“Put your jewelry in the safe,” Ty muttered and my gaze slid to the unit then back to the TV.
“Thanks,” I whispered back then I noted softly, “You mentioned something about when a mechanic hits a high stakes game. Obviously, you’ve played before.”
To my comment, his response was, “Give and take?”
My gaze moved from the TV up his large frame to his beautiful eyes that were on me.
“Sure,” I whispered.
“I played, yeah. Not often but I did it. My Dad drank his paycheck so growin’ up, wasn’t used to havin’ a lot but found I’m a man who likes nice shit. You like it; you find a way to get it. I discovered I got talent at a table, I found the way.”
Okay, suffice it to say, this I didn’t like. Ronnie liked nice shit too and he found a way to get it. And I was seeing I should have noticed this about Ty earlier. Firstly, he wore jeans and tees well but he wasn’t a stranger to nice suits and expensive cufflinks. Secondly, that morning when I saw his shades, I knew he didn’t pick them off a tall, upright, plastic rack displaying a hundred other pairs of five dollar sunglasses. They cost some cake and he wore them with jeans, a tee and boots like he was used to wearing two hundred and fifty dollar sunglasses. Thirdly, practically the first thing he did when he hit Vegas after getting released from prison was go shopping and drop tens of thousands of dollars. The bags on the desk he still hadn’t emptied weren’t just bling and shades.
Therefore, I remarked, “I noticed you don’t have an aversion to shopping.”
“Also don’t got an aversion to work or gettin’ my hands dirty,” he returned.
“What?”
“I like nice shit but I don’t mind workin’ for it and as much as I like it, not gonna f**k myself in order to get it.”
“So…” I hesitated then went for it, “you playing poker didn’t have anything to do with you being wrongly imprisoned?”
His eyes held mine.
Then he said quietly, “Didn’t say that.”
There it was. Shit.
“That’s why you won’t play anymore after tonight,” I whispered, disappointed that he’d semi-lied.
“No,” he replied. “The men who marked me to go down needed a fall guy. I took money from one at a table; he got pissed about it so I got his attention and became his fall guy.”
“So you playing poker had something to do with you being wrongly imprisoned,” I stated.
“No,” he repeated. “I just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time getting the wrong kind of attention. Someone else won that night, it woulda been him. I accidentally brushed him as I walked by him buyin’ a beer at a bar, he didn’t take kindly to that, that woulda bought me the same shit. They didn’t care who they targeted they just needed someone to target. It didn’t have to do with poker. It had to do with them needin’ a fall guy. I got in their sights, that’s who I became.”
At his explanation, the fact he gave it to me and the fact that it proved he hadn’t lied earlier, I felt my breathing steady and hadn’t realized it had become slightly labored.
Then I went for it again. “How did that happen, um… exactly?”
He shook his head. “Done givin’. Now I take.”
Well, at least I got something.
He continued, “You asked, you got. Now I ask.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Told me you don’t got a Mom or a Dad. No grandparents. You got any people?”
I shook my head.
“None?” he pushed.
I kept shaking my head but affirmed, “None.”
“How can you have no people?”
“I do. Ronnie’s family.”
“They aren’t your people.”
“Yes, Ty, they are.”
He held my eyes.
Then he asked, “They raise you?”
“Kind of.”
“Not an answer, Lexie.”
I blew out a sigh.
Then I pulled my knees to my belly, wrapped my arm around them and told him my story.
Or parts of it.
“My Mom and Dad died when I was young. Long story. My Dad’s parents died when he was sixteen. Car crash. My Gran died when I was six and Granddad when I was thirteen. My Dad had a sister but by the time Granddad died, well… let’s just say, I was a handful and she didn’t want any part of that so she didn’t take any part of it. Obviously, because of that, although she lives in Dallas, I don’t see her and when I say that, I mean ever. Life was shit for me, Granddad wasn’t all that great, I was thirteen, acting out and just needed someone to give a shit. She didn’t. I got put into a home for girls then was farmed out into foster care. Foster care took me to a new school, I met Bessie, Ronnie’s sister, we became BFFs something, by the way, we still are. They lived in what could be considered one step up from the Projects and that was a small step but, trust me, no matter how f**ked up that was, their home was better than foster care. So I spent a lot of time there. My foster carers still got paid so they didn’t give a shit where I spent my time and ate my meals. Ronnie’s Dad took off, whereabouts still unknown so he grew up watching his Mom struggle to put food on the table and spending most of his time avoiding local boys who were trying to recruit him into a gang. He was also the man of the family. He took that seriously but, obviously, didn’t do it smart. As far as he was concerned, there were two ways to take care of his women. One, the NBA. Two, what he ended up doing. Problem with that was, Ella wanted not one thing to do with money earned the way he earned it. This caused dissension. I was the link that kept this dissension from going into meltdown. Ella never took any of Ronnie’s money but at least I managed to keep him in the family fold. And I was definitely part of the family fold and would have been even if I ended things with Ronnie. We broke it off, I would have got his family, not him and when he died none of that changed so, seeing as that’s the way and the fact that they were the only real family I knew, they’re my people.”
When I quit talking, Ty just stared at me and said not a word.
So I asked, “Are we done with give and take?”
“Yeah,” he answered but his eyes didn’t move back to the TV and the way he was staring at me, as normal, impassive but yet I still felt the intensity of his stare, my eyes didn’t move either.
This also made me prompt, “What?”
“I don’t get it,” he replied.
“Thanks,” I whispered back then I noted softly, “You mentioned something about when a mechanic hits a high stakes game. Obviously, you’ve played before.”
To my comment, his response was, “Give and take?”
My gaze moved from the TV up his large frame to his beautiful eyes that were on me.
“Sure,” I whispered.
“I played, yeah. Not often but I did it. My Dad drank his paycheck so growin’ up, wasn’t used to havin’ a lot but found I’m a man who likes nice shit. You like it; you find a way to get it. I discovered I got talent at a table, I found the way.”
Okay, suffice it to say, this I didn’t like. Ronnie liked nice shit too and he found a way to get it. And I was seeing I should have noticed this about Ty earlier. Firstly, he wore jeans and tees well but he wasn’t a stranger to nice suits and expensive cufflinks. Secondly, that morning when I saw his shades, I knew he didn’t pick them off a tall, upright, plastic rack displaying a hundred other pairs of five dollar sunglasses. They cost some cake and he wore them with jeans, a tee and boots like he was used to wearing two hundred and fifty dollar sunglasses. Thirdly, practically the first thing he did when he hit Vegas after getting released from prison was go shopping and drop tens of thousands of dollars. The bags on the desk he still hadn’t emptied weren’t just bling and shades.
Therefore, I remarked, “I noticed you don’t have an aversion to shopping.”
“Also don’t got an aversion to work or gettin’ my hands dirty,” he returned.
“What?”
“I like nice shit but I don’t mind workin’ for it and as much as I like it, not gonna f**k myself in order to get it.”
“So…” I hesitated then went for it, “you playing poker didn’t have anything to do with you being wrongly imprisoned?”
His eyes held mine.
Then he said quietly, “Didn’t say that.”
There it was. Shit.
“That’s why you won’t play anymore after tonight,” I whispered, disappointed that he’d semi-lied.
“No,” he replied. “The men who marked me to go down needed a fall guy. I took money from one at a table; he got pissed about it so I got his attention and became his fall guy.”
“So you playing poker had something to do with you being wrongly imprisoned,” I stated.
“No,” he repeated. “I just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time getting the wrong kind of attention. Someone else won that night, it woulda been him. I accidentally brushed him as I walked by him buyin’ a beer at a bar, he didn’t take kindly to that, that woulda bought me the same shit. They didn’t care who they targeted they just needed someone to target. It didn’t have to do with poker. It had to do with them needin’ a fall guy. I got in their sights, that’s who I became.”
At his explanation, the fact he gave it to me and the fact that it proved he hadn’t lied earlier, I felt my breathing steady and hadn’t realized it had become slightly labored.
Then I went for it again. “How did that happen, um… exactly?”
He shook his head. “Done givin’. Now I take.”
Well, at least I got something.
He continued, “You asked, you got. Now I ask.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Told me you don’t got a Mom or a Dad. No grandparents. You got any people?”
I shook my head.
“None?” he pushed.
I kept shaking my head but affirmed, “None.”
“How can you have no people?”
“I do. Ronnie’s family.”
“They aren’t your people.”
“Yes, Ty, they are.”
He held my eyes.
Then he asked, “They raise you?”
“Kind of.”
“Not an answer, Lexie.”
I blew out a sigh.
Then I pulled my knees to my belly, wrapped my arm around them and told him my story.
Or parts of it.
“My Mom and Dad died when I was young. Long story. My Dad’s parents died when he was sixteen. Car crash. My Gran died when I was six and Granddad when I was thirteen. My Dad had a sister but by the time Granddad died, well… let’s just say, I was a handful and she didn’t want any part of that so she didn’t take any part of it. Obviously, because of that, although she lives in Dallas, I don’t see her and when I say that, I mean ever. Life was shit for me, Granddad wasn’t all that great, I was thirteen, acting out and just needed someone to give a shit. She didn’t. I got put into a home for girls then was farmed out into foster care. Foster care took me to a new school, I met Bessie, Ronnie’s sister, we became BFFs something, by the way, we still are. They lived in what could be considered one step up from the Projects and that was a small step but, trust me, no matter how f**ked up that was, their home was better than foster care. So I spent a lot of time there. My foster carers still got paid so they didn’t give a shit where I spent my time and ate my meals. Ronnie’s Dad took off, whereabouts still unknown so he grew up watching his Mom struggle to put food on the table and spending most of his time avoiding local boys who were trying to recruit him into a gang. He was also the man of the family. He took that seriously but, obviously, didn’t do it smart. As far as he was concerned, there were two ways to take care of his women. One, the NBA. Two, what he ended up doing. Problem with that was, Ella wanted not one thing to do with money earned the way he earned it. This caused dissension. I was the link that kept this dissension from going into meltdown. Ella never took any of Ronnie’s money but at least I managed to keep him in the family fold. And I was definitely part of the family fold and would have been even if I ended things with Ronnie. We broke it off, I would have got his family, not him and when he died none of that changed so, seeing as that’s the way and the fact that they were the only real family I knew, they’re my people.”
When I quit talking, Ty just stared at me and said not a word.
So I asked, “Are we done with give and take?”
“Yeah,” he answered but his eyes didn’t move back to the TV and the way he was staring at me, as normal, impassive but yet I still felt the intensity of his stare, my eyes didn’t move either.
This also made me prompt, “What?”
“I don’t get it,” he replied.
