Chapter 4 - Family Ties
One month later
The makeshift gym echoes with the sound of gloves hitting heavy bags and bodies hitting concrete. I'm working with Ethan on his footwork, trying to teach this soft suburban kid how to survive in a world that don't give second chances."Keep your guard up, princess," I tell him as he stumbles backward, breathing hard. "Drop your hands like that on the yard, and somebody's gonna put you to sleep permanent."
Ethan's gasping for air, sweat pouring down his face. Kid's put on maybe ten pounds of muscle since he got here, but he's still got a long way to go.
"Give the poor bastard a break, Cross," Jamie laughs from where he's working the speed bag. "You trying to kill him?"
I wave Ethan toward the wall. "Take five."
One month in this concrete jungle changed the kid some. Still soft as baby shit, but at least he don't flinch every time someone looks at him sideways. That's progress."Still looking like a princess to me," Rico chimes in from the bench press, grinning.
We all crack up, even Ethan manages a tired smile. Kid knows we're just busting his balls. Truth is, Jamie's taken a real shine to him—treats him like the little brother he probably lost to these streets. And with my backing, ain't nobody stupid enough to test that protection.
"Better a princess than another punk trying to prove something," Jamie shoots back. "World got enough killers. Don't need more competition."
That gets another round of laughs. Everyone knows Jamie's got a soft spot for Ethan, and nobody's got a problem with it. In here, family ain't about blood—it's about who's got your back when everything goes sideways.
Later that evening, we're posted up in our usual corner of the common room. Cards on the table, commissary snacks spread out, just trying to make time pass a little easier.
"So how you holding up, princess?" I ask Ethan, dealing another hand of spades.
"Better," he admits, arranging his cards. "Thanks to you guys. But I miss my family something fierce."
Family. Heavy word in a place like this. Most of us ain't got none, or the ones we got are part of the reason we ended up locked up.
"Wouldn't know nothing about that," I say, keeping my voice casual.Ethan looks up from his cards, curiosity written all over his face.
"Pops caught a bullet when I was nine. Moms ran off when I was six." I shrug like it don't matter, but we all know that's a lie. "Been on my own since I was ten."
"Jesus," Ethan whispers. "That must've been rough."
"It is what it is. What do your folks do?"
"Dad's an accountant, Mom works for a record label as a manager."
Jamie whistles low. "Damn, you really are rich, huh? How come they couldn't get you better representation? This whole thing should've been community service at most."
Ethan's face falls. "They tried everything. Hired the best lawyer they could afford, but the judge was being a real hardass about it."
"Judge probably got paid off," Jamie mutters. "Old rich bastard probably slipped him some cash under the table."
I nod agreement. "Had to be personal. Takes real effort to send a fourteen-year-old to juvie over scratching somebody with a bike."
Ethan just shrugs, but I can see the hurt in his eyes. "Everything happened so fast, I couldn't even process it all."
"You miss them," I observe. It ain't a question.
"Every damn day."I study his face for a moment, then make a decision.
"They got cell phones? Rich folks usually do."
"Yeah, both of them."
"You remember their numbers?"
"Of course, but how—"
I stand up, cut him off. "Jamie, watch the door. Ethan, come with me."
Jamie nods, knowing the drill. He'll keep lookout while I handle business.Back in my cell, I pull out the contraband cell phone from its hiding spot behind a loose brick. Cost me three hundred dollars and two broken fingers to get this thing, but it's worth its weight in gold for moments like this.
"Here," I tell Ethan, handing him the phone. "Call your pops."
His eyes go wide. "Cross, if they catch us—"
"They won't. Jamie's watching the hall, and the guards on my payroll know to stay away from my cell after lights out."
Ethan takes the phone with shaking hands, dials a number he probably knows by heart. The phone rings three times before someone picks up.
"Hello?"
"Dad, it's me. It's Ethan."The relief in the man's voice is immediate.
"Ethan? How—Jesus, son, are you okay? How are you calling?"
"I'm fine, Dad. Got a phone from a friend here. Just needed to hear your voice."
"God, Ethan, your mother's been crying herself to sleep every night. We miss you so much, son. Can you call again? She'd kill me if she knew I got to talk to you first."
Ethan looks at me questioningly.
"Sundays," I tell him. "When your mom's home. Can't risk it during the week."
"Sunday, Dad. I can call Sunday when Mom's there."
"Thank God. You're really okay? It's not too rough in there?"
"It's manageable. My friends here look after me, keep me safe."
I can hear the worry in his father's voice. "Friends? Son, these are dangerous people—"
"Dad, they're good people. They protect me."
"Is there anything they need? Money? I can provide whatever—"
I take the phone before Ethan can answer. "Mr...?"
"Miller. Tom Miller."
"Mr. Miller, you don't need to worry about nothing. We ain't expecting payment or nothing like that. Your boy's good people, and we look after our own. He'll come home the same as he went in, maybe a little stronger. You got my word on that."
There's a long pause. "Thank you, son. I don't know how to repay this kindness."
"Just love your boy when he gets home. That's payment enough."
"I will. God bless you."
I hang up and hand the phone back to Ethan. Kid's got tears in his eyes, but he's trying to hide it."Thank you," he whispers.
"Don't mention it. And I mean that—you mention this to anybody, and we both end up in the hole."
He nods rapidly. "I won't say anything, I swear."
I put the phone back in its hiding spot, then sit on my bunk. "Your pops sounds like good people."
"He is. They both are. I just wish—"
"Wish you hadn't fucked up and ended up in here?"
"Yeah."
"We all got regrets, kid. Trick is not letting them eat you alive."
I look at him hard. "You got something most of us in here ain't never had—people who love you, who want you to come home. Don't waste that gift feeling sorry for yourself."
Ethan straightens up, and for the first time since he got here, I see some real backbone in him."You're right."
"Course I'm right. Now get some sleep. Tomorrow we're working on your left hook. Still hits like a butterfly landing on a flower."
He laughs despite himself. "Thanks, Cross. For everything."
"Just don't make me regret it, princess."
As he heads back to his own cell, I can't help but think about what it must be like to have family waiting for you on the outside. Must be nice, knowing somebody gives a damn whether you live or die.Maybe someday I'll find out what that feels like.
To be continued...