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Fuck.
The motherfucker set me up.
“Rayne Saint James. Get down on the ground,” a voice blares from the police cruiser.
I consider making a run for it. I’m a big guy but I’m certain I can outrun a couple of beat cops.
But for what? To get shot at? I don’t fucking think so.
The Saint James family has the best lawyers in the country in our pockets. Whatever they think they have won’t stick any better than any other bullshit charges the cops have conjured up over the years.
And all Russo’s done is sign his own death warrant. I wanted to take him down before, but now I want his fucking head.
1
Emerson
FINAL NOTICE
It’s the third one I’ve received this week, and I do the same thing with this one that I’ve done with all the others. I shove it into the bottom of my bag.
Of course I know pretending it doesn’t exist isn’t going to make things any better, but I can’t pull money that doesn’t exist out of nowhere, and so for right now, it’s easier to stick my head in the sand.
With each final notice I receive, I lose a little bit of hope. It hasn’t made a difference how many jobs I’ve taken, or how many hours I’ve done. It hasn’t mattered how shitty my apartment is or how much I scrimp. I can’t get my head above water.
I’ve done the math, of course. There is no way out of the hole Brad dug for me, and yet every morning I get up, I put on a brave face, and I keep on keeping on.
What choice do I have?
I rub at my tired eyes and curse. “Fuck.”
Carefully I drag my fingertips under my eyes to remove any smudges. I can’t remember the last time I slept more than a few hours at a time. Between being too stubborn to admit defeat and defer my studies and working three jobs, sleep just isn’t a luxury I can afford. I mean, I can barely afford to eat. Sleep seems kind of irrelevant at this point.
Stifling a yawn, I push through the doors of the gym. The Chicago Center for Youth has been in my family my whole life. The Center started with my grandfather. He had a hard upbringing, saw children in his neighborhood go down dark paths, almost went down a few himself. He worked tirelessly to get it up and running, and it’s been a Chicago institution ever since.
I work part time in the office, but I’m studying to do more. This place is why I refuse to admit defeat and defer. I want to be a counselor, to make a difference in the lives of the kids that come through. I don’t ever want them to feel alone, or like they don’t have someone they can speak to. I want to be their safe place.
It’s a cold Chicago morning, so the old building is still warming up. I say a quick hello to Julie, the cleaner, before heading into the office. There’s a mountain of work waiting for me, and I groan at the sight. I’ve been falling further and further behind in all aspects of my life, certainly not excluding the youth center. We have a fundraiser next weekend that I still have to confirm the menu for, chase up the guest list, write my father’s speech, as well as find something to wear. It will have to be something I already have. If my budget barely extends to include food, it definitely won’t cover a ball gown.
I sit at my desk and sigh. “Where do I even start?” I ask myself quietly.
It isn’t long before kids start arriving, all filtering through the office to see me before heading into the kitchen. We recently started providing breakfast and I’m still kept up at night at how many of our kids aren’t provided with three meals a day at home.
Our breakfast service is a trial. We don’t have the funding long-term, not unless a miracle hits us. Just keeping the doors open is a struggle most months as the city withdraws more and more funding. It’s why we’ve invited all the city’s socialites, businesspeople, and any Fortune 500 member I could find an address for. We need the donations if we want to keep operating.
Dad wanders into the office and I brace myself for the defeated look I’ve grown accustomed to over the last few months, but instead he greets me with a grin.
“You look tired,” he notes as he takes the seat opposite my desk.
“Gee thanks.” I roll my eyes.
“You’re working too much. Can you cut back at the club?” Worry fills his green eyes so similar to my own.
He doesn’t know about the debt. He has enough to worry about with this place, and he wouldn’t be able to handle not being able to dig me out of the hole that idiot dropped me in.
“I’m fine, Dad.” I force a smile to my lips, hoping it’s enough to ease his concern.
He eyes me for another moment before he starts to speak again. “I have great news! We have a new community service participant coming in this afternoon!”
