chapter 2

***Dion

"Is all good?"

" casing the joint?

A smile is on my face before I can even turn around.

"Nothing around here worth stealing." Facing Jake Lincoln fully, it only takes a few heartbeats before his arms are wrapped around me.

I clap him on the back twice, but he seems more reluctant than usual to let me go.

"Never stopped you before." He grins wide, the corners of his eyes and laugh lines on his face deepening. The man is always smiling, always happy, always the first one to step up to help someone out. It was like that the day I met him at fifteen and it still rings true today.

"One time." I hold up a finger for emphasis. "I stole something once."

He doesn't need the reminder since he brings up our very first meeting each and every damn time I see him.

"You stole a gun, Dion." His brow furrows, face growing serious, much the same way it did seventeen years ago. Only today he's not in the familiar uniform I've seen him wear more times than I can count. There's no holster belt on his lean hips, no badge pinned to his proud chest. Today he's dressed to the max in a navy suit and a tie.

I grin back at him when it's clear he's struggling with taking the serious route. "It was an airsoft gun. You make it sound like I broke into a car and jacked a drug dealer's arsenal."

"That would've happened a few days later if I hadn't stepped in."

We both pause for a moment, letting reality sink in. He's probably correct in his assumptions. At fifteen, I was wild and rebellious, ready to prove to myself and everyone around me that I was a badass, that I was street smart and could survive in any situation.

It didn't matter that I grew up with two loving parents in a nice middle-class neighborhood. It didn't matter that I laid my head down at night on clean sheets with a full belly when most of my friends didn't have those luxuries. None of that mattered. I'd started down a dark road, and if Jake hadn't been called when I was caught red-handed with a stolen toy gun at a local retailer, my life could've been dramatically different.

"You're right," I finally agree, smiling wistfully with the memories of just how hard I thought I was back then. It doesn't even come close to the way I am now, but life experiences make things different. They set you on a path no one could've predicted.

I'm now officially a badass, at least those around me say that I am. Only I'm on the right side of the law, mostly anyway.

"How's your mom and dad?"

People swarm around us, interrupting to shake Jake's hand and tell him congratulations on his retirement as we talk, but it's always like this around Jake. He's the sort that draws people in. Without even knowing why, people gravitate to him, much the same way I did all those years ago when he offered me something different, something I never thought I'd long for. He offered safety in his mentorship, safety to be around friends who didn't judge and more importantly didn't tempt me into doing all the wrong things. Positive peer pressure changed my life and kept me from making mistakes that would eventually be too hard or impossible to correct.

And he did this with numerous young men and women. Many of those people from my teen years are the ones walking up and greeting him like family, most all of them successful in their own right.

"You didn't answer me," Jake prods as another person walks away. Like always, he never leaves a question unanswered, and he expects the very same from those he interacts with. Accountability is key, according to him.

"Mom is thinking of retiring. She claims kids are brats more so now than ever before, and there isn't one conversation we have that she doesn't lament about how much better things would be if she had gone into accounting rather than teaching. Dad is still working down at the shop, and says he'll continue until the day he dies, especially if Mom retires."

We both smile, knowing Dad is full of it. He loves Mom like I've never seen before. I grew up watching that, wanting that for my—

I clear my throat, refusing to let any of those thoughts infiltrate my head. Eight fucking years since I walked out of that courtroom, and I still get agitated, more over the wasted time than anything else.

"She still teaching in Ellendale?" I nod. "If she thinks those kids struggle, she hasn't seen the kids I work with."

Jake shakes his head, and I know exactly what he's talking about.

Growing up with a mom teaching at one of the best private schools in St. Louis meant free tuition to said school. It also meant I was the poor kid amongst the rich brats, which in turn lead to the constant need to prove myself, only I went in the opposite direction. Instead of working hard to do better, to be better, to show those idiots that I belonged there with them, I gave them exactly what they expected. I was a hardass, skipping school, disrespecting teachers, being an all-around jerk. That is until Jake. The changes were gradual, but eventually Mom's job was no longer threatened by my behavior and I grew up to be a man that was almost respectful.

The Army only lasted eight years. There was no point in staying in after my divorce. I only joined to provide stability for the family we were supp—

Another throat clearing. Another smile at Jake.

"What are you planning to do with yourself now, old man?"

He scoffs, both of us knowing that he's still a badass on the basketball court and could chase down a criminal in full uniform if he were challenged to.

"Retirement just means I can spend more time down at the rec center."

"And that means I'll probably never see him again."

Jake softens, opening his arms immediately as his wife Connie steps up beside him. He presses smiling lips to her cheek, and I watch as her hand settles over his stomach, the move so practiced it's rote.

"He's going to have to find a compromise, right?" I grin at Connie. "Maybe you two could volunteer there together."

My phone buzzes in my pocket as Jake raises an eyebrow at his wife, as if they've already had this conversation and I'm a voice of reason.