Page 66 of Risking it All

My stomach had a hollowing feeling, and I pressed a hand there. The sinking sensation worsened as I had a horrible idea of where this was going. “So?”

“Aslanov has known loyalties to the Broad Street Gang. A gang, Macie, and you’re snuggling up with that nightmare. For all we know, he’s responsible for carjacking you.”

Chapter thirty-one

Relic

I’m true to my word, regardless of my anger and frustration with Marsh, so I sat in a foldable camping chair on the barely-there grass eaten up by the summer heat and chatted with Marsh’s mom, Gillian. She sat in a similar chair under the shade of a diseased oak that maybe had one more season left before a spring storm knocked it down. She looked bad, and I hated it. Rail thin, skin so translucent I could see the blue of her veins, and so damn weak the cup in her hand shook as she drank.

She placed the plastic cup in the holder of her chair and gave me a ghost of that kind smile she’d had for me since I was a kid. “How are you doing, Relic?”

Better than her. “Good. Working. Keeping busy. You?”

“You already know the answer to that.” That was Gillian, no bullshitting. “Marshall says you have a girl.”

I did, but I had no intention of giving Marsh more ammunition in his war against Macie. “We’re friends.”

“Marsh won’t say it, but I get the feeling that you and Marshall had a falling out over this girl, so that leads me to believe she’s more than a friend.”

I leaned forward in the chair, rested my elbows on my legs, and rubbed my hands together. I came by to try to cheer Gillian up, not get bitched out. Normally, I took no one’s shit, Gillian’s included, but I loved her, and she was broke in the commodity of time. Gillian was one those people you had to talk and listen to with no regrets.

“He thinks she’s bad news for me because she’s a smart, rich girl, and he’s angry I won’t give her up.” I didn’t need to dog him out to his mom that he tried to drive Macie away by hurting her and me.

“Is she bad news?”

I shrugged a maybe. I was falling for her, hard, but I could make Macie and me work. I needed to believe this. I needed her light in my life. “Nothing in comparison to Dad being back in the house and Eric stalking me in my living room every other day.”

She bobbed her head in a, “That’s fair,” then we both watched as a redbird perched on a nearby limb. After it assessed us, it fluttered away. Gillian stared at me like she had something bad to say, and I allowed her the time to gather her words. I wished it were two years ago, and we were wasting time laughing in her kitchen as she made me no-bake cookies—my favorite.

“My son is working for Eric, isn’t he?” she pressed, and I glanced away. How the hell was I to answer this? Did I lie to a dying woman? Did I keep my loyalty to my friend and keep his secret? Did I tell her the truth she already knew and make her feel worse? Or would she hate me for lying?

Her sigh was so heavy it hurt my head.

“You have to get him out, Relic.” She sounded so damn tired, the type of exhaustion sleep could never help.

“I never said he was working for Eric.” I didn’t say he wasn’t, either.

“Marshall is paying the mortgage, keeping the lights on, and there is food on my table that doesn’t come from the Game Place. Minimum wage doesn’t do that.”

Couldn’t argue with her there, as the lights were officially off at my place. I wanted to tell Gillian I would yank Marsh out by the scruff of his neck, but I couldn’t. First, Marsh had to want to leave. Second, there was no way Eric would let him go. The screen door squeaked open, and Marsh walked outside. He and I glared at one another the way brothers do when they’re mad.

Gillian stood from her chair, and she painstakingly walked to her son. She placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Make it right with your best friend.” Then, with a pointed look at me, “Same to you.”

She went inside while and Marsh and I wallowed in anger and silence.

“You ready to talk to me?” Marsh said with accusation.

No, but I would. I stood. “We can walk.”

Marsh and I had done this since forever—walk. When I was mad, when he was angry, when the emotions of our lives were too much and words pissed us off more, we walked. Side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Letting the other know through all the noise and chaos they weren’t alone.

In the blazing summer sun, we walked what had to be a mile or two. Through the winding roads of the neighborhood. Up hills, down them, and we found ourselves at the creek at the back of the subdivision, the one near the freeway. As tractor trailers blew past, the aging metal fence separating us from the expressway rattled.

Trash, a few condoms, and used needles littered the banks of the almost dried up creek. Just a trickle of water flowing over the stones worn by years and years of runoff. Marsh and I used tocatch crayfish here when we were younger. Used to think maybe the world would be different for us than our parents.

“Your mom wants me to convince you to stop working for Eric,” I said.

Marsh didn’t look surprised, only hung his head like he was sad. Disappointed… Like he hated himself and his life. “I’m in too deep now.”

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