[ 23. Come Here Often? ]

Six years later...

By the time I turned eighteen, I thought I already knew what my talents were, but as it turned out, I was good at everything.

Now that I was in my thirties, I'd had plenty of time to try new things. I went through an artistic phase where I convinced myself I was the next Picasso. Seriously, I'd get off work and go home, smoke some weed, and paint for three hours straight and then Google how to sell your own art. Then I discovered the joy of competitive mobile gaming since I didn't have any consoles. Made some little kids cry a few times before I moved on to using my skills more tactically. I saved up my money and bought a power washer. Spent three years knocking on people's doors and offering to clean up their sidewalks for cheap. When my back was starting to bail on that idea, I found a new hobby.

Selling drugs.

I know, I know. Not the most substantial way of living. But it was so easy. I met someone at an old kitchen job who introduced me to his weed supplier, then I just started asking around and created my own unofficial clientele. The money was fantastic and I found I made a killing if I kept working a shitty part-time job and finding new buyers through that.

We all thought my crime days were over, sure, but I think it was just in my blood at this point. The thrill of ducking and dipping the law, albeit much easier when my business was done from my bike, was too exciting to quit.

I didn't mess with anything crazy. Just weed and the occasional psychedelic. College students love weed. They were my best customers and paid my bills.

"Yo, Vinnie, can you help me out here?"

My head lifted from counting the profits from this week. Ron was holding a steaming pot over the sink and looking at me in exasperation. I jumped up from the table and reached into the sink, adjusting the tipped over colander for him. He didn't normally cook in this house, hadn't since he moved in at least, but tonight he wanted to thank me. I'd helped him get in touch with his kids for the first time in fifteen years, which wasn't at all difficult. The hardest part was convincing him to put in the effort.

So he had been Facebook messaging his daughter in Massachusetts and it seemed to be going well. He looked happy.

"It'll be ready in a few," he said, humming to himself. I nodded to his back, going back to separating the bills by monetary value, then sliding Ron's share across the table for him. He had an actual job out here working with some construction guys, but he helped me bag up the drugs, so I gave him a little something-something. "You got any plays tonight?"

I checked my phone for any texts, but it was dry. "Just a small one at Floyds later. Other than that I'm in for the night," I said, stuffing my cash into my pocket to stash away after dinner. I was looking forward to the sale tonight since it was at a bar I actually frequented and wanted to get a pleasant buzz on my way out.

Ron and I spent the next few hours eating his mediocre—don't tell him I said that—take on chicken alfredo and playing cards until the kid texted me to tell me he was at the bar and to come whenever. I packed up my supply, grabbed my wallet, and headed out with my helmet under my arm after assuring Ron I'd do the dishes when I got back.

It was so warm here. That was one thing I'd never get used to about Tennessee. It was so different than New York.

I slid my helmet on over my head and strolled over to where my bike was parked. When I first came here six years ago, all I could think about was how much it sucked not having wheels. It was going to be my first big purchase when I got off my feet, some beater car with no AC or something, but then I saw my baby on Facebook marketplace being sold for half the price of some shitty Civic and it was love at first sight.

So now I was the proud owner of an '04 Honda 650. It was on it's way out, but a good starter bike for when I follow my dreams and buy a brand-spankin'-new Harley someday.

The breeze was gorgeous on my bare arms and I wished the streets were emptier so I could close my eyes for a second and bask in the warmth for a second. Sometimes I'd hit the backroads and do that in the middle of the night. I could never do this in the Bronx, the traffic was too much and I'd be better off running full speed on foot. Ron often commented on how nice it was to just cruise around leisurely, something he didn't get to do often in the city.

Floyds Bar & Grill was a college student hot spot, but that didn't stop handsy old guys from frequenting the joint to flirt with younger girls. Despite the bumping parties thrown on the regular with DJs and game contests, it was somewhat of a mixed bag.

I parked my bike on the side of the building and made sure everything I needed was in my pockets. Ron had helped me create somewhat of a brand, as much of a brand we could get away with while illegally distributing drugs and without a business license. We found some quirky plastic baggies online with a cartoon tiger wearing a crown. It was distinct enough to put my name out there amongst my clients. If they saw the baggies, they knew who it was from.

The kid wanted me to meet him inside, so I tucked my
helmet under my elbow and started heading around the building. In the midst of looking around the parking lot for any cars I recognized, I felt my heart skip a beat.

Under the streetlight, right on the corner, there was a sleek, black Camaro. The familiarity of it sent a rumble through my belly and the memory of him struck me hard. I couldn't think of any reason why it had to happen in that moment. I'd left him in New York. Hadn't seen him since the train station. It was just the same car.

Despite myself, I circled around the back of the Camaro and looked closer. It was like I was trying to convince myself it was him.

I felt my body relax when I saw the bumper. It was decorated with stickers. One said Proud Parent of a DHS Honor Student. Another one was something to do with a hunting club, then a punny sticker about tailgating. Of course it wasn't him. We were miles and miles away from each other. Sometimes I laid in bed and wondered if everything with him even happened or if maybe I'd imagined it.

Shaking my head, I went back to the task at hand. The kid's name was Baker or Beckett or something bougie and I'd only met with him once before, so I wasn't sure I'd be able to pick him out of the crowd. The bar was packed when I stepped foot in, so I decided to just grab a drink and text him that I was at the bar. He could find me if he wanted it bad enough.

"Whiskey straight," I told the bartender, a perky blonde with perky tits. She nodded and went about taking a girl two seats down from me's order as well. I texted the kid that I was here and got comfortable, setting my helmet on the bar top in front of me.

My drink came and I sucked the entire thing down without a word from Baker/Beckett. One way to piss me off was to make me come all the way out here and waste my time, so if he didn't answer in the next ten minutes, he was getting blacklisted. I ordered another and when it arrived, I took it outside to have a smoke.

There were a lot of trees in Tennessee. Greenery was few and far between, or dead most of the time, in the concrete jungle. I liked how clean the air smelled, too, even tainted by cigarette smoke. When I first moved here, I couldn't believe how different everything was. Now it'd been six years. Felt like home.

I scrolled on my phone for a few to kill time. Georgette's daughter just had her ninth birthday party. I'd had a pair of roller skates delivered to her house as my present to Nico. They were due to visit in a few weeks to come and stay with Ron and me, so we were going to do all sorts of fun things to catch up.

"Got a light?"

I didn't flinch at the question, holding my cigarette between my lips and reaching into my pocket to pull out my lighter when I looked up. And I froze. Was this déjà vu? Or was this another one of those daydreams where I think something's happening and then I blink really hard and it turns out to be a figment of my imagination?

So I tried it. I closed my eyes as tightly as I could, trying to blink him out of existence.

When I opened my eyes, Hayes stood before me with a cigarette of his own in the corner of his mouth. I stumbled back a step, looking him up and down and all around, trying to make sense of this. "Am I drunk?" I asked, keeping my eyes on him in case he made any sudden moves. "Are you real?"

"Hi, Vinnie," he smiled.

He looked different, but seeing those eyes brought me back to six years ago, the night I first met him. In similar circumstances, too. I felt my heart rate quicken even more. Hayes had grown a beard and it suited him, giving him a more rugged look. His hair was clean cut, pushed back from his forehead in a sleek, sexy way. Everything about him was the same, but it felt so different.

I threw back the rest of my whiskey. "How— Why? What are you doing here?" I asked with a pinched throat, warm and burning from the liquor.

"I live here," he said simply. "I've been waiting for the right time to come see you."

"You mean..." I was in disbelief, "You've known where I've been all this time?"

Hayes smiled again, running a hand through his hair. I couldn't believe he was standing in front of me and smiling at that. "Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, eyes slipping down from my eyes to my lips. "We've got some catching up to do."

I looked around. There was this confusing mix of feelings within me that I couldn't make sense of. None of them necessarily went together. I was excited and terrified and relieved and somehow turned on? He was here and it wasn't a dream. Was I supposed to be afraid? Maybe he'd come back to finish the job.

"What did they offer? Double?"

"What?" Hayes's smile fell and his eyebrows furrowed.

I crossed my arms. "Triple?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, taking a step closer. I pushed a hand flat to his chest to keep an arm's length of distance between us. He ghosted his fingers over my wrist before grabbing hold. His touch was tender and light, despite his gaze being intense and dusky. "It's just a drink, Vinnie."

His eyes softened when I nodded. "You have a lot of explaining to do," I said sternly, using my hand to actually feel his chest beneath it instead of push him away. I could only imagine what six years had done to him.

My quick sale took a sudden turn that I wasn't quite ready for.