Release (The Alliance Chronicles Book 3) Page 6

  “You need to leave now, Asher.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll go to your grandfather. I’ll tell him what’s happened and let him deal with you.”

  “You wouldn’t,” I replied.

  Ruby crossed her arms and blocked my view of Cindy. “Try me.”

  Listening to my girlfriend cry shredded my senses. Ruby didn’t have the right to hurt her. I edged closer to Ruby, gritted my teeth, and bellowed, “Move away from her. Cindy’s coming with me.”

  Cindy moved slowly around her sister.

  “Leave with him,” Ruby warned, “and don’t bother coming home. I’ll tell Mom and Dad. How long will the two of you last in the streets together with a baby on the way?”

  I reached for Cindy. She shrank back.

  “I-I can’t,” she mumbled.

  “Come on, Cindy.” I kept my hand out with the hope she’d take it. “I’ll call my grandmother in New Mexico. She’ll help us.”

  Cindy’s voice shook as she asked, “And if she doesn’t?”

  “Don’t let her do this to you, to us,” I pleaded. “Ruby got to keep her baby. Hell, you’re all I have left. Please, Cindy, I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Not now.”

  “I’m sorry, Asher.” As the tears streamed down her face, Cindy turned her back on me.

  I glared at Ruby, and instinctively my hands fisted although I’d never strike a woman. “You can’t keep me away from my niece and nephew.”

  Ruby looked away from her sister. She bit her lip and dropped her eyes to my hands. “You’re right. I won’t do that to you. You’ve lost enough. I’ll bring the kids by Edward and Bernice’s once a week. You can spend time with them there.”

  I clench my jaw, my eyes focused on the girl I loved. “You’ve got this all figured out, huh?”

  “No, I don’t. But it’s for the best, Asher. Trust me on this one. Raising kids is a hard thing to do. Neither of you is ready for it.”

  I had to calm down, talk some sense into this woman. I relaxed my hands, but my voice shook with rage. “Have you forgotten my house is next door?”

  “It’s no longer your house,” Ruby said calmly.

  “Huh?”

  “I was coming downstairs to tell you. Edward turned over the deed to me. I’m moving in with the kids. I wanted to tell you personally so you wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Grandpa wouldn’t do that without telling me. “You’re lying. That’s my house.”

  “Edward met with my father and discussed it. Asher, you have a roof over your head with your grandparents. My parents’ house is crowded with me and the kids.”

  “You had no right!”

  “Yes, I do. The house was left to Shiloh. I’m his widow. All his property goes to me. I signed the paperwork an hour ago.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I think you should leave now.”

  “Can we at least say goodbye?” I asked.

  Ruby pursed her lips. “Make it quick.”

  She pushed past me and left me alone with Cindy. I waited until I heard the screen door slam behind Ruby before speaking.

  “Cindy, come here,” I said and opened my arms wide.

  She stood frozen in place. “It won’t change anything, Asher. You heard Ruby.”

  My heart sank. “You said you love me.”

  “I do. But if Ruby tells my parents, I’ll never see you again. She just needs to calm down. After…after the…”

  “You can’t even say it.” Cindy needed me and deep down I needed her. My life was so screwed up, and Ruby was making it worse. “Cindy, I’m willing to fight for us. I’ll, like, call my grandmother.”

  She shook her head. “No. Let Ruby do this. Give it a few weeks and then we can see each other again.”

  An invisible hand clutched my heart. My lifeline was slipping away from me. No matter what Cindy said, I realized it might be the last time I ever saw her.

  I prayed I was wrong as the echoes of Cindy’s sobs followed me down the driveway.

  When I got to my grandparents’ house, I was mad as hell. How could he give away my house?

  I slammed the front door, and Grandma ran down the stairs. “What’s wrong, Asher?”

  “Where the fuck is he?”

  Her concern vanished and anger replaced it. “I will not tolerate the use of that language in my house!”

  I ignored the warning and stormed down the hall to the kitchen. “Where’s the asshole?”

  My grandfather sat at the table with his fists clenched. “You better be injured coming in here yelling and disrespecting your grandmother.”

  “What the hell is your excuse? You sold my fucking house!”

  Before I realized what was happening, Grandpa jumped up from the table and had me pressed against a wall. The man didn’t say a word. He just held me in place with a fist raised.

  “Edward, don’t hit him,” Grandma begged. “He’s upset. Let him down.”

  Grandpa dropped his hands, swore, and rushed out the back door.

  I straightened my collar.

  Grandma pulled out a chair and pointed to it. I didn’t want to, but something told me I’d better put my butt on it.

  “First things first; don’t you ever come in my house and use that language and tone of voice again. You hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I muttered.

  “Second, what your grandfather did was necessary. The Millers’ house isn’t big enough for all of them. Ruby and the kids were sleeping in one room. Becky kept her brother up at night, and he kept Ruby up all day because he was tired.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Do you have a job or pay taxes?”

  “No.”

  “Then you had no way to keep up the house,” she said and sat across from me.

  “Why didn’t she go back to Westland?”

  “Because she needs help from her family. It’s a done deal. Get over it.” She glanced at the clock. “You’ve got chores to do. Better get them done before it gets dark.”

  “I was going—”

  “Nowhere. You’re grounded.”

  “For how long?”

  “A week.”

  So much for my hanging with Mark that night.

  “You send us to war without meaningful discussion.

  You obliterate the possibility of peace.”

  —from “Spoken Words on War” by Civic Minded, 2018

  February 2020

  My life became uncontrolled without Cindy around. Terrible, gruesome nightmares took her place in my life. Every night I woke up in a cold sweat. It was like reliving those godawful events—the deaths of my parents and my brother—over and over again.

  Somehow, the mornings after were always worse. Grandma dragged me from bed, and tried to force me to eat. Nothing stayed down. I started drinking coffee at all hours of the day. This would last for a few days before sleep overwhelmed me and I passed out. Then the cycle would repeat itself.

  My grandparents kept asking me what was wrong. I ignored their questions. How could I tell them the real problem when I wasn’t certain of it myself? Most of the time, I wasn’t sure if my behavior was because of Cindy’s absence. Maybe it was something that had always been there lying under the surface, waiting to see the light of day.

  Ruby held true to her word and took Cindy to the doctor. Despite her sister’s warnings, Cindy called me afterward.

  “You okay?” I shut the door to my room and sat in a chair by the window.

  Cindy sighed. It was the most heart-wrenching sound I’d heard—full of sorrow, pain, and emptiness. “I don’t know, Ash. I should be thankful, but I can’t honestly say I am.”

  “Was it…was it painful?”

  “Not too bad. They gave me some medicine. It’s just… I need to see you.”

  “Same here.”

  “Meet me. I told Ruby I wanted to go to evening mass. She won’t come because of the babies. Mom and Dad aren’t home. I doubt they went to church.”

  My mind scramb
led, trying to plan how to see her without alerting Ruby or my grandparents. “Is she, like, dropping you off?”

  “She can’t. My brother’s taking me. Service starts in thirty minutes.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

  Somehow, I convinced Grandma and Grandpa to let me go out after curfew. As long as citizens had a valid reason for being on the streets, authorities didn’t mess with them.

  I told my grandparents I needed to talk to the priest at St. Cecelia’s, the nightmares were torturing me. Not a lie.

  I waited for Cindy in a back pew. My grandparents bought my lie, but I felt like the figures on the Stations of the Cross saw through my deception.

  “Ash.” Cindy slid into the pew and grabbed my hand. “Can we leave?”

  My eyes caught a glimpse of the crucifix over the altar as I turned to her. We didn’t belong there. Not with the rules we’d broken. “You bet.”

  Outside, Cindy clung to my arm, and we walked away from the church, enjoying the rare silence. She sought comfort, something I could give.

  “Ash?”

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “We can’t see each other again. Ruby told my parents what happened. They’re sending me away.”

  My heart stopped along with my steps. “Where? When?”

  “End of the school year. They’re letting me stay, but I have to change schools.”

  Not fair. They wanted to take away the only good thing remaining in my life. I wiped the tears from Cindy’s cheeks. No words could describe how I felt. Nothing I said would change things anyway.

  The next day, the Millers transferred Cindy from Jefferson High and enrolled her into Cabrini High, a Catholic school in Allen Park. Mr. Miller would drive her to and from classes each day.

  In the meantime, Ruby continued coming by the house with Shiloh Junior and little Becky. We never mentioned Cindy. I understood she was off-limits to me. Ruby explained her weekly visits by saying her sister couldn’t handle seeing me after the breakup. My grandparents bought it.

  The Street Wars worsened. In every city and town people fought. I don’t even think they knew what they were fighting against.

  I had my own battles. The nightmares got worse. Each night, I woke up screaming my fool head off. Most nights I sat in front of the window keeping guard, from ghosts and neighbors hell-bent on destroying our city. Grandma and Grandpa tried to help. There wasn’t anything they could do for me.

  I spent my days in a fog of anger and despair. When my grades slipped and my anger increased, Grandma and Grandpa sought professional help. The school gave them the name of a counselor specializing in survivor grief.

  Mrs. Ramirez, a heavyset dark-haired woman, became part of my daily routine—go to school, head to JROTC, and then spend time on her couch.

  I’d been seeing the counselor for a month. My grades were in the toilet, and I spent more time in detention than I did in class.

  “How are you today, Asher?” Concern laced her voice, but I didn’t trust it.

  I swatted at the air before kicking my feet up on the coffee table and clasping my hands behind my head. “Same as always.”

  “You’re flunking a few classes,” she probed. “Anything change at school we should discuss?”

  I’d received my dismissal letter from JROTC, not a surprise. It’s not like I didn’t receive any warnings. There’d been two. All I had to do was bring up my grades. I took a chance, thinking my superiors wouldn’t remove me. But they did, and I didn’t want to discuss it.

  “Like how many times do I have to tell people I’m fine?” I bellowed and kicked the coffee table leg.

  “When people believe you’re fine, then you can stop telling them. I understand that you’re no longer in JROTC. How does that make you feel?”

  “Truthfully?”

  “That would be refreshing,” she said in a casual tone.

  “Fucked, screwed…” I tapped my foot repeatedly and said sharply, “Listen, I don’t want to talk. Talking doesn’t change shit anyway. If it did, we wouldn’t be at war.”

  She lowered her head and scribbled some notes. “So it’s the war that’s bothering you today?”

  I scraped my hand across my face. The woman was clueless. I mimicked, “Is the war, like, bothering you today?”

  Mrs. Ramirez dropped her pen and pad on the table. “Asher, I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped.”

  My foot stilled, and I punched the air with my fist. “Bingo! Now you get it. I don’t want your help. I don’t want anyone’s help.”

  She crossed her plump legs with great difficulty and tugged on the edge of her skirt. I smirked.

  “Apparently, you want someone’s help. Your grandparents said you’ve been missing curfew and you’re very argumentative. Granted, their curfew is much earlier than the one imposed by law, but what do you think will happen if the cops pick you up?”

  “Don’t care,” I said roughly.

  She shook her head, closed her notepad, and leaned back in the seat. “Let’s cut the charade, shall we? When you’re ready to talk, come see me.”

  I jumped to my feet, more than happy to leave the room. The woman had no idea how to help me, no one did.

  “Before you go, Asher—”

  “Yeah?”

  The chair creaked as she stood up. “You have so many people in your corner wanting to help you. All you have to do is ask.”

  “You don’t get it. There’s no one in my corner. I’m alone, lady. It’s my life. I’ll deal with it.”

  I stormed out of her office and ran smack into a human wrecking ball. Mark Carter, the troublemaker Shiloh warned me to stay away from once upon a time.

  “What’s up, Asher?” He jerked his head toward Mrs. Ramirez’s door. “Getting your head shrunk?”

  I readied a quick response and swallowed it. Despite my brother’s warnings, Mark had never done me any harm unless you count getting high on occasion. He might be the only person in this world, though, who understood me.

  “Naw, dude. I’m, like, done trying to please people who think they know what’s best for me.”

  It was the truth. Grandma and Grandpa thought denying my parents and brother ever existed was best. They wanted to fill my days and nights with endless chores and a profusion of rules, attempting to heal my spirit. The Millers thought removing the girl I loved was the best course of action for everyone. No one me asked what would make me whole again.

  “Where you off to?” I asked.

  “Griffin’s.” Mark walked away. He said over his shoulder, “You coming?”

  For reasons unknown to me, the cousins used to live together. When Griffin graduated from high school, Mark’s father got his nephew a place to stay. Although the dude sat at home drinking and getting high all day, his uncle saw the need to buy him a car.

  I contemplated Mark’s offer for half a second. What could go wrong hanging with him? Grandma and Grandpa expected me to catch the bus and head home, but I’d had enough of everyone else’s expectations. Only thing I got in exchange was plenty of heartache.

  “Yeah.” I ran behind Mark. “How are we getting there?”

  He brandished a set of keys—possibly Griffin’s. Mark had his permit, but I wasn’t a licensed driver. So, we’d be breaking the law together. The night my family died I’d lost all incentive to follow the rules.

  Time to have some fun.

  “Yes, there is the possibility…

  We are better than those on four legs,

  We should always seek the greater good.”

  —from “Spoken Words on War” by Civic Minded, 2018

  March 2020

  The Street Wars grew, and reporters changed the name to the Third Estate Revolution, the ultimate uprising of the middle class. People died. Small towns crumbled. Large cities fell. New Detroit turned into a massive war zone plagued by ravaged buildings, destroyed landscapes, and people living in tents.

  Violence wasn’t the only thing citizens feared.
A sickness infiltrated the country. Doctors had no explanation for its origin, but scientists claimed a cure was coming. The news reported it was a bad flu outbreak, nothing for citizens to fear.

  But it wasn’t any old flu. This one came with nausea, vomiting, and bloody diarrhea. Rumors proliferated the populous. Some said it was a return of Ebola. Others claimed it was more nefarious, a manmade virus.

  Officially, my world had fractured. I was no longer the son, the grandkid, the brother—not even the boyfriend anyone expected me to be.

  The country was changing, and so was I. It was unfortunate for me that there wasn’t one person to tell me how to be better. I didn’t believe anyone had my best interests at heart. If someone did, they didn’t tell me, or I simply didn’t listen.

  Mark Carter and I remained oblivious to the state of affairs. We lived in our own little bubble, getting bent and hammered. His cousin, Griffin, supplied the tools to keep me numb. It was better than spending time on Mrs. Ramirez’s hard-ass couch. Reluctantly, I went to school. Skipping class would have had Grandpa on my back.

  When I wasn’t altering brain cells, I complained of boredom. So, Mark taught me to drive, but Griffin didn’t appreciate us using his car.

  “Dude, I know where we can, like, get a ride.”

  “Let’s do this,” Mark said.

  Shiloh’s car was in front of my former house. Ruby claimed it along with the property. No mother of two small kids needed a muscle car.

  I tossed Mark the spare key I kept in my wallet.

  “Sweet ride.” He ran his hand across the dashboard. “This should be yours. Shiloh was your brother. Blood is way thicker than a marriage license.”

  We drove the car to Heritage Park and proceeded to get high.

  Stupid.

  Mark passed me a joint. I took a hit, leaned my head against the seat, and waited to go numb. It didn’t take long. Griffin managed to score some pretty potent weed.

  “You miss your brother?”