Page 27 of Everest

I nod and look toward Charlie, who referees a group of kids, grabbing as many water balloons as they can take from the wagon. “Charlie deserves most of the credit.” I grab the bottle of beer from Nova and take a sip. “Charlie gives the center muchmore time and energy than I do. The community and kids are the soul of this place, but Charlie is the heart of it.”

Riggs claps his hand on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. “Hell of a crowd.”

Wick joins us. "Nothing brings people together like free food.” His tone is light, but beneath the surface lies a palpable tension.

We fall into a tense silence, the chatter, joyful laughter, and pulsating music swirling around us, failing to penetrate the weight of unease in the air—my gaze darts across the crowd, searching for anything or anyone out of the ordinary. We’re here for the kids, but the looming shadow of the mill fire lingers in our minds, alongside the message warning me to watch my back. It’s been quiet lately, but silence can be a prelude to danger in our world. So, we remain on high alert.

I catch sight of a familiar face standing near the corner of the building, Jace. He’s shifting from foot to foot, his eyes fixated on the ground. I haven’t seen him since the night I busted him with those two drug pushers. My gut tightens with a mix of relief knowing he’s okay, and fresh anger that he even entertained talking with those motherfuckers in the first place. “I got something to take care of,” I mutter and break away from my brothers, weaving between a cluster of sticky-faced kids by the baked goods table, heading in Jace’s direction. When I’m near the corner of the building, he finally looks up.

His eyes widen slightly, and he straightens. “Everest.” His voice is low and unsure as his eyes dart nervously.

“Jace.” My tone is steady, giving nothing away yet.

Jace clears his throat. “I thought I’d come to look at the gym now that it's finished.” He tries to smile, but it falters under my stare.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”

Jace drops his gaze and rubs his hand over his neck.

I study him, keeping my face impassive. I’ve known Jace for a few years now. I’ve seen what he’s been through with a deadbeat dad, a mom working two jobs, and the pull of local gangs constantly gnawing at his door. “Those guys you were talkin’ to the other night, they still around?”

“I’ve seen them in the neighborhood a couple of times.” He locks eyes with me. “But I swear I haven’t fucked with ‘em.”

“You know what they do, right?”

“Yeah,” he mutters.

“You want that life?”

“No,” he quickly replies, but I’m not buying it.

“You got a lot stacked against you, kid. Your old man is doin’ time for the same shit those two pieces of shit you were talkin’ with are involved in. I know that’s a shadow hanging over you, but you don’t have to live under it.”

“I’m not selling or buying.” His tone hints at anger while defending himself.

“Doesn’t matter. When you’re seen with pushers, people start makin’ assumptions.”

His jaw ticks. “I'm not my old man.”

“Then don’t make the same choices he did.”

Jace sighs. “They came to me. I didn’t want trouble, so I listened to what they had to say. You know, show a little respect, they tend to leave you alone.”

I shake my head. “Respect doesn’t mean standing next to a pile of shit, hoping you don’t smell like it. Get what I’m saying?”

Jace shoves his hands in his pockets. “I get it.” He nods.

“Good.” I clasp my hand on his shoulder, giving him a firm squeeze, letting a beat of silence hang between us to stretch the moment. “You eat?”

“Not yet,” he replies.

With a nod, I draw back a little, still holding his gaze. “Go grab some grub and put some meat on them bones.”

Watching him walk away, my thoughts drift back to our conversation. The drug pushers are still hanging around the neighborhood. I can’t let them sink their claws into the kid. But I know the streets—nothing’s ever that simple. I know that for Jace, each day feels like he’s teetering on a razor’s edge with his choices. Every day is a balancing act for him, risking everything with each decision. I exhale slowly, tasting bitterness, hoping that when he faces tough choices, he finds the strength to choose a better path, avoiding prison or, worse, an early death.

I watch Jace making his way across the parking lot, then turn and head back to the guys, but stop mid-stride and drink in the sight of London, who’s just a few feet away at the clothing donation table. She's standing in front of a large fan, sunglasses perched on her head, black hair pulled up in a messy bun, with a few rebellious strands curling down the side of her neck. She's wearing cut-off shorts and a Hope Youth Center T-shirt. Nothing over the top, but it shows off her toned legs and hugs her curves in ways that make it damn near impossible to look away, even though I’ve seen more skin than this.

She turns, catching me eyeing her.

---