Page 20 of Fight for You
“Fuck,” he mutters. “I’ll make sure we have someone parked outside the school.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Anytime.”
I disconnect and shove my phone into my pocket.
My eyes catch on the warning scrawled across the brick again.
Tick tock, motherfucker.
What’s he trying to say? Time’s running out until he spills my secret? Time’s running out on me? My reign here is over? There are ninety different ways to read his message. Frankly, he can shove every single one of them up his ass, brick and all.
I’m not scared of him. I wasn’t when I was a kid. I’m certainly not now. He’s been a bitch my entire life. Some shit never changes. He was born a bitch. He’ll die a bitch. At this point, the other question mark is whether or not I’m the one who pulls the fucking trigger.
Everything in me wants to be that man. It’s what he deserves. It’s what I should have done seven goddamn years ago. But I’ve tried like hell to become something different. I burned everything down back then, and I’ve fought to rise from the ashes, to be something better.
Back then, it was easy to convince myself I was doing the right thing, that I was the good guy. We didn’t sling dope. We didn’t sell pussy. We did the shit we did to protect what belonged to us. I figured that meant it all washed in the end.
Except…when the end came, nothing washed. It was all stained in blood. You can’t get that shit out. I know because I’ve spent every fucking minute since trying to atone.
I can’t. I fucking can’t.
I killed my best friend, and I’ll never fucking forgive myself for it.
When January knows the truth, she’ll never forgive me either. She thinks she hates me now? She has no idea what real hate is. I see it every goddamn time I look in the mirror.
I gather the shards, the glass biting into my flesh as I clean up the destruction. But the pain is light, a fucking caress compared to the shit storm of guilt and remorse that pounds against my skull. It's always there, a steady tattoo of fuck up and failure that never, never stops.
My hands sting from a dozen small cuts as I drop the shards into the trash. I wash the blood off under cold water, watching it spiral down the drain with an odd sense of satisfaction. If only washing away my sins was that easy.
Fuck. I need air. I need to fucking move or I'm gonna start smashing more shit.
My boots crunch gravel as I stride out to the deserted street as I lean against my bike.
The night is as restless as I am, wind rustling through the leaves with a mournful whine. At least it’s not fucking raining, though. I got so tired of that shit in Seattle.
Los Angeles isn’t any better, though. At least not this neighborhood. The stench of smog and cheap liquor clinging to the night air has a way of making you feel dirtier by the minute. I inhale deeply, taking it all in. The grit on the wind, the sirens in the distance—they’re a part of me as much as my scars.
An engine rumbles somewhere nearby, followed by gunshots, the familiar sounds pulling me out of my self-loathing for a moment. My gaze lands on January’s darkened house. It sits quiet and unassuming like it holds no deadly secrets. Like it wasn't the goddamn epicenter of my world once upon a time.
A memory so strong it almost knocks me off my feet slams into me.
Then – Age Sixteen
"I need a favor." Titan drops down onto the bleachers beside me. He reaches out and snags my book before turning it toward himself. "How the fuck do you and January read this shit?" he asks, shaking his head.
"You'd have to be able to read to understand," I tell him, holding my hand out for the book. It's Voltaire…which Titan would never understand. He's smart, but he doesn't give a shit about literature. Like most guys our age, the only thing on his mind is pussy. I'm not interested in girls, at least not any I plan on telling him about anytime soon. January is too young for me—only thirteen—and she's his baby sister. He'd lose his mind if he knew I've been in love with her for longer than I can remember.
Instead, I focus on keeping her safe. Titan and I do a pretty good job of it since forming the MC. People act like we’re a fucking criminal gang or something, but we don't deal drugs, and we don't start the bullshit fights and turf wars we end up in. All we're trying to do is to keep that shit away from our neighborhood and our families.
It's not enough for me, though.
I want to make something out of myself, do something with my life that matters. Something that gives me a shot at getting January and Ma Lucia out of here for good. I don't want to be the poor little orphan boy my entire life. I want to be good enough for January someday.
"Touché, fucker," Titan says with a laugh and then tosses my book to me.
I slide a Post-It note inside to mark my place and then slip it into my bag before turning to face him. Like usual, his hair is spiked up with enough gel to embarrass most men. He doesn't give a shit what anyone else thinks. That's why we get along so well. Neither of us cares what anyone else has to say. The only opinions that matter to me are his, January's, their mom's, and Ma Lucia's.