Page 77 of Second Story

“Yeah.” That comes out on a breath quiet enough that this group of students huddle even closer. “All I had left were scars. That’s when I thought even harder about my dad and brother.”

Perhaps I frown. Joe explains in a hurry. “Josh couldn’t look at me after this happened. And when he shifted career goals to one that meant consulting for the police, I guessed he couldn’t be around me because I embarrassed him professionally. Embarrassed Dad too, who was a police mechanic. I guessed I shamed them both, which, even years after I got burned, was more corrosive than any acid. Shame eats into your sense of self-worth. Big man?” He shakes his head. “I never felt smaller.”

I see him meet set after set of eyes that were frosty when I first crossed the car park. I wouldn’t say that they’ve fully melted, but I hope he can see what I do—they’re thawing.

He can’t quite meet mine while admitting, “Or I felt small until I found ways to help kids in my old welfare role. Turns out I’m not a scary criminal. I’m a people person. I made a new fam. A team all working to stop dealers sinking their hooks into kids. Do any of you know how many jobs there are in early intervention where we’re from?”

Head after head shakes.

“There are so many. I could tell you about them. Could help you investigate courses and training. Volunteer roles and paid ones. Funding to set up your own community projects like this one.” He taps the side of the van. Rust falls from a wheel arch, and his “oops” comes with a ripple of laughter.

He beams at his laughing audience. “Imagine the role models you could be, like Mr. Webber.” That’s a thump to my chest. “Imagine the changes you canmake, like he has, for so many kids. Imagine being that powerful. That transformative, and not only for yourselves.”

“Aspirational,” Luke murmurs. I’m not sure Joe hears, he’s so locked in delivering this message.

“These days, I’m more of a lone worker.”

My heart thumps again at being the cause of what he describes as a lonelier working pattern. Like usual, he looks on the bright side.

“I still get to make a difference. Still get to help people break patterns before they become too embedded. But here’s the thing about reflecting. It’s a never-ending cycle, like TikTok. Once you start scrolling, you can’t stop, and the more reflecting I do, the more I can’t help seeing that I wasn’t the only one trying to break old patterns.”

This snort is so soft.

“The last time I spoke to my brother, he told me our dad had brought over three paint rollers for a decorating project. I assumed he wouldn’t want me there, but actually it’s a reminder that yeah, some people break patterns with words. Others use their actions. Now I can’t help thinking about other actions Dad took.”

“Like what?” I didn’t mean to blurt that. Joe’s small smile says he’s pleased I asked, and I’d kiss him if we didn’t have an audience watching and listening.

“I mean, Dad turning up one day with a set of car keys had to mean something, yeah? He told me he’d got a car that needed fixing up and no time to do it. That was bogus—he’d just retired, and when I went to his workshop, he wasn’t there. My twin was. Josh and me hadn’t really talked like we used to since I got burned, but we had to when we rebuilt that car together, even if it was only to say, ‘Pass me a wrench.’ Soon we were repairing more than a car and talking about more than welding and rust.”

“Like?” Noah looks surprised at himself for asking. Joe rewards him by being honest about his failings.

“Like how stealing cars was my way into a world where no one knew I was lost and hurting. I didn’t expect him to tell me that the world had stopped making sense for him too, after losing Mum. I hadn’t realised. He didn’t react like I did. I guess the structure of school helped him. Had a timetable he could follow. And later, computer code was neater than the mess of how he was feeling. Data retrieval was a puzzle hecouldsolve.” He shrugs. “That’s a whole other language I don’t speak, but give him a phone or a laptop and there’s nothing he can’t extract from its SIM or hard drive. Getting him back in my life?” Joe shakes his head, then finds me in the crowd. “Up until lately, it felt the most important thing for me to hold on to. A gift.”

Thatup until latelyfeels like a gift of my own. I’m warm all over at him telling me I’m important.

To him.

He is to me too. Has been from our very first meeting right up to him holding his arms out for my brother and promising not to let him fall. I fight my own sensation of falling because Joe isn’t done yet.

“That car was a gift that gave me back my brother, even if Dad never explicitly said that’s why he made us share it. Both of us could have bought our own motors. The fact we still haven’t says a lot. The only thing all three of us still can’t talk about is this mess.”

He manacles a wrist with scarred fingers and squeezes.

“Dad can’t look at this, let alone talk about it so we can put it behind us, and I can’t talk to my brother about it either. He’d only dig for data. For evidence linking what happened to me to the men who gave the order. They were too smart to leave a direct trail or digital footprints. No one’s gonna talk about who runs Wintergreen and risk pulling the same trigger on themselves or their family, yeah?”

Noah doesn’t look at him, but he nods, and Joe speaks directly to him, keeping this plain and simple.

“I got hurt. You did too. Little Lenny’s hurting in a whole other way, but he’s finding his voice with your help, mate. And my court client tomorrow morning? He’s got a whole family still in Wintergreen. No wonder he fights me each time I see him. He’s scared for them, so he lashes out. Still gonna be there for him. Still gonna protect his right to safety, even if he decides to stay silent in court, because we both know the only thing that will truly end all of this pain is cold, hard proof, and there isn’t any.”

Noah rubs the centre of his chest.

I’m no court expert like Joe. I’m a mistrust expert, but Noah sure looks so close to wanting to believe. I can see it swim just below his freckles.

Joe must also notice. “Mate, I’d love it if there was proof. Set Lenny’s mum free by putting away the real dealers for good? Find evidence of who once ordered an acid attack or of who gave the order to scare kids with machetes in their school playgrounds? I’d put all that evidence on blast if I had it. Because here’s the truth that gang lords can’t afford to let spread—there are more of us than there are of them. Stop the recruitment cycle, and how much power do they end up with?”

More kids than Noah tell him.

“None.”

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