Page 132 of Twisted Knight

“Then why?”

Because pride is a real thing. So is shame. The shame of having friends come and see the place you live when it looks like this. The having friends drop you off on a corner a few blocks down so no one knows where you live.

“Because I want to.”

“Like I said, you tripping, man.”

I hold up Audrey’s card. “Call this number tomorrow. You can give her your name and address. She’ll have supplies sent here for you to get started.” He eyes me. “But only after your homework is done.”

“So you want me to do all this work and for what?”

I open my wallet and take out a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. His eyes widen. “This is a down payment on your work.”

He glances left and right and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s afraid someone will see it or if he wants someone else to see it so he believes it. “A down payment? I’m supposed to believe you’ll be back?”

“I’ll be back to check on the progress and to pay you.” I hold out the bill, and he stares at it for a few seconds before accepting. “I’m also going to have Audrey—the woman on the card—buy you a bus pass. That way you can get to and from practice.”

“How do you know where practice is?”

“I told you, I used to live here. The bus stop is down there.” I lift my chin down toward the Sanctuary. “And it drops you off a block from the fields, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You do a good job, we’ll work on getting you some new gear too, but you have to earn my trust first.”

“How do I do that?”

“You do what you say you’re going to do. A man’s word is sometimes all he has.”

Leo stands there with his hands shoved in his pockets, one hand clearly fisted around the one-hundred-dollar bill, and continues to stare at me with a look that says he’s doubting every single thing I’ve said. Not many people make promises and keep them when you’re in his shoes.

I get it.

I used to be him.

“What if I run out of … stuff.”

“Call that number and tell her.”

“You’ll come back?”

“I gave you my word.”

“Why?” he finally asks. Eyes searching, almost as if he’s afraid to hope.

I shrug. “Fuck if I know,” I say.

The refrain repeats in my head as I pull away from the curb and drive through Fairmont again. On streets I walked as a kid. Through memories I’m trying to hold on to. To the curb by Mason’s plot. Close enough to see it but far enough that I can’t really make anything out.

To all the places I refuse to let Rhett Rothschild demolish and ruin.

And I end up right back on the same street I was on a bit ago, but this time a little farther down the block.

Right in front of the Sanctuary.

It shouldn’t surprise me. Being here. Waiting for her.

Wanting to see her again.