Page 66 of The Finish Line

“Dom.” It comes out in a whisper full of emotion. I clear my throat of it and still find myself unable to speak.

I’m fucking terrified.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just needed...” You. I need you. I need to remind myself why I’m doing this. For Mama and Papa, for us, for our future.

“Talk to me, brother.” All bullshit aside, he’s been with me, for better or worse, every step of the way, trusting me, believing in me. In taking this risk, I could blow it all. Even with the guarantee I paid for, there are too many variables. There’s too fucking many.

Panic seizes me fully as I still my fingers and swallow the contents of my drink in two gulps.

Maybe I should have shared this secret with him. Maybe I should come clean about my involvement with Antoine and my fears that our ties will never be severed without dire consequences.

Maybe I’ve gone about this all wrong and made one too many risky moves so early in the game. But this fear, I don’t want for him. This burden and the consequences that may follow—I’ll shoulder alone.

“I just want to talk.” Commotion breaks out in front of me as the announcer begins to alert everyone to the start of the race.

“Bullshit. Tell me what’s going on.” The clank of tools lets me know he’s working at King’s. Being a mechanic is a trade he enjoys immensely, and for that, I’m happy, even if it’s just another way to get by for the moment. With his intellectual aptitude, he’s got a bright future with or without me. He’ll go far, even without my guidance. I respect him immensely for the man he’s becoming, and he’s only just cracked his knuckles, barely scratching the surface of his potential.

“Dom, just...” I close my eyes, “stay on the phone with me.”

“What did you do?”

When the gates open, the onslaught is immediate, a thousand stinging needles in my chest. It’s painful, but the gin circulating makes it bearably less so. Keeping my eyes trained on the number on the side of my horse, Dom remains silent, and I know it’s because he’s listening intently to the barrage of noise surrounding me, searching for clues. After a few seconds, he speaks up.

“What’s our number?” he asks softly.

“Seven,” I reply. The number of years I’ve been away from what’s most important to me. The number of years I’ve been living dual lives. Years of hunger and humility, years of metamorphosis that changed me from a revenge-seeking orphan to a common thief, to barterer, brother, mentor, student, teacher and now... ?

“What did you bet?”

“Our future.”

Cringing, I get nothing. Not a cross word, not even a harshly exhaled breath. It’s absolute trust, and it pervades me with an unimaginable feeling and a hell of a lot of guilt. It’s on the tip of my tongue to whisper an apology for abusing it when I see our horse fall slightly behind. I can barely breathe with the intensity of emotions running through me.

“Tob—”

“Just this once, please. I need my goddamn brother,” I whisper, tightening my hold on the phone.

“I’m here,” he replies hoarsely, a rare fear in his voice. But it’s not fear for his own well-being, and that guts me all the more.

Swallowing, I curse my emotions as more remorse surfaces on how I’ve wronged him. Of how I left him in that fucking cockroach-infested house with an unworthy parent, to fend for himself, to man up before his time. Just once, I want the sacrifice to be worth it. I want him to feel like the sacrifice is worth it.

Our horse takes the lead in the last quarter mile, and I can feel the hairs on my arms start to rise.

“Brothers first,” I whisper.

“Always brothers,” he replies softly, a second before our horse crosses the finish line.

Shock and adrenaline shoot throughout my body as I exhale a steady breath, and Dom speaks up. “What did we win?”

It takes several seconds for the panic to give way to exhilaration. Liberation gives a bounce to every step I take as I make my way back inside, forgoing my waiting date at the bar to collect my winnings. “Exodus.”

*

“And look at you now, King, just a regular Joe doing everyday shit,” I mumble, dumping two extension cords into my cart before pushing it along the aisle. “No bad guys to hunt down, not a suit in sight to negotiate billion-dollar deals with.”

While I might have schemed my way into becoming a millionaire and smooth-talked my way out of death on more than one occasion, earning the naked trust of my former enemy’s daughter might be the deed to outdo all others.

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