Page 57 of The Heir

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” My grandmother huffed. “Your father always had more temper than he had sense, it is no wonder Mackie ended up the way he did.”

I took a steady breath, before continuing. “It all went ugly, and Blaze got in the middle, and the police came. It wasn’t his fight, but everyone scattered, and Blaze went to jail.”

I paused to swipe a tear and shook my head, “He’s not even a Disciple and I guess he was arrested for some nonsense out by the strip club today while I was at work. So, I told him we were finished, and he didn’t accept it. He followed me– but I guess he was on house arrest because of the strip club incident and the police tackled us both to the ground–”

“What?” My grandfather’s voice had never sounded so cold.

“They shoved him into me, and we both fell, and they took him to jail. It’s the third time in a few days. He’s not even a part of any of this.” Once I let myself feel that kind of emotion, I could never reel it in.

Pain and sorrow just flowed from me; it was exhausting. I cried until I was limp in my grandmother’s arms and my grandfather remained in the recliner across from us, staring at the fireplace.

“Marchella,” he spoke up, after about twenty minutes. “You’re right. That boy isn’t like them. He isn’t a Disciple. He isn’t a hardened criminal, I looked into his eyes. I shook his hand.”

I kept my head on Gran’s shoulder and listened to Grandpa’s verdict.

He took a deep, shuddery breath, “I wish your mother had listened to me, when I tried to advise her in this department, but unfortunately her heart and mind were made up. This boy is your ticket out of here. If you stay it will be more of the same for you. More encounters with law enforcement. More nights here at my house, because the one you belong in is hostile or unwelcoming. Marchella, honey, there is nothing here but sadness and loss on the path you’re on. It ain’t your fault, it was the one you were given in this life. If this boy loves you the way that you say ,that he would break the law and risk his freedom to have you—” He nodded and looked over at me. “Go to Georgia with him, honey. Start the life you deserve. Find your happiness and don't look back, you hear me?”

“It’s too late, Grandpa. The judge is going to put him in prison.”

Grandpa sat back and studied the fire, then he glanced at his watch and smiled.

“It’s Friday. Harold will be a stick in the mud and make the boy sit until Monday, you can bank on it. He takes his wife, Joyce to bingo every Friday evening, he plays cards with the prosecutor and a few other good boys until it gets out. Come morning, he’ll meet with me for golf, and if all goes well, we’ll be sitting down with Blaze on Sunday.”

I wanted to believe him, but how could I? My family danced around the law so much, I’d learned to fear it before I even knew what policing, courts, or any of that really was. Surely, it wasn’t really that easy to get favors and make charges disappear?

He went into the other room and returned a short while later, with his shoes in hand. He sat down and put them on like he had all day to do so, straightening his socks and dusting his hem line like he had a sermon to give.

My eyes were puffy, but I’d calmed considerably. Perhaps I did trust someone a little.

“Where are you going?” I quietly asked.

“We’re going to collect your things. You’ll not be going back to your father’s house for a while.” He was so matter of fact, I just nodded.

He stared at me for a moment and smiled, “Don’t let him slip through your fingers, Marchella. You deserve to escape this.”

He stood and made his way to the sofa I was sliding off of. When he reached Gran, he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“Find us a sweet, for when I get back, would you, dear?”

She smiled and gave a nod that wasn’t all that confident. “Of course.”

They were so cute. I knew they didn’t like my dad, but I wondered if they really knew how ugly things had gotten between him and my mom before she passed. It wasn’t something I wanted to bring up, especially since we were already pulling into my father’s driveway.

“Be right–” I started to say back, but he was already tossing off his seatbelt and sliding out of the truck.

“Oh–” He slammed his door, and I groaned, “Shit.”

I sprinted after him, but it was clear he’d stormed in on his own. My father’s attention riveted toward him, but Demon kept right on raging, “My fuckin’ son is laying in a hospital bed. My bike is totaled! What the fuck do you mean, you ain’t going to handle this little bastard? I’m your road captain, mother fucker. I don’t give a fuck who his father was.”

“Shut up,” my father roared, rushing into him. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth about club business.

“I’m Donovan Winehopper.” My grandfather addressed Demon, as if he were deaf to my father’s red face and obnoxious tone. “My attorney is Clive Owens-Stanford of Rochester.”

“Congratulations, old man. Nobody gives a fuck.” Demon spat next to my grandfather’s Sunday shoes and my father slapped both hands at Demon’s chest, shoving him backward.

“Enough!” He barked at Demon.

“Fuck you,” Demon grabbed his dick, undeterred.

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