While having just been released from prison, due to a night full of misfortunate mistakes, Red McCoy witnesses an old friend of his, son being kicked out of his apartment in the middle of the night.
Beverly Reid had been living on his own since he...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Another days worth of work at Jerry's, and Beverly couldn't help but feel bad for Red. Sure, Beverly had had to work, but never in a place so . . . dirty. And for that, he was more than grateful.
But now, he would be working alongside Red. And that meant, that he'd have to suck it up, and slide beneath one's vehicle—but, thankfully, it beside Red's.
Red had ignored him this morning, throwing his door open to awake him.
And with Beverly getting the job, and deliberately going behind Red's back and even asking Jerry for the job—Beverly was almost certain his ride to Paramount Juvenile Facility.
Beverly slid walked over to Red, both hands in his pockets. He squatted, while clearing his throat for Red's attention. "Look," he began. "It wouldn't be right if I just sat at home, while you worked your ass off, day and night. So, I'm not going to apologize for only wanting to help—"
"But you aren't helping. You're only in my way."
Beverly couldn't help but be hurt by Red's words. Although, he had developed a small crush, he had thought that the two had some sort of brewing friendship.
"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way."
The rest of the day went by just as slowly as the morning had, Red still wouldn't look Beverly in the eye, and Beverly was still trying his absolute best not to piss off any of the guys.
Red's friends.
But even then, one particular man had a problem with Beverly—for no reason at all. Red had seen it since they first arrived. There sat Brock Levinson, sipping on an ice cold beer, as he whispered something over to another man.
There's the one, His lips mouthed.
Beverly tried his best to ignore, but was left with a shoulder digging into as a figure passed by. "Watch where you're going, short-stuff. Wouldn't want you to get hurt."
Beverly didn't bother apologizing, only finding a seat in the far back of the shop. He'd made up his mind. He wanted to see his father sooner than anticipated. But he also knew to prepare himself for possible image-savagery or what-ifs.
What if his father was a cold-blooded murderer, or an animal locked in a humans body? He couldn't bare the thought.
Sure, he'd spent some time with his father, but no enough to know him. But, then again—what would seeing him do? Give him closure? A sense that as his father is locked behind bars, he didn't miss an ounce of a good life.
But that thought required Beverly having to walk down memory lane. And that would most definitely result in tears.
He'd be forced to think of his grandmother. The woman who'd put everything into raising Beverly into the man he is today. She was the nice, grey-haired old lady, who would've offered tie shirt from her back to anyone in need.
And Beverly aspired to appear the same way.
He felt the bench dip in beside him, Red's familiar cologne invading his sense.
"Don't let them know they get to you, Bev. This place is doomed to the brim with criminals—last thing you wanna do is make your weak-spot apparent."
