Page 24 of Corrupt

“Yeah.” I nodded. Tight. Firm. True. “Kid’s thirteen. Got a baby sister, a mum on benefits, and a dad inside. One wrong step and he’s over the edge.”

“Yet he had wraps in his pocket.” Lennon folded his arms. “Wonder how that happened.”

Accusation. Hard. Direct.

“There’s a lot of bad people on the street.” I sniffed. Looked away. Felt Tristan’s eyes on me like lead.

“That there are,” Lennon agreed, and I turned back to him.

We stared each other down, the air between us twisting into barbed wire. Then Lennon flapped his hand at Tristan, my Tricky, as if introducing some casual stranger.

“He’s his defence counsel.”

My heart punched my ribs. Only then did I let myself look at Tristan. Properly. For a single beat. And fuck. He looked back at me with those impossible blue eyes, hitting me as hard as getting clipped in the jaw. Pulled something out of me I didn’t want anyone to see, too. Certainly not here. In front of Lennon. Or anywhere public enough for the world to carve it open.

“You alright?” Lennon tilted his head. “You look like you seen a ghost.”

I tore my gaze from Tristan. “Not likely.”

“Cause he ain’t chasing you no more, eh?”

My jaw locked. No answer. None that wouldn’t blow my world apart.

Tristan straightened, professionalism sliding over him like a suit of armour. “I have a hearing.”

Our eyes met. Just a second. But enough for my stomach to drop clear through me. And Lennon fucking saw it. All of it. Because he always had. No matter how hard I tried to shield things from him, he knew me. Knew the tells. The shifts. The way I softened without meaning to, same way he’d clocked me back in the day when Levi walked into a room and my guard slipped for half a breath.

Same thing now.

Worse now.

Because the man I was looking at was Tristan. And Lennon saw me following him with my eyes as he turned and walked into that courthouse, fingers sliding beneath his collar where I’d had my tongue last night.

I hated it.

Hated how easily Tristan unravelled me.

How Lennon clocked it.

Mostly hated myself for not being able to look the fuck away.

I ripped my gaze from behind the glass and turned it on Lennon. “You here for Billy then?”

“Yeah.” He eyed me. “He started coming down the gym. Thought I’d got through. Obviously not.”

“Ain’t his fault, Len.”

“I know.” His glare burnt a hole clean through me.

“Ain’t my gear either.” I lowered my voice so it wouldn’t travel to whoever might be listening in. It wasn’t the place to have this conversation, but I needed Lennon to understand. I’d spent so long with him hating me. Justifiably, sure. But hate is exhausting. And he already had way too much on his plate. “You know I don’t poach kids. Don’t peddle shit cut with God-knows-what.”

“Whatever, Rich.” Lennon went to shoulder past me.

I didn’t want to leave it like that. Us, distant and sharp-edged. “How’s fatherhood? Those babies keepin’ you up?”

He paused.

Micah and Marley. His New Year miracles. Twelve hours of labour, emergency section. All the things he’d never tell me himself. I only knew because Amara sent me a photo. And I sent flowers and those stupid matching baby suits without signing my name, hoping he’d let them in the house.