Page 21 of Knockout Queen

He swings an apologetic gaze to Oscar. “I had an idea.”

Oscar drops his head, flicking his now empty bowl further away from him.

“I’m sorry, man,” Mag says. “I said nothing to K. I would never say anything to him, but your mom might know where Gregory is. If she can get us to Gregory, Johnny might be there.”

Oscar lifts his shoulders. “I thought the same. I called all the usual places this morning, and no luck.” He lifts his palms off the island. “I have no idea where she is.”

Magnum nods. “I know it won’t be easy, but she hasn’t been around for a while, right? It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s wherever he is. He would’ve kept his girls.” Mag cringes when he says that, but Oscar makes no reaction to his words at all. I reach across the table and thread my fingers through his. Magnum clears his throat. “K’s got the guys he trusts going to the families of the guys who used to be one of us.”

I suck in a breath. “He’s not hurting them, is he?”

“Not yet,” Magnum says. “I have a wife to talk to and report back, but I thought that your mom might get us there even quicker. We’re looking for places they might have been frequenting lately. That might lead us to their home base.”

“It has to be in the Heights or close to it,” Oscar adds. “We don’t stray far.”

“Especially since a few of the guys were double-crossing Big Daddy K. They were working for him and listening to Gregory at the same time. The place has to be close.”

“And we think Johnny’s there?”

“It’s what we have to go on for now. Cole’s still working his angle, so if the Dragons have him, we’ll get it through him. Right now, we have to work on Gregory.”

I squeeze Oscar’s hand. “Let’s do it,” I say.

Mag glances away. “We’ll have to split up. I’ve been instructed to take Brawler to talk with our ex-guy’s wife. You guys can go look for Mama Drego.”

Oscar tightens his grip on me. “Looks like it’s you and me, Princess.”

9

Magnum, Oscar, and I leave the tower at the same time. Magnum takes the car to pick up Brawler while Oscar and I hop on his bike. He’s quiet while we get ready to leave, pensive and thoughtful. I don’t have time to ask him about it before he hands me a bike helmet and helps me onto the back.

Wind flutters my hair as Oscar deftly maneuvers around the streets of the Heights. I recognize a few of the places from when I went looking for his mom with him the first time. Dirty back alleyways. Sleeping bags rolled up next to dumpsters with cardboard box huts turned into houses. Oscar’s stomach tenses under my arms, but all I can do is hold him close.

I wonder what happens to someone like Oscar’s mom. She raised a good kid. A football star by any right. She got out of the Heights, even. Out of the place that led her down this path, if only for a short while. Now, she’s caught up in a hell few could understand.

It makes my heart hurt just thinking about it. Oscar and his mom could’ve thrived outside the Heights. When they came back, Oscar’s entire world shifted. His mom got back with the wrong people and started doing drugs. He had to join the Crew to help fend for himself. To think all of it could’ve been avoided. Maybe. If someone actually gave a crap about them.

Oscar slows the motorcycle. He pulls it up next to a curb and kills the engine. He helps me get off, but signals for me to keep the helmet on until he pulls me into an alley I don’t think I’ve been in yet. Once we’re secluded in the long, narrow brick-lined walk, he helps remove my helmet. He gives me a small smile. “I wanted you to keep it on in case the cops are doing rounds. You stick out on these shabby streets.”

He holds the helmet under his arm and then takes my hand in his as we walk the length. He peers at the crumbling walls of the two buildings that face each other. “My mom’s been known to frequent here. There’s a dealer in this old building.” He cocks his head to the right. “He basically squats here.”

Much like the rest of the older buildings in the Heights, the one to our right is abandoned. When Rawley Heights started to die out, industries moved elsewhere, leaving all of these buildings to decay, like worms festering in the heart of the Heights. I’ve often wondered what the tower looked like before the Crew got their hands on it. I can’t imagine it would’ve looked any nicer than this shithole.

“Let me do the talking,” Oscar says as we walk farther down the alley. Our steps echo around us. A cockroach skitters in our path, and I do my best not to scream, but Oscar can tell I’m skeeved out. He squeezes my fingers, just a tiny amount of pressure that lets me know he’s here for me.

To distract myself, I think about the future. About a time when we won’t have to worry about cockroaches or how to ask a dealer if he knows where Oscar’s mom is. Hopefully, that means Oscar’s mom will be straight and alive and not prostituting. “Um, so,” I say, still staring at our surroundings. “I was serious when I said we should get some of your footage and send it to colleges.”

His steps falter briefly, but he continues on. Albeit, silently.

Probably not the best time to talk about this, but Oscar needs something to look forward to. To let him know that his life won’t always be what it is right this very second. I tug back a little on his arm. “Hey, did I say something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “I’m just amazed you think we’re actually going to get out of here.” He’s not being mean. In fact, he smiles a little. A coy one that warms me. “Nothing you’ve seen yet has thwarted these plans you have for us in the future. Can you imagine Johnny going to college?” He laughs now, a full belly one that ricochets around the buildings. “He’d probably blow up the science lab…again.”

I smile at the imagery. That’s not the first time I heard that Johnny blew up the science lab. “Johnny doesn’t have to go to college. Neither does Brawler. I want all of us to do what we want to do, but you, Oscar Drego, are going to college. That’s the only way you’ll play football, and I know that’s what you want. That’s everything you’ve ever wanted, right?”

He stops and turns in the alley. His dark gaze sharp when he looks at me. “Look around you, Kyla. Do you see where we are? I’m about to head into a drug den to ask where my mom fucking is. I don’t think I’ll be going to college, let alone playing football again. Ever again,” he says, shaking his head.

“Just humor me, okay?” I ask, trying to evade the argument I feel coming on. He doesn’t like talking about this, and I don’t blame him. How many times can you wish for something, not get it, but still keep on wishing? At some point, it has to feel like a fool’s errand.

---