Chapter 5
I was sitting on the porch that evening, staring at the medical bills, when a truck pulled up.
An old friend. Jax.
We'd run together before I went inside. He'd been there the night I got arrested.
He leaned against the porch rail.
"Heard you were out," he said. "Heard you had some trouble with Tyler."
"Word travels fast in this park," I said.
He nodded. Pulled out a cigarette. Lit it.
"I got a job," he said. "Night work. Good money. Cash. No questions asked."
I knew what that meant.
The same kind of work that had landed me in prison.
Moving things that shouldn't be moved.
For people who shouldn't be moving them.
"How much?" I asked.
"Enough to cover those bills," he said, nodding at the papers in my hand. "And then some."
I thought about Dad. About the treatment. About the bills piling up.
I thought about prison. About the five years I'd lost. About the promise I'd made to myself.
"I can't," I said.
Jax shrugged.
"Thought you'd say that. But the offer stands. For a week. If you change your mind."
He got in his truck and drove away.
I sat there long after the taillights disappeared.
The bills felt like they were burning a hole in my pocket.
But I remembered the doctor's words.
*You don't have to do it the wrong way.*
And I remembered Dad's face when I walked in the door.
*I wanted you to come home whole.*
May you like
I folded the bills. Put them back in the box.
And I started making phone calls.
