Page 90 of 4th Degree

My next question is spoken carefully. “What do you need a job for, Joey?”

“You already know,” he says, his voice sad. “I hate that Skylar stresses so much about money—I want to help.”

Fuck, my heart aches for this kid. For Skylar, too. They don’t deserve to have these kinds of worries at this point in their lives.

“I know you gave her a job,” Joey continues. “I know she cleans and does stuff around the gym for you. I can do that, too. Whatever you need, I can help with. I’m almost fifteen, and I swear I’m a hard worker, you can trust?—”

“Joey, Joey, slow down,” I interrupt. He swallows the rest of his urgency and nods. Sighing, I tell him the truth.

“Your sister probably wouldn’t like you working here—I practically had to beg her to take the job. And I’m assuming she’s not a fan of you looking for work in general, am I right?” His guilty expression tells me everything I need to know. I know how hard Skylar works for her family, and how much she wants to keep Joey a teenager.

But I also understand him wanting to help. These two love each other so much that they’d do anything to relieve some of their sibling’s stress. I can’t fault Joey for his feelings, just as much as I can’t fault Skylar for hers.

Unfortunately, Skylar isn’t the one whose hopes I’m crushing.

I must have been his last resort, because hearing me say no seems to have taken all the fight out of him. Now, he just looks…resigned.

“Okay, you’re right. I just thought I’d ask, I guess. Thanks for being nice about it and not just kicking me out.” He gives me a tremulous smile and turns to leave.

“Hold on,” I blurt out. “Just wait a second.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, my brain buzzing with ideas. Who do I know that would hire a fourteen-year-old?

It hits me so hard, I practically bolt from the gym, gesturing for Joey to follow me.

I blow into the pizza pub three buildings down, my rushed entrance attracting the attention of Big Tony behind the counter. His eyebrows shoot to his hairline when he sees me.

“Well, fuck, look who it is,” he says in that heavy South Philly Italian accent. “Dominic. What the hell are you doing in my pizza shop? You finally decide to add some carbs to that dry-ass diet of yours?”

Normally, I’d enjoy the back-and-forth. I like to come in here between training sessions to grab a salad and shoot the shit with him. But I don’t have a lot of humor left in me today.

Tony’s eyes dart to Joey as he walks in behind me, just as I say, “I need a favor.”

His expression becomes skeptical. “Oh, yeah? What kinda favor?”

“The job kind.” I hear Joey suck in a breath. “You were looking for a dishwasher, right? Well, I found you one.”

Tony’s attention drifts back to Joey. “This my new dishwasher?”

Joey steps up beside me and answers strongly, “Yes, sir. My name is Joey Vega.”

“Well, Joey Vega,” Tony says, coming around the counter to stand in front of us with crossed arms. “You ever wash dishes before?”

“Uh, yeah.” Joey’s voice wavers. “Not…at a restaurant this nice, but I’m great at…scrubbing, and rinsing, and, uh, drying?—”

“Relax, kid, anyone could see you’ve never had a job before.” Tony turns his attention back to me. “Why am I hiring a kid who’s never worked a day in his life?”

“He’s never been paid a day in his life,” I correct. “I can vouch for him. He’ll do whatever job you need done around here.”

“Yeah? Any job I give you?” When Joey nods, he says, “What if I ask you to clean the bathroom?”

“Whatever you need, sir,” Joey responds without hesitation.

“What if one of my idiot cooks accidentally throws a pizza cutter in the dumpster out back? Would you get it back for me?”

That draws a wince out of Joey, but even still, he says, “I’d— Yeah, I’d get it back for you.”

“I can only pay you minimum wage,” Tony warns.

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