Page 9 of Before We Were

“We’ll be early next time,” Jay stammers, words tumbling out like dice on a rigged table.

The grip on my throat loosens just enough for me to drag in a ragged breath. The room spins back into focus, sharp and mean as a knife's edge.

"Where's the fucking money, kid?" The word'kid'comes out like poison.

I fish out an envelope from my back pocket, movements deliberately slow. Every eye in the room tracks my hand like sharks scenting blood. "It's all there—$1,500." Each word scrapes past my bruised throat.

"You owe me another grand by the end of the week for wasting my fucking time." His voice drops lower, a promise of violence wrapped in velvet.

"Felix," Monty barks, jerking his chin at me like I'm garbage to be taken out. "Hand him his shit."

Felix, looking young enough to still believe in redemption, passes over the stash with trembling fingers. I grab it, the weight of bad decisions heavy in my palm.

"And Preppy," Monty calls out as we turn to leave, his tone mocking but promising blood, "don't pull that shit again. Not even thirty seconds late next time, or I won't be this nice."

The muggy summer air hits like a slap when we stumble outside, reality crashing back in waves. My throat throbs in time with my pulse, a rhythm of rage and adrenaline.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Jay explodes the moment we're clear of the shop, his voice cracking like thin ice. He runs shaking hands through his hair, leaving it standing up like a startled cat. "What the fuck, Nate? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

I stride toward the Mustang, the rage still singing in my veins, drowning out his words. The stash burns in my pocket like a guilty secret.

"Shut up and get in the car," I snap, my patience a frayed wire sparking dangerously. "I don't have time for this."

"I don't know what's got you so messed up lately, but you need to sort your shit out." Jay jogs to keep up, his finger trembling as he points back at the shop. "That was too fucking close. Like, funeral close."

"You looking for a medal for the world's best friend or something?" The words come out sharp enough to draw blood, but underneath them lurks the acid taste of guilt. Jay's the closest thing to a real friend I've got, and here I am, treating him like everyone else treats him—like he's disposable.

"You're being a bigger dick than usual, you know that?" Fear makes him brave, makes him say what others won't.

I know, and it's not the first time I've heard that today.

"Do you need a ride or not?" I slip into the driver's seat, tossing the stash into the console.

"For fuck's sake," Jay mutters, slamming the car door hard enough to rattle teeth. "What's going on with you?”

"I don't pry into your life, so don't pry into mine." My voice comes out arctic, warning him off.

"Yeah, well, your 'not' friend just saved your ass back there." The 'not' drips with sarcasm.

"I had it handled." I reply dryly, the ignition roaring to life like an angry beast.

"Handled? Looked more like you were about to hand over your ass to that fucking psycho. Willingly.” Jay slumps in his seat, the adrenaline crash hitting him hard.

A silent question hangs between us like a noose: what if I had let go? What if I had let Monty finish what my own self-destruction started?

We drive through Eden's south side in silence heavy as death itself. These streets tell their own stories—broken windows, peeling paint, dreams dying slow in the summer heat. Jay's life, marked by hard knocks and savage breaks, sits in stark contrast to my gilded cage up north. I pull up to his place, a rundown dump that makes the bait shop look somewhat classy. The screen door hangs crooked on its hinges, like everything else in his world—slightly broken but still hanging on.

"Thanks for the ride," Jay mutters as he reaches for the door handle. His shoulders slump with exhaustion, or maybe it's just the weight of everything else he carries.

"How's your mom?" The question slips out before I can stop it, betraying more care than I want to show. Behind the walls of their house, I can almost smell the lingering ghosts of her latest binge.

He smirks, a flash of the smart-ass kid still alive beneath the scars. "Thought we weren't prying?"

Something in my chest loosens slightly, and the corner of my mouth twitches upward despite myself. "She's hanging in there. Better, I guess. You know how it is."

And I do know —his mom, a perpetual disaster, loves him in her own fractured way. She battles her demons and loses to heroin's sweet promises more often than not, leaving Jay to pick up the pieces. Just like I picked up my own mother's pieces after dad's rages, though our broken pieces came from different kinds of battles.

"Take care, Jay." The words carry more meaning than I'll ever admit. In another life, in another Eden, we might have been real brothers instead of just broken boys holding each other's secrets. He cracks a smile that makes him look his age for once—seventeen, and somehow still undefeated despite everything.

---