Page 8 of Voice to Raise
She narrowed her eyes. “You planned on getting arrested.”
I shrugged.
Creed snickered.
Mama shook her finger. “You want to go do that thing down in—” She snapped her fingers.
“Black Rock.” Creed was quicker than me to supply that. “Rocktoberfest.”
“Right.” She rolled herr. “Well, if you get arrested, you can’t go to—” She flailed her hand.
“Nevada. United States.” Creed’s glare directed at me matched his mama’s.
Oops.
A consequence that hadn’t occurred to me while I’d been busy chaining myself to the rail of the bridge. “Well…” Nope. Couldn’t come up with a single good excuse. I would’ve been fucked if they’d charged me. And that had never occurred to me.
“You used to be such a nice boy—before you hooked up with my Creed.”
I’d never actuallyhooked upwith her son. We’d sized each other up, confirmed we were both tops, and had become friendsinstead. That was nearly two years ago—just after I left the orchestra. As I was beginning my rebirth.
“I want to say your parents would be disappointed except I didn’t know them—God rest their souls—and that would be a cruel thing to say.”
And yet she’d thought it…which showed the depth of her disappointment.
“I’ll do better. I promise.” How hard could it possibly be? Just because the higher ups at TLIO were sticks-in-the-mud, didn’t mean I couldn’t be inventive. “Hey, is that a news camera?” I pointed toward a van with a television logo on it.
Creed snagged my arm and forcefully pushed me in the opposite direction.
“Hey!”
“You want roti and French fries?”
“Yeah—”
“Then walk quickly to the car, get in the back seat, and for God’s sake, keep your mouth shut. She was having a bad daybeforeyou got brought into the police station. It hasn’t exactly been looking up since.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.” I kept walking.
“You didn’t have any way of knowing.” He sighed. “You can be self-centered, Malik. You know I’m saying this because I love you, right? Just…maybe think about other people now and again?”
I hated when someone couched something harsh withbecause I love you.
Creeddidlove me. We were as tight as brothers.
Mamadidlove me. She wouldn’t take the time to try to improve me if she didn’t.
But those loves just weren’t enough. I’d been an only child—completely doted on by my parents. That gaping hole—that gaping wound—just was never going to be healed. No matterhow many people claimed tolove me, and there were many, it didn’t satisfy the needy child who felt abandoned in the world.
Or so my therapist told me when I’d spoken to her about this.
Mama had insisted I go when I was having a rough time last winter.
The psychologist offered some insights and gave me things to try—but she hadn’t been able to fix what was really broken inside me.
I allowed Creed to shove me into the back seat of his Nissan Sentra—which was way too fricking small—while his mother settled herself in the front.
He hotfooted around to the driver’s seat, and we pulled out of the parking spot and into traffic with absolute ease.
