Page 53 of More Than a Hero
The whisper of air over the phone sent another tear sliding down Robert’s face. His hands tightened on the receiver. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
His grandpa didn’t say anything for a moment, then asked, “Are you gonna be okay?”
Robert’s throat burned. “I don’t know.” And for the first time since this nightmare started, he let himself admit the truth. He wasn’t sure he ever would be. “Yeah,” Robert finally murmured, rubbing his palm over his face. “They’ve got me separate from the adults. I gotta wait and see if they’re sending me to juvie. The deputy who brought me in said I might get off easy.”
His grandpa let out a slow breath. “What do you need from me, Robert?”
The question caught him off guard.
“You may have made a big mistake,” his grandfather continued, voice firm but steady. “But you’re my grandson. I love you, no matter what. You know that, don’t you?”
Robert’s throat tightened. Another tear slipped down his cheek, and this time, he didn’t bother wiping it away. He didn’t care who saw. “I know, Grandpa.” His voice broke. “I love you, too.”
His grandpa sniffed. “I’ll call someone to check in on me, so don’t you worry about that, boy.”
Robert exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “That’s good, Grandpa. You tell Mom that I’ll talk to her soon.” He swallowedhard. “You’re the person I thought of calling first. I just… I needed to make sure you were okay.”
Silence stretched for a beat. “That. That right there.” His grandfather’s voice hitched. “That’s what tells me you’re not beyond redemption.”
Robert squeezed his eyes shut.
“I’ve noticed you, boy,” his grandpa went on, softer now. “Hanging around outside more, looking for something. Thinking those men had it all together. Thinking they got things you want. But listen to me”—his voice sharpened, that steel-threaded wisdom cutting straight to Robert’s chest—“you go back to who you are. Not who you were trying to be. You go back to being the grandson I know. You’ll be fine.”
Robert sniffed and nodded even though his grandpa couldn’t see it. “Okay,” he murmured. “Tell Mom everything. I’ll talk to her soon.”
His grandpa hesitated, then said, “Take care of yourself, boy.”
Robert heard the way his grandpa’s voice wavered. The soft, barely-there sniffle on the other end of the line. It cut through him like a blade. Swallowing hard, he forced out, “You too, Grandpa.” Then, before he lost the courage, he hung up.
Behind him, another juvenile grabbed the receiver without hesitation. Robert barely noticed. His feet moved on autopilot, following the guard back to his cell.
The moment he sat on the thin mattress, his hands curled into fists, and his head dropped. He inhaled deeply, then let out a long, shaky breath. He wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion, regret, or something else entirely pressing down on him, but damn if it didn’t feel heavier than anything he’d ever carried before.
Later, when the guard stopped by and asked if he needed anything, Robert lifted his gaze. “Will I be able to talk to thedetectives tomorrow?” he asked. “If not… can you tell them I’d like to?”
The guard studied him for a second, then gave a small chin lift. “You got it, kid.”
Yesterday, being called “kid” would have pissed him off. But now? Now, he knew the truth. He had a hell of a lot more growing up to do if he wanted to be the man his grandpa believed he could be.
22
Pete navigated his car down the narrow alley behind a run-down strip mall. The place had seen better days, its parking lot pockmarked with cracks and oil stains. A dollar store, a tool shop, and a pawn shop were the only stores still open, with the other storefronts now empty. At the far end, the convenience store and gas pumps stood.
Pete rolled the car to a stop beside a dumpster in the back lot of the store. Jeremy sat in the passenger seat, his posture easy, but his eyes scanning.
A minute later, the back door to the store creaked open. A man stepped out, hauling two black garbage bags. He moved like he had all the time in the world, tossing the bags in the dumpster before glancing around. The shift of his shoulders, the way his gaze lingered on corners, told of a habit of looking for threats.
Jeremy stepped out, his boots crunching against the gravel, and without a word, he slid into the back seat. The man hesitated only a second before approaching, pulling open the passenger door, and folding himself into the seat beside Pete.
"Man, I thought I caught a break when you ain't showed yesterday," Jacko muttered, dragging a hand over his scruffy jaw.
Pete twisted slightly, his eyes locking onto Jacko’s, the air in the car thick with an unspoken warning. "Let’s not forget who’s keeping your pockets from running dry, Jacko."
Jacko had been playing both sides for two years now, skating just above trouble while others around him fell. His luck ran out when he got popped moving a small bag of dope too close to the high school. A plea deal kept him out of a cell, but it chained him to Pete and the Eastern Shore Drug Task Force instead.
Pete didn’t trust him and never would, but he knew Jacko had roots here, raised by a mother, aunt, and grandmother who had done their best to keep him straight. At some point, their lessons must’ve sunk in because Jacko had made it clear he wasn’t looking to end up a name on a toe tag.
They didn’t use him often, just when Pete needed ears on the ground. "What did you hear?"
