to get excited. With my family history, not every cop would back me up. I’d kill to be the one in there instead, staring Jericho down, but I’m not a detective, and I’m way too close to this thing. “Does Crenshaw know? Is he willing to go to bat for me?”
Alessi slicks back the side of his hair, nodding. “He knows the deal. He asked some blunt questions about you, and I answered. He’s cool. I just wanted to clear it with you first. But Jericho has to give us something we don’t already know about Josh’s case, otherwise his confession might not hold up. Something specific that proves he was the man behind the plan.”
“Get it done.”
He salutes me and takes off. I clasp my hands behind my neck and hang my head, relieved Crenshaw is in my corner, but panic seizes me. If this fails, nothing changes. Josh knows the score. Life stays status quo. But there’s that stirring of hope, rumbling through me like thunder. It clogs my throat and jams my shoulders, my entire body a giant knot. I’ve never wanted anything so badly.
Unable to stand still, I walk a frazzled line, back and forth, the walls too close, my legs too long. This could take forever. If Jericho shuts down, it could be hours before they get him to talk. Fisting my phone, I text Alessi to message me the second he hears something. Hanging around will only drive me insane. Instead I hop in my car and head to the rec center.
* * *
Sanchez is volunteering tonight, and she has a group of four doing basketball drills on one end of the court. Groans and squeaky shoes bounce off the ceiling as she blows her whistle and hollers at the kids to kick it up a notch. She gives me a curt wave. A few girls are in the adjoining room, practicing a dance routine, and Tim is at the far basket, solo, shooting three-pointers.
He hasn’t been in trouble since he stole from the Legion, the lesson he learned sticking for now. If he stays focused on what’s important, he could thrive. Just like Josh. I wonder sometimes if I’ll have the guts to ban Tim from the center, or cut Josh off from the family—his nephews and home—if either boy screws up again.
Hopefully I’ll never have to find out.
Tim’s next basket bounces off the rim, his baggy shorts practically dragging the floor as he rescues it. When he sees me, he nods. “Looking for a game?”
“Looking for a miracle, but a game sounds good.”
He shrugs at that and passes me the ball. Not ideal running the court in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, but I’ll take a sweaty game with Tim over pacing in a windowless room at the station. I find my rhythm. The ball slaps the court as I maneuver around him. He’s a quarter my size, barely able to see from under his mop of hair, but he’s quick, blocking me at every turn. Until I spin and sink a jump shot.
If Raven were watching, she’d probably wink and say, “Not bad for a big guy.” After watching our friends get engaged, I hated leaving her. Wished I could be inside her, whispering her name as my thighs clench, growling it as I explode. Sweat gathers on my back at the thought, and I play harder.
Tim handles the ball well, trying to get some space to shoot over my size, even driving into me to push me back. He’d have better luck moving a wall, but I give him an inch.
Then the shit talking starts.
“Come on, Goliath, show me what you got!”
“Don’t wanna destroy you, kid. I gotta answer to your mom.”
“Big guys are always cowards.”
“Big guys like me eat little guys like you for breakfast.”
“Bring it, Makai.”
So I do. Sort of. I play the feisty kid, never dominating. But man, do I love his spirit.
Twenty minutes and a shit-ton of sweat later, my phone rings. The vibration in my pocket rocks me like a five-alarm fire bell. I toss Tim the ball and wipe my forehead with the edge of my shirt, gritting my teeth for the news, reminding myself to expect the worst, repeating it over and over. One hand on the door, I say my good-byes and welcome the blast of cool October air. My suctioned shirt sticks like frost on my skin, and I inhale until my lungs hurt, then I pick up my phone.
Josh is in the clear.
My eyes sting; unshed tears clog my throat. I crouch, forearms on my knees, head in my hands, as the largest weight in the history of the world lifts from my shoulders. My breaths come fast and shallow. Eighteen months. It’s been eighteen months since Josh got arrested. Eighteen months of frustration and angst and long nights. Of fear and helplessness. Just like that, it goes away—legally.
I push to my feet and dial Alessi. “Give me the details.”
“It took a bit, but once he realized his kid brother could face juvie, he started cracking. There might have been a false threat or two, but he came clean.”
“Will the confession stick?”
“Like glue. He told Crenshaw about an extra kilo sewn into the backseat. The charges against Josh are history.”
“Jesus fuck.”
“My thoughts exactly. Now get off the phone and go tell your brother. I need to bounce. Scott Baker got brought in on drug charges earlier.”
Scott fucking Baker: informant by day, worthless piece of crap by night. I’d bet my Jacuzzi tub he sold the meth to Jericho. “You know how I feel about him. Let the asshole rot in jail.”
“Whatever, bro. He gives us good eyes on the street.”
“Alessi,” I say before he hangs up, “I owe you one.”
“I’ll take payment in hair gel.”
I chuckle and disconnect. It’s almost dark, a few clouds on the horizon, but the evening sky has never looked so clear. I should call Raven, but Josh needs to hear this first, face to face. As I slam my door and turn the ignition, I falter. There’s a chance Josh isn’t home. Last night’s acceptance of his fate could have been temporary. He could have snapped. He could have snuck out, given up, gone back to the crew, hopelessness trumping resignation. He could be screwing up his life just as he gets his free pass.
My truck’s engine roars, my panic screaming louder. The ten-minute drive to my mom’s feels like fifty. I fly out of the car and through the door, letting it slam behind me. Colin is on the couch, his face stuffed in the pages of a comic book. Jack is coloring some sort of penis-shaped cloud as he kneels over the coffee table.
“Hi, Uncle Nico.” Jack scratches his forehead, leaving behind a smear of orange crayon.
Colin waves unenthusiastic fingers.
“Uncle Josh around?”
Both kids point at the ceiling, and I exhale for an eternity. Clinging to hope is scary business. But Josh hasn’t given up. Even facing jail, he plans to stand tall with dignity. Maybe I didn’t do such a bad job raising him.
“Nico, that you?” Mom pokes her head through the kitchen doorway, Nikki behind her, the two of them knitting. It was Mom’s idea, hoping the hypnotic rhythm of the clicking needles would be therapeutic for my sister, keep her mind and hands busy. I think she likes it just fine.
I point upstairs. “Need to speak with Josh. I’ll be down in a sec.”
A sad smile quivers over her lips, the same one she wore after I broke the news yesterday. When I broke her heart. I doubt there’s a pattern she could have stitched to fix the hole Josh’s sentencing would have left behind. Now she won’t have to.
I take the stairs two at a time and barge into his room. He’s hunched over his desk, earphones on, his pencil flying over paper. Creating creatures. Worlds. His checkered comforter is half off the bed, shoes and a backpack thrown about, socks crumpled beside his laundry basket, but it’s the sketches taped to the blue walls that floor me. So much talent. Anything I draw looks like Jack’s penis-cloud, and here’s my brother, breathing life into lizards and the undead, the creepy images practically jumping off the wall. I cover my mouth, overwhelmed. He gets to do this. Be this. Find out how far he can push himself. Whatever it costs, I’ll help pay his tuition. He will make something of himself.
Sensing me, he looks over his shoulder and knocks his headphones off. My hand is still over my mouth, my eyes probably glassy as hell. He pushes to his feet and approaches, worry slanting his brows. “What is it? What happened?”
Blowing out a breath, I clap my hands on either side of his head and pull his face close. I swallow to steady my voice. “Jericho confessed. You’re cleared. There won’t be a trial.”
He blinks, the clouds in his eyes clearing. “Are you fucking with me?”
“He was picked up on unrelated charges, and they got him to come clean. It’s over, Josh. You’re free. You can go to school. Plan your future. You can do whatever you want.”
His throat bobs, once and again. Then he grabs my shoulders and drops his head to my chest, a sob following, pushing into me so hard I stumble back. I wrap my arms around him and cup his head, my own tears falling into his dark hair.
“Thank God,” he says between pants, gripping me tighter. “Thank fucking God.” He trembles, choking on his words.
I hug him like his life depends on it. “It’s over,” I say a few more times, to comfort him. Or maybe me.
It’s finally fucking over.
Not sure how long we stay this way, snotty and crying like kids. When he straightens, he wipes his eyes and smears his nose on his sleeve. “You smell like ass.”
I peel my sweat-damp shirt from my chest. “Played some ball with a thirteen-year-old while waiting on the verdict. Kid kicked my ass.”
Exhaling heavily, he chuckles. “Sounds about right. You can borrow a shirt.” He glances at the door then back at me. “Mom know yet?”
“Nope.”
We both grin. I tip my head toward the door, and he bangs his shoulder into the frame in his hurry to get downstairs. I glance again at his drawings, his future. It’s because of Raven he has these dreams, her guidance leading him to connections and schools. I’ve never seen him so focused.
I swap my sweaty shirt for a gray sweater. It’s a little tight in the arms, but it’ll do. Sitting on his bed, I pull out my phone to text Raven. I’m practically vibrating to get my hands on my girl. Celebrate this victory. Watching Lily accept Sawyer’s proposal stirred my brimming feelings for Raven, and tonight I can finally let them loose. Tonight I’ll tell her how much I love her with my hands, my body, and with my words.