by Ivy Fox
“You’re right. She did.” I scowl, my resentment of growing up without my father around coming forth like a bitter rush of fury.
There’s a stilled, awkward silence that ensues, both of us trying hard not to say anything that might set off the other.
“Has your mom found a man yet?” he asks out of the blue, his jet-black gaze concealing the vulnerability in his question.
I roll my eyes, the bratty reaction reminding me all too much of Elle.
“No, Pops. She hasn’t found anyone. Mom doesn’t have time to date. She works too damn hard. Not that she would, even if she had time for that shit. She still hasn’t divorced your ass, has she? That should give you a clue where her head’s at.”
Mom is pretty private in regards to what goes on in her head and her heart. When my pops first got pinched to do a dime here in Rikers, she was all sorts of pissed at him, and she would have been within her rights to divorce his ass.
But she never did.
And that alone speaks volumes about how she feels for him. She might not like the shit he did, but her heart still belongs to him—even if logic tells her she should just cut the cord once and for all and move the fuck on.
Boy Scout’s emerald gaze instantly comes to the forefront of my mind.
I guess I know where I get the masochist gene from.
I might hate him for what he’s put me through, but I can’t deny a piece of my heart still belongs to him. Maybe it always will. Loving him hurts like a motherfucker, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to stop. Or even want to.
Isn’t that a kick in the head?
“Eighteen months,” my father interjects, pulling me out from my self-deprecating thoughts. “That’s all I have left. Eighteen months if my parole hearing goes as planned. I can’t jeopardize getting out of here and trying to make amends to your mother by looking after some asshole who clocked his dad’s timecard in.”
“Woah, woah, woah. Hold on for a second, Pops. I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m just asking you to keep an eye out for Elle’s brother. Just give him some protection if he needs it. That’s it.”
“Santiago.” He exhales. “No pussy is worth this hassle.”
Now it’s my turn to see red.
“Okay, let’s get something settled right here and now. Elle is not some rich bitch like you said or some easy lay. I wouldn’t be here asking you to do me this favor if she wasn’t important to me.”
“More important than me getting paroled?” He cocks a brow.
“It’s not an either or scenario here. You know what? Forget it. It was stupid of me to come down here in the first place. I should have known better than to think I could depend on you for anything,” I reprimand, getting up from my seat.
“Hey.” He flings a finger at me, ordering me to sit back down. “I protected you from those streets, didn’t I? I made sure that, even locked up, the barrio wouldn’t touch you. I gave my word to your mother and kept that shit. Don’t tell me I haven’t been there for you, Santo.”
“You could have been there for me! Every time Mom threatened to kick you out, you promised you would leave the life and go straight. I believed you. She believed you. And look what good that did us!”
“And how the fuck was I supposed to put food on the table?”
“Mom does it every night.”
“Your mother works herself to the bone.” He snarls. “That’s not the life I wanted for her. I wanted to give her everything.”
“And yet you gave her nothing. She still has to slave away at the diner, day and night, while your ass is locked up here with three square meals a day.”
“You hate me, Santo? Is that the real reason you came here on a school day to talk to me? That I threw my life away and ended up destroying yours and your mom’s? Well, guess what, kid? I know that already. You could have spared the subway ticket over here.”
He gets up from his seat, and I hold his wrist.
“No touching!” the guard yells, and I immediately pull away.
I tilt my head for him to sit back down, but he remains standing.
“That’s not what I meant. You did what you thought you had to because that’s the only way you knew how. I get that. I don’t resent you. Not anymore. I did for a while, but I’ve let go.”
“That’s shrink talk.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had my head examined for years now, so I know the lingo by heart.” I laugh nervously. “Elle is important to me. And her brother is important to her. Family is all she cares about. I can’t help her. I can’t even ease her pain. But I can do this. I can ask you to look after her brother. That’s what I can do.”
Staring back at me with a blank expression on his face, he takes a step back, making me think he’s about to call an end to our visit.
“Been here for over seven years, Santo. A man thinks a lot about his mistakes with all that free time on his hands. I did your mom wrong, and I did you wrong, but you survived. Got a better life than anything I could have gotten you.”
I swallow dryly at his confession.
“Is she yours? Does the little pixie love you like you love her?”
I stay stoic, my throat burning at the word love being thrown about so easily by my father. When I don’t answer him, his gaze falls to the floor.
“Okay, kid, I’ll do this for you,” he says at last. “I’ll let the word out that the Kings have Grayson’s back and that he’s not to be touched.”
“Thank you.”
He then turns to leave, halting mid-step before he ends this conversation for good.
“Eighteen months, Santo. Do you think a man can restart his life after so many years?”
“It all depends which life he wants. Make better choices, Pops. Who knows? Maybe you still have time to do right by us.”
“I hope you’re right.”
I hope I am, too.
Chapter 12
Saint
The whole subway ride back to Pembroke, I keep thinking about my father’s last words.
Can a man actually start over after he’s fucked up so majorly?
And am I obsessing about my father making amends in this scenario, or am I thinking about myself?
The answer is painfully clear.
It’s neither.
It all comes down to me still wanting Boy Scout to man up and apologize for stringing me along for all these years. To give me back some semblance of the life I used to have. Unfortunately, I’m not holding my breath for an apology since our interactions have been almost nonexistent.
We’ve hardly said a word to each other since we fucked in the hospital stairwell. We took all our anger, hurt, and frustrations out on our bodies that day and made sure they’d be the ones to pay the price for our misery. It was the release we both needed, but when it was over, we weren’t thinking about one another anymore. We were only thinking about her.
Fuck.
I wish I knew how Princess was doing.
But then again, I’ve been wishing for a lot of things lately.
I wish her brother wasn’t locked up, and I could spare her the suffering of witnessing her family name being dragged through the mud on national media. I wish she would open up to me and let me take some of the burden off her shoulders—even if all that meant was silently being there at her side as she watched her world fall apart.
Yeah.
I wish for a lot of things.
But unless by some miracle I find a lamp with a fucking genie inside, none of them look like they’ll be coming true anytime soon. Besides, this isn’t a goddamn Disney movie. It’s real life. And in real life, not everyone gets their fucking happily ever after. You would only need to look at Princess to see how true those words are. She lost her father, brother, and best friend all in one go. I can’t imagine how she’s even functioning right now. Gut punch after gut punch.
Although, I do have an inkling of how she might be feeling.
&n
bsp; I became a pubescent little shit when my pops got pinched, so much so, my mom put me in therapy. Watching my father’s freedom being ripped away changed something in me.
It made me angry.
That’s what I remember most about that time in my life.
I was so fucking angry, sometimes I would choke on my own venom. I was pissed at being born in the projects. Pissed that the man I looked up to couldn’t keep his nose clean and get a normal-ass job to support his family. Pissed that the streets had conditioned him to think that was the only way he could put food on the table. I was fucking pissed at everything.
My only salvation—a green-eyed boy with stars in his eyes.
But Elle doesn’t have Chad to hold her hand.
It will be different for her.
Even though she was born into affluence and privilege, neither mean shit right about now. Her family might have more money than God, but if the headlines on the news are any indication, all the money in the world will not save Roman Grayson from doing hard time. And without the support system of her best friend to see her through this mess, I’m not sure how Elle is coping on her own.
Yes, she’s a ball-buster.
And yeah, she’s probably the strongest girl I’ve ever met.
But that doesn’t mean she’s not hurting inside.
And that thought alone has me spinning into madness from not being able to be there for her like she needs. If there was ever any doubt that little Elle Grayson had woven her way into my heart and claimed it as her own, unable to handle knowing she’s suffering is all the proof I need.
These troublesome thoughts continue to torment me as I pass through Pembroke’s gates, the loud ring of the bell announcing it’s lunchtime. Since I missed all of my morning classes, I could have just skipped the day. The only thing preventing me from doing that was the hope that maybe someone had news from Elle and that it would make its way to me.
On autopilot, I walk into the cafeteria, but I freeze on the spot when I see Princess herself sitting at our table, along with her twin brothers and Holland. Once I’ve gotten over the shock of seeing her here just a few feet away, I storm through the room and rush to her side, pulling a spare chair to sit beside her.
“How are you holding up?” I ask, my heart literally in a vice grip of worry.
She gives me a noncommittal shrug, her gaze locked on her barely eaten lunch.
“Yeah. I thought as much,” I mumble, disheartened, and then look to her brothers and stepsister for justification of why the fuck they brought Princess to school when it’s obvious she’s not in the right headspace. “Why are you four here anyway? Shouldn’t you be looking for a way to get your brother out of jail or something?”
“Principal Green called the house yesterday and said we would lose a year if we didn’t show up today. It’s fucking bullshit. The school is just punishing us for supporting Rome when the whole city is grieving over our asshole of a father,” Ash answers resentfully.
“Well, fuck them! You miss a year? Then miss a fucking year,” I counter heatedly, finally gaining Elle’s amber eyes on me. “What do you say, Princess? You want to bail?”
“You know what? Yeah, I do.”
I get up from my seat and extend my hand over to her, my heart beating a mile a minute when she takes it without second-guessing herself.
“Sit down, Elle. You’re not going anywhere,” Ash commands harshly, also standing up and placing his palms flat on the cafeteria table like that shit will stop me from getting his sister the fuck out of here.
Princess squeezes my hand and scoffs at her older brother.
“You can’t order me around, Asher. Just because Rome is locked up doesn’t mean you can take his place. No matter how hard you want to,” she says, throwing her stepsister a quick glare.
My curiosity sparks when Holland bows her head, trying to hide what looks a lot like shame to her cheeks.
The hell is that about?
Although not pleased with his sister, Ash also sits back down in his seat and does the smart thing of keeping his trap shut. Ollie is the only one who seems to have his shit together.
“Do what you have to do, Elle. I’ll tell your teachers you weren’t feeling well and had to go home.”
“I don’t care what you do, Ollie,” Princess replies, with a tinge of sadness to her tone.
I entwine my fingers with hers and pull her closer to my side. I lean down and press a tender kiss on her temple before gently lifting her chin so I can stare into those devil eyes that I adore.
“Let’s blow this joint,” I say and smile when she offers me a nod in agreement.
Without another word to her siblings, we walk away, hand in hand, to make our grand exit.
Well, that was the plan.
The only hiccup to our quick getaway is when we come face to face with none other than Boy Scout himself.
I don’t miss his surprise at seeing us together or the hurt in his gaze when it locks on our clasped hands. To his credit, he doesn’t stare for too long and lifts his attention back to the girl who has always been his everything.
“Elle,” he croaks, the rings under his eyes showcasing he has had a fucking time of it.
He goes to touch her, but to my agony and delight, she just leans in closer to me. His outstretched arm falls beside him, much like the hope in his eyes.
“You haven’t answered my calls.”
“She’s been kind of busy with her brother on trial for murder and whatnot.”
“I know that, Saint.” He sighs, the pain in his eyes sending daggers to my heart.
My throat tightens seeing him this way.
Why do I feel guilty for the shit he’s done?
Why do I feel like I’m the one breaking his heart?
He’s the one that toyed with us both. Kept us on the leash, so we would never stray far, while all along knowing he would never actually choose one of us.
“Elle, can I talk to you? Alone.”
I scoff at that.
Fat chance of that happening.
“No, Chad. You can’t. I can’t deal with you right now.”
“But you’re okay with Saint, is that it?” he retorts with a scathing tone.
“Yes. I need people I can trust, and Santiago has never once lied to me. I always knew where I stood with him.”
“I see,” he mumbles, staring at both of us. “I’m just having a hard time coming to terms with where I stand in all of this. Can you even tell me where that is?”
“Let me be the one to enlighten you. Nowhere. That’s where you stand. Come on, Princess. Nothing to see here.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
She pulls me by the hand to lead the way, and I willingly follow.
It’s only when we step outside into the courtyard that I stop us in our tracks, so I can see how she is since what just happened had to be rough on her.
“Are you okay?”
She shakes her head.
“Do you still want to leave?”
She offers me a silent nod.
I press another kiss to her temple, wrap her under my arm, and get us as far away from here as I can.
And I know just the place to take her.
Chapter 13
Saint
“You’re insane! We’ll get pneumonia.” She laughs as I tug at my belt.
“Ah, come on now, Princess. Where is your sense of adventure?”
“It doesn’t involve hypothermia. I can tell you this much.” She continues to giggle, officially turning down my invitation of going for a swim.
“Wuss,” I tease, plummeting onto the sand. “Fine, have it your way. Now get your pretty ass over here.”
I reach my hand on her and pull her down onto the sand with me. She sits in between my legs, her back nestled to my chest, so we can both look at the waves crashing onto the beach.
“Again, you’ve managed to surprise me. When you to
ld me you knew exactly where to take me, Coney Island was last on my list of possible locations.”
“Is that so? You want to tell me what was first? Your huge-ass bedroom, perhaps?” I taunt, nuzzling my nose into her neck.
“Quit it, horndog. That was not what I was thinking.”
She slaps my knee, the sweet sound of her laugh making all these past weeks without her somehow bearable.
“Sure, it wasn’t.”
Even when she rolls her eyes at me, it makes breathing air into my lungs a little easier.
“I’m serious. Why bring me to Coney Island of all places?”
“I thought you might need an escape. The water always calms me down when my head is chaotic. I’m not sure if it’s the sound of the waves that soothes me or the vast blue of the ocean as far as the eye can see that reminds me that my problems are just a speck of sand in comparison that does the trick. All I know is that I love it here. Especially on winter days like today, when there is no one around. Summer is just too damn crowded to fully enjoy the beauty and tranquility of this place.”
“I get that.” She smiles, tightly hugging my arms around her. “Is this where you spend your summer holidays with your family?”
“When I was a kid, yeah. Just a few weekends or so if we were lucky. But when things were going good for us, this is where my dad always took my mom and me. I know it’s a far cry from the Hamptons, but to me at that age, it was the best vacation I could ever imagine.”
“Tell me more about little Santo.”
“Santo?” I cock a brow, tugging her closer to me.
“I heard your mom call you that. I like it.”
‘And I love you,’ I want to say, but I put on my best cocky smirk instead of declaring that I’ve fallen hard for her.
“So, tell me. What was it like? I’m curious.”
She nestles her cheek against mine, her jasmine perfume invading my senses.
