Long Way Home

  Ruth peeks over at Isaiah as if she’s searching for his approval and she twists her hands together. Odd how she’s the mom and he’s the son, but he’s definitely the more mature of the two. Isaiah leans against the wall as Violet and I sit at the breakroom table.

  “Are you going to get into trouble for having us here?” Violet asks.

  “No. I called and told my boss and he was fine with it as long as I don’t make a habit of inviting people in. I told him that my son needed to speak to me and he knows that Isaiah and I don’t meet often.”

  Isaiah’s lips thin out. “Why don’t you tell them about James, so I can get to work.”

  “Okay, but it doesn’t feel right. James never wanted anyone else to know and I promised him I wouldn’t tell. I broke way too many promises with James and I wanted to be able to keep one.”

  “You told me,” Isaiah says with strained patience.

  “Because you’re my son and I’ve made mistakes with you and...”

  The bell at the front rings and the expression of relief on her face makes me feel worse for her and for me. I just want the truth, but I don’t want it if it causes her a mental breakdown.

  “I bet you it’s him.” She brightens.

  Isaiah narrows his eyes on her. “Him who?”

  “Him.” She jumps up and touches Isaiah’s arm. “He’ll tell them and I won’t have to break this promise to James. He’s a good man. I disappointed him when I...” Her face turns red. “When I made mistakes, but he helped me as much as he could then, too. Just wait right here.”

  She leaves. Isaiah pinches the bridge of his nose, then cracks his head to the side. “I’m sorry about this. My mom tries too hard when I’m around.”

  “Moms can get that way,” I say, but I honestly don’t know. My mom has always been a rock.

  “I’m sorry for calling you in,” Ruth says, “but I thought about how you used to help me some after James died because of Isaiah and that maybe you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?” The familiar voice causes my body to jolt as if struck by lightning and Violet reacts the same way. We both turn our heads to the door and we’re met by the rising eyebrows of the detective.

  “This is Detective Jake Barlow. Isaiah, Jake knows who you are because he met you as a baby, but he doesn’t know Chevy. Jake, this is James’s other son, Chevy. He found Isaiah recently and had questions about James. I thought it would be best if you told him.”

  A muscle in the detective’s jaw jerks. “Why couldn’t you have told him?”

  Ruth’s face falls and the detective nods like he understands. “Everyone but Chevy needs to leave.”

  Isaiah doesn’t push away from the wall. “So what Mom said about him wasn’t full of shit?”

  “If she told the truth, then no.”

  Violet stands. “You know he’s just going to tell me everything anyhow, so I might as well stay.”

  The detective tilts his head to the door. Because she respects him, she follows Isaiah and his mother out. He shuts it, then takes Isaiah’s place at the wall.

  Fuck me, I need a beer. “So you knew my dad.”

  “Yeah, I knew your dad. He’s the reason why I’ve spent the past eighteen years of my life with the gang task force.”

  Maybe I had it all wrong. Maybe my first instincts were right. “Because he was a member of the Riot?”

  “Because he went undercover in the Riot.”

  All the scattered thoughts in my brain disappear. “What?”

  “Your father was a cop. He graduated a year early from college with a degree in criminal justice. He told your family he was in liberal arts because he didn’t know how to break it to your grandfather quite yet. He always intended to go home and work on the force in Snowflake, but then things heated up between the Riot and the Terror and he asked the right people if he could find a way to legally bring the Riot down and they put him undercover. It was dangerous, it was risky and it’s because of his work that I’m able to build a RICO case against the Riot. With what you, Violet and Razor have given us and what your father gave to me years ago, there are members of the Riot who will die in jail.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why not tell Cyrus or Eli or anyone?”

  He crosses his arms over his chest. “We kept it secret to preserve the integrity of the case. Plus he was scared if it got out, even if he died, it would cause problems for the Terror, but mostly he was scared of the repercussions for you and Isaiah.

  “The Riot knew about Isaiah because James’s life here in Louisville had to be an open book to the Riot. They knew Ruth was his girl and they knew she had his child. After James died, Ruth and Isaiah meant nothing to them. They were never associated with the Terror or the Riot.”

  I rub at the slow throb in my temples. “The Terror would have taken them in.”

  “I know, but I was also scared sending them to the Terror would paint a bull’s-eye on their backs.”

  “You’ve been toying with the Terror all year. You fucked Razor up royally with the bombshell you dropped.”

  “I needed him to talk to me.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand. “And it worked. He’s talking, they’re all talking and the bad guys are going to jail. Isn’t that what we want?”

  I scrub my hands over my face. “He was a cop.”

  “He was a cop. And so you know, he’d be proud of you for lifting that cell so you could track my officer.”

  A short chuckle leaves my throat. “You saw me do it?”

  “No, I guessed. Only explanation I could come up with for how your friends found Violet. Your dad was good with his hands, too. Could read people like you, as well. It’s what made him good at his job. Ever think of becoming a police officer?”

  “No.” Can’t say it ever crossed my mind.

  “Think about it. We need more people like you.” He pushes off the wall. “Here’s the thing. I didn’t tell you any of this. Until after the Riot are arrested and the trials are over, I didn’t know your dad, got me?”

  He extends his hand, I shake it, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I might have some purpose for my future.

  Violet

  “I GOT AN A!” I sing as I dance my English paper in front of Chevy’s face. He tries to snatch it from me, but I dart around him and giggle as I skip ahead in the back field of my parents’ land.

  “My name is on that paper, too,” he calls out.

  But I take great pains to point to my name. “See, right here my name is on top and your name is on the bottom. Therefore, I get the A and you get the plus.”

  Chevy flashes that dimpled smile and my breath catches in my throat. “Is that how it works?”

  “Yep. That’s how it works.”

  I wait the few beats for Chevy to catch up to me, and when he does, I hold the paper out to him. He takes it and reads through our English teacher’s comments as we continue over the dying winter grass and the new grass struggling to push through.

  “Took her long enough to grade it,” he mumbles.

  True. “But it took us forever to turn it in. She didn’t have to accept it from us, she didn’t have to let us write it together and she didn’t have to give us an A-plus, but she did.”

  Chevy and I landed an A in a class where people are happy to receive a B, all because we told her that the poem was complete bull and that we don’t choose either of the poet’s stinking paths. We decided to forge our own.

  It’s April—months away from this past fall’s upheaval. So many people in the Riot have been arrested, including Skull and Justin. Two Reign of Terror members lost their membership to the club for their part in spying on me. Some of the Riot have made bail, some haven’t. All are on the road to prosecution. So many things h
ave gone right, some things have gone wrong. So many hearts have been broken, so many wounds are starting to heal. Overall life is moving forward. Each day away from the arrests brings another day of peace and each day of peace brings another level of confidence that there is such a thing as a future.

  The people of the Terror can go back to riding their motorcycles without fear of the Riot and the next generation, including me and Chevy, are free to just be...free.

  “Did you hear Eli’s taking Brandon shopping today in Lexington?” I ask. It’s killing me not to text Eli every fifteen minutes for an update. Eli and I have had several long talks about Brandon, and for the first time, Eli is listening.

  The plan for today is to get Brandon new pants, since he’s grown another inch, but the real goal is for Brandon to pick out the pants and buy them himself. Of course Eli will be there, but as an observer. Eli understands he has to be Brandon’s advocate, not his enabler.

  Chevy and I have both applied for and have received early acceptance to Eastern Kentucky University. We’re both waiting to hear about financial aid and possible scholarships.

  Once Chevy threw his hat into the college ring, he had some interest from coaches. Eastern being one of them. They aren’t a college with a huge football program with Saturday games on ESPN, but Chevy isn’t interested in that. He just wants to play.

  I’ve got good grades and more than decent test scores. I’ll probably get something in scholarship help, but it won’t be enough. Last week, though, Eli offered to help pay whatever I don’t get in aid and scholarships. I’m probably going to accept because that’s what family does—look out for one another and welcome the help when it’s needed.

  Chevy folds the paper in half and sticks it in his back pocket. “How’s your knee?”

  “Good.” And it’s not a lie. Every now and then when it rains, it aches, but other than that I’m fully functioning again. Still, this is the first time we’ve walked this far since the kidnapping. The winter was cold and brutal. The snow high. It was gray and it felt endless, but then we’ve been granted glorious days like today.

  A warm breeze, a pink evening sky with the first stars starting to twinkle in the east. Another day is ending, the sun falling to its knees and giving way to night. It’s almost easy to believe that every horrible thing that happened to us was a bad dream.

  “How do you think tomorrow is going to go?” I ask.

  Tomorrow, Isaiah is coming to Snowflake to meet Cyrus and Eli for the first time. They were shocked when Chevy told them about Isaiah and they wanted to meet him immediately, but Isaiah asked for time to process the idea of having blood family who cared.

  Isaiah isn’t the only one processing. Cyrus and Eli are trying to wrap their brains around the fact that James was an undercover cop. Chevy dropped that bomb after the arrests, but we’re still keeping that secret contained to blood family. All this new information—a new member of the family, James’s secret life—it’s been a lot, but in the end, it’s good news.

  Isaiah and Chevy have met up a few times. Chevy said it’s awkward, but they mostly play pool and talk sports. Sometimes, for guys, that type of conversation is heavy in emotional subtext.

  Speaking of emotional subtext. “Did you know that Razor is taking Breanna to prom?”

  “I heard.”

  My lips twist to the side and I try to push down the little flames of anger licking at my stomach. Prom is extremely close and everyone else I know has a date. That’s not true. Addison doesn’t, but I have hopes for her...a newcomer in the club has taken an interest in her. She just needs to take an interest back.

  Point is, Chevy hasn’t asked. I guess it’s assumed, but he should ask because that’s what boys should do. We promised each other months ago we would do normal and so far we’ve excelled at English papers and basement parties and late nights of eating pie at the diner, but I want the normalcy of prom and he needs to freaking ask.

  “Oz is going to Emily’s prom and Eli said she could visit the weekend of our prom so we can all hang out.”

  “I heard that, too.” Dear God, I’m going to have to hurt him.

  “Know what we should do?” he asks.

  You should ask me to prom? “What?”

  “You should bring Oz as your guest to the prom and I should bring Emily as my guest so we can all go together.”

  I stop walking, and while the idea is brilliant, I seriously want to kick him in the nuts.

  Chevy swings around to face me and catches me by my belt loops. He drags me to him, and while that action typically melts me in ways that I wake up dreaming about at night, I’m a little too irritated at him for it to work.

  “Don’t you want Oz and Emily to go to prom with us?”

  The mature answer is yes. The girl who has loved being boring as hell and just being eighteen is throwing a fit like a sleep-deprived toddler.

  “It’s not like Oz is going to dance with you. He and Emily can’t keep their hands off each other for thirty seconds.”

  Extremely true. Begrudgingly I say, “Fine.”

  “Great.” Chevy lets me go and starts walking again, but I turn to go home. My taking Oz as my guest is the right thing and so is Chevy taking Emily, and after all that we’ve been through, it’s stupid to have my feelings hurt that Chevy hasn’t asked, but there are some things in my life I’ve thought about since I was younger and prom is one of them.

  But then I pause. This is stupid. Chevy has loved me, he has saved me and he has risked his life for me. This is the twenty-first century and I need to grow up. I spin around and say, “Will you go to prom with me?”

  Chevy glances over his shoulder and blinks. “What?”

  “Yeah, sure whatever, I’ll take Oz, you’ll take Emily, but will you go to prom with me?”

  Chevy’s expression darkens and he stalks in my direction. “You are the most impatient person I know.”

  Now I’m lost. “I’m what?”

  Chevy bends and I let out a yelp when he lifts me with his shoulder, turns and continues to walk toward our section of the field. I’m laughing, I’m yelling at him, I smack him on his back and laugh harder when he tickles my side.

  Finally, Chevy sets me on my feet and holds my shoulders as I get past the dizziness of all the blood that has gathered in my head returning to my limbs.

  I blink a few times, and when I lean affectionately into Chevy, he strokes my collarbone with his thumb. “A few months back, I promised you boring. I promised you college, I promised you a future, I promised to never leave your side again. I’ve got you, I’ll always have you and we’re going to have the most exciting, boring prom with all of our friends, but sometimes, I don’t like sharing you.”

  Chevy twirls me and I suck in a breath. It’s our spot. Our place in the field. It’s where we played as children, it’s where Chevy and I shared our first kiss. It’s where he first told me he loved me, it’s where he carved our names on the tree to the right. It’s where we explored each other’s bodies, it’s where we explored each other emotionally.

  It’s the one place in the world that has brought me such joy and right now it’s close to bringing me to tears. There are poles set up in a circle and hanging from them are lights. In the middle is a blanket with a picnic basket and surrounding the blanket are lit candles on wooden boards.

  Chevy walks around me and hooks his cell phone up to portable speakers. My favorite song plays and Chevy extends his hand to me. “I once promised you dancing at midnight in our field. It’s not midnight, but it will be in a few hours, so want to dance with me now and then dance with me again later?”

  Yes. So much yes. But dancing isn’t what I want. Not right now. We will, but there are other things we need to do first.

  I walk over to Chevy, and when he gathers me into his arms, it’s like the entire world stops. It doesn?
??t spin. It stays as perfect as it is in this moment.

  “I love you,” I whisper. “I can’t remember a time when I haven’t loved you.”

  The right side of his mouth tips up. “You sure about that? You’ve given me a few looks that could strike me dead.”

  I laugh, then sigh. “Even then I loved you.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re like fireworks, Violet. Beautiful separate, but phenomenal when put together. Of course, you can’t have all of that without a few explosions.”

  “You promised me boring,” I whisper.

  “I promise we will have nothing but boring explosions.”

  Boring explosions. I can live with that. Razor throwing pie at Oz at the diner, Chevy and me arguing over comma placement in our English paper, then ending up in the hottest kiss of my life, making out under the bleachers during a basketball game and then serving detention for a week after being caught.

  I can handle each and every one of those beautiful, boring explosions.

  “Remember a few months ago when you were giving me orders as we were about to kiss?” Chevy asks.

  I do. It was in the trailer and Chevy was helping me with my nerves. “Yes.”

  “I feel that turnabout’s fair play.”

  Eager to see where this is going, I nod in agreement. “Within reason.”

  “Within reason,” he repeats. Chevy feathers his fingers along my neck and I love the ticklish sensation. “Dance with me, Violet.”

  Chevy weaves an arm around my waist, pulls me to him until we’re body to body. My arms go around his neck and his eyes darken with lust as I lightly run my fingers along the strands of his hair near the base of his neck.

  He leans down and his hot breath tickles my skin. “Head on my shoulder. You know how to do this right.”

  Head on his shoulder and I become liquid in his arms. His body moves to the beat and I follow along, closing my eyes as I enjoy each and every way our bodies connect. The way his fingers trace up and down my spine. The light brushes of his lips on my neck. His strong hand on my hip and his finger that’s keeping time with the music.