Page 38 of Tru Blue
“Dude,” Bear called after him. “You told her she wouldn’t have to see you.”
Truman stopped walking, and an unfamiliar car pulled into the parking lot. The passenger door swung open and a tall figure stepped out, staggering slightly.
“That’s not her.” He glanced back at Bear. “Stay with them for me?”
“You know it.” Bear rose to his feet and stood between the parking lot and the playpen.
Truman’s eyes froze on Quincy’s long, lean frame moving slowly toward him. His brother’s hair hung in front of his eyes. His body swayed like a tree in the wind as he stumbled forward.
“That’s far enough,” Truman commanded, trying to catch a glimpse of who was driving the old boxy sedan, but it was too dark.
“Hey, man,” Quincy slurred.
Truman crossed his arms. “Who’s in the car?”
“No one.” Quincy put a hand in his front pocket, then took it out, then slid it in again.
“I take it you’re not here for help to get clean.”
Quincy looked away, and Truman stepped forward, taking a long hard look at his brother’s glassy, heavily lidded eyes.
“I used my food money on Mom’s cremation.” His words ran together. “I was hoping you could help me out.”
“Bullshit. I gave you money for that.”
His brother looked away again, then back at the car. “If I don’t pay…”
Headlights turned off the main road onto the long driveway. Gemma. Truman’s gut fisted. He didn’t want Quincy or his cohorts anywhere near her or the babies. He stepped closer, smelling the rancid stench of not enough showers and too many drugs. The world he’d grown up in and fought against. The world he’d tried to save his brother from.
The world that had fucked up his entire life.
He couldn’t even lie to himself. He’d made the choice to save his brother’s ass, but that didn’t stop the anger and frustration from pouring out.
“I told you to stay in school. I told you to stay straight. Where did you lose your way?” Acutely aware of Gemma’s car approaching, Truman’s patience snapped. “You made this fucking mess of a life you’re living in. Unless you want to get out of it, don’t show your face around here again. Mom is dead. Do you get that, or are you too fucked up to care?”
Gemma slowed as she drove around the running vehicle. Truman waved her on, not wanting anyone to get a look at her. She continued driving to the far end of the parking lot where her car was parked, and pulled in beside it.
“Get the fuck out of here. And don’t bring this shit around my family again.”
Quincy looked past Truman toward Gemma, who was climbing into her car. Truman stepped into his line of sight.
“You wanna know when I lost my way?” Quincy said with a voice full of hate. “The day you went to prison. Mom offered me a hit of crack, and there was no one holding me back anymore.”
Truman grabbed him by the collar and slammed his back against the car. “Don’t you ever blame me for your shitty choices. I was there for you every fucking day.” He gritted his teeth and lowered his voice. “I rotted in a fucking cell so you wouldn’t have to.”
“And I rotted in mine.” Quincy wrenched out of Truman’s grasp and climbed into the car. The car sped around Truman and drove away, leaving a spray of dust in its wake.
Truman looked across the parking lot at Gemma, who was wide-eyed, having witnessed the whole ugly scene. In her hand was the note he’d left in her car, flapping in the breeze. His feet were rooted in place. He wanted to go to her, to apologize for his whole fucking life. To convince her to give him a chance.
Their eyes held, and that electric burn he’d come to expect seared a path between them despite everything—his confession, the ugly scene with Quincy.
He didn’t deserve the conviction that had forever changed his life.
But as she climbed into her car, severing their connection, he knew she didn’t deserve it either.
Chapter Twelve
MUSIC ECHOED OFF the boutique walls as seven little princesses took their final strut down the catwalk Tuesday afternoon. Strobe lights flashed like magical stars as Crystal moved like a professional photographer, snapping one shot after another. With her long black hair, and wearing layers of gray and silver taffeta, she was the perfect ghostly princess and a talented photographer. Gemma was lucky to have her on board. After the catwalk, Gemma would make a big deal of presenting the birthday girl with a special jeweled tiara. Then the group would have their photographs taken with Crystal and Gemma. And finally, Crystal would photograph the girls with their parents—the ones who actually stayed for the event. Today there were only two parents. One more than usual. Parents were quick to escape for a few hours of freedom. That had always bothered her. Shouldn’t parents want to see their children in a state of sheer happiness? It surprised her that they were totally fine with leaving the children in the hands of strangers, even though she knew she and Crystal were perfectly safe.
