Page 9

Theo sinks lower in the seat and stares at his hands.

Great.

Now I’m the asshole.

I let out a long breath and drag a hand over my jaw. The kid’s been through enough without me barking at him because I can’t solve my own problems.

“Look,” I say, forcing my voice into something more gentle. “I’m working on something, alright? Just give me a minute.”

He gives me about three seconds.

“Can we rent that place?” he asks.

I close my eyes.

God help me.

“No.”

“But it has a yard.”

“So does a prison. Doesn’t mean we’re moving in.”

“Your apartment doesn’t have a yard.”

No. My apartment has a massage parlor next door that isn’t really a massage parlor, a stairwell that smells like piss, and a man on the third floor who has definitely stabbed someone but keeps saying he found Jesus, so apparently that’s fine.

It’s no place for a kid. I’ve known that since day one.

“It has a yard,” I say, gesturing at the empty house, “but look at the damn place. The roof’s half-rotted. The fence is falling down. It’s a dump. We can find somewhere better. And look at the neighborhood⁠—”

I stop.

Carmen’s house sits right next door.

Neighbors.

That’s my in.

I’ve got nothing else.

A neighbor? That works. We met at a bar, then I happened to move in next door. Bit weird, maybe, but weird isn’t illegal. It gives me proximity. Reasons to knock. Reasons to be outside when she is. Dozens of chances without having to manufacture a single one.

Moving is a pain in the ass, but it’s clean.

Once the job’s done, I find somewhere better for me and Theo. We need to move anyway.

Theo’s gone quiet beside me.

“You know what?” I say. “Let’s do it.”

He beams at me.

“Don’t get too excited,” I tell him. “Place is still a dump.”

I reach for the keys in the ignition, then stop.

There’s one very big problem with this plan.