Hope Unbroken (Unveiled Series Book 3) (15 page)

Swallowing, I edged closer and risked a look at the wall. Vivid memories from the night Dee died rebounded off the poster into my gut—the stench of must and blood, the sirens against the whispers. The same loss of balance gripped me now.

Someone had blown up a grainy picture of Dee’s broken body in my arms on the street, blood seeping through his clothes. Dark, bold text topped the image:
CLOSE THE CENTER BEFORE YOU END UP LIKE THIS
.

How could anyone’s callousness stretch this far?

Ms. Mendierez broke free and crumbled to the sidewalk. “Who’d do this?”

After visiting Tito, I honestly wasn’t sure anymore. But that didn’t stop tremors of fury from coursing through me. I’d go to the city. Talk to whomever I needed to. Someone had to stop this.

“Mr. Williams?”

We all turned toward Mr. Glyndon as he approached. He swiped off his hat and took in the scene, looking all around as if scouting for the nearest escape route.

Trey met him on the sidewalk. “Mr. Glyndon, what are you doing here?”

He fiddled with his hat. “Got an email. Said to meet you here at three.”

“An email from who?”

“I assumed it was you.” The skin around the bridge of Mr. Glyndon’s nose wrinkled. He backed up. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Trey reached for him. “Wait—”

A news van zipped up to the curb right in front of us. A microphone and camera were in our faces before we had time to blink. “Mr. Glyndon, can you tell us what’s going on here?” a woman with entirely too much makeup on asked.

Sweat beaded across his red forehead. “I . . . I don’t understand. How did you know . . .? I shouldn’t . . .”

Someone must have tipped them off.

Miss Ruby Lips flung the microphone back. “Is it true this is your rental property? What do you have to say about the statement someone’s trying to make today?” She motioned for the cameraman to sweep a wide shot across the wall and sidewalk where Ms. Mendierez still sat on her knees.

Mr. Glyndon’s gaze flitted in every direction and landed past the camera. His face paled. Clutching his hat, he backed up again. I traced his line of sight and caught a sliver of that same BMW pulling away.

I turned in front of Mr. Glyndon and blocked the camera with my back. “Please. This needs to end. Whatever someone’s got on you isn’t worth what it’s costing these families.”

A stream of sweat coursed down his cheek. He blinked away from me toward Trey. “I’m sorry. I . . . I can’t.”

The reporter butted her microphone in between us. If he wouldn’t man up, I would. I turned and pointed to the scene. “The only statement this person made is that he’s nothing more than a common thug who resorts to vandalism and threats to get his way. But we’re not going anywhere.”

A couple of our younger kids, who’d apparently been eavesdropping, slinked around the corner and raced right into Trey’s and my legs. I picked up Teneecia. She swirled a red Blow Pop in her mouth. After one peek at the camera, she turned and flung her arms around me.

“This isn’t just a rental property.” I stroked her hair. “It’s a second home for kids who are counting on us to keep it open. We’re in the process of raising the necessary funds as we speak. We’re even planning a service day next week. Something the kids can be involved in.”

I resituated Teneecia on my hip. “By helping out, they’ll be gaining a real sense of responsibility and investment—things we’re teaching them every day in our programs. Not to mention the chance to experience how they can use their own resources to make a difference.” I darted a pointed glance at Mr. Glyndon. “We could all use a little more of that.”

The lights from the camera glared over his glistening forehead. “And Mr. Glyndon, what’s your take on this organization? Will you be supporting it?”

A series of swallows passed. “Yes. Of course.” Backing him into a corner in front of the media seemed to have oiled up his jaw with the one thing he always caved under. Pressure. “We were discussing the extension on rent before you arrived.”

Sure we were. At this point, I’d let him worry about detangling himself from his growing web of lies. Between the money we could raise from the service day and the second chance the Success Foundation was giving us, hopefully we’d have him out of our hair for a solid year.

I shrank out of the spotlight while he floundered for a way out of his own. The reporters could have him. The center was the only thing I was concerned about. Teneecia coasted off my hip, and I helped Ms. Mendierez up from the ground. We tore down the poster, crumbled the intended harm into a tight wad that belonged with the rest of the trash at our feet, and stood our ground on the one thing we were all learning to fight for. Hope.

chapter twenty

Reconstruction

A week and a half wasn’t long enough to mend the sting that poster had left, but we were pressing forward. Focusing on our service event was a huge help.

Darius towered above me, scraping paint off the basketball pole with a little too much enthusiasm. I flicked a paint chip off my cheek for the hundredth time that morning. “How about we switch places again.”

Teetering on my toes, I made a valiant attempt to transition from squatting to standing without falling on my face. Darius’s laughter followed him all the way to the ground.

“Hey, you try standing up after sitting like that for an hour, and we’ll see who’s still laughing.”

“’Cept I ain’t old.” He did a series of squats like he was a professional weight lifter or something.

I chiseled away, making sure at least half of my chips conveniently fell spot on his head.

At least he provided some entertainment. Same as the rest of the kids buzzing around the center today seemed to be doing.

Brandon hauled a push broom across the court with two girls chasing after him, carrying dustpans. Every few minutes, little squeals rang in response to the cold overspray
accidentally
coming from the carwash station. Mr. Jenkins from our finance class was busy getting an industrial sized grill fired up.

Taking it all in, I dragged my sleeve over my forehead and peeled away the hair matted to my face with sweat. Despite the brisk air, the hard work kept me warm. It was definitely worth getting here before seven this morning. The turnout for our service day had already exceeded my expectations.

All that publicity last week might’ve had something to do with it. That and the multi-colored flyers Trey’d practically wallpapered the city in. Though, I had a feeling the edgy competition between break dancing and spoken word contests happening out front was the real driving source of attention at the moment.

People funneled back to the string of tables we’d set up, each with pairs of kids seated behind them ready to share their talents. Handmade bracelets. Hair braiding stations. Artwork displays.

It was probably the first time they ever saw how their skills could serve a greater purpose. Despite how much money we raised for the center today, watching the kids gain a sense of self-worth made the entire event worthwhile.

Even the weather cooperated. I held my chisel between my knees, stripped off my sweatshirt, and tied it around my waist. A refreshing breeze swam over my bare arms in a gentle nudge to keep working. I stretched my neck from side to side and lifted on my tiptoes to continue scraping the pole.

A commotion broke out behind me. Turning, I squinted under the sunlight and dropped my chisel to the ground.

“Mr. A. J.,” one of the girls called. “You’re back!”

With a gallon of paint in his hand, A. J. stopped when his eyes met mine. He diverted his attention to the horde of excited kids practically mosh-pitting him. “Missed you guys too.”

Hugs and pant leg climbing ensued. Until little Andre approached. The crowd parted and left them standing face to face in a silent duel. Hard to blame Andre for his cautious stare. It’d killed him when A. J. didn’t come back.

A. J. crouched to the six-year-old’s eye level and held out his hand in a peace offering.

Andre’s stone-like expression didn’t budge. He flung both fists onto his hips above evenly spaced-out legs. “Not so fast,” he said with an impressive county sheriff accent.

I covered my mouth to shield my laughter.

His hands trailed down his sides, his stoicism crumbling. “You ditched us, Mr. A. J.”

A. J’s chin drooped to his shirt. The collision of vulnerability and remorse on his face was enough to back my already-weary legs against the pole behind me.

He swallowed, inhaled, and slowly raised his head to meet the gut-wrenching look in Andre’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I . . . had some things I had to work through.” His gaze drifted from Andre to me with a level of transparency I doubted even a six-year-old would miss. “But I’m ready to come back now. If you’ll have me.”

Andre exchanged a hesitant glance with his buddy, standing beside him. Thirty seconds of indecision led to an extended hand topped with a smile I hadn’t seen in months. They shared their famous handshake, but Andre held on a minute longer. “Just promise not to bounce again, a’ight?”

A. J. tried to keep a straight face. “A’ight.”

Andre leaned over to his friend as they strutted away. “Girls,” he whispered. “They make us do crazy things sometimes.”

If there had even been a question that Andre deserved the world’s most adorable kid ever award, he’d just obliterated it.

Pardoned of his crimes, A. J. rose to his feet and headed over. “Heard you guys could use some help today.” He held up the bucket of paint and offered his usual disarming smile.

I snagged my chisel from the ground and turned it ’round and ’round in my hands. “Well, I suppose if our local sheriff let you off the hook, then I guess we can accept your help.”

“How very gracious of you.” Still a few feet away, he kept his eyes on me, seemingly unaware of anyone else around.

Silence hovered.

It didn’t feel like he was searching for the right words. More like they weren’t necessary. At least, not to him.

Darius stretched up from the ground with perfect ease.
Figures.

He clasped A. J.’s hand. “What up, bro? Welcome home.”

“Thanks, man. You been running the court while I’ve been gone?”

Darius wedged the chisel under his waistband, kicked a basketball up from the ground, and dribbled it between his legs. “You know it.”

A. J. swiped the ball from him and nailed a backhand layup. “Good thing I’m back to show you up.”

“Psh. You wish, dawg.” Darius followed up his remark with an effortless three-pointer.

Boys.

The basketball thudded against the pavement and rolled off to the side near the grill where Mr. Jenkins was killing me with those amazing barbeque scents.

“Ohhh.” Shouts and hollers echoed from the competition still brewing up front, drawing Darius’ glance.

A. J.’s stare bounced from the street back to him. “Why don’t you let me take over here? I think those playas are waiting for you to show off your mad popping skills.”

Darius busted out his crazy dance moves as he handed over his chisel. He shuffled backward until he reached the fence and sprinted toward the front of the building.

A. J. flipped the chisel in the air as he edged near, attention focused on me again. I backed up and bumped into the pole. His dimples caved into his cheeks with whatever he wasn’t saying.

I leveled my shoulders and straightened out my shirt. “What?”

He pointed to the side of my face. “You . . . you have a bit of paint . . .”

I swiped my hand across my cheek without thinking. Great, I’d probably just made it worse.

Laughing, he steadied his hand over top of mine and lowered it to my side. “Here. Let me get it.” He rubbed the tip of his thumb across my skin.

I swallowed, looked away. “A. J., I . . .”

He stepped back and brandished his chisel. “Guess I’ll start at the top.” Towering above me, he began scraping the sections I’d never be able to reach.

The pavement met my knees in a welcome reprieve from standing under the weight of his smile.

How were we supposed to do this? Work side by side after everything? The kids needed him here. Trey needed the help. I couldn’t be the reason he stayed away. But how were we supposed to make this work?

“So,” I said after another quiet minute. “You’re back?”

The shrill sound of metal against metal stopped. “This is where I belong.” Without taking his eyes off the pole, he laughed sadly. “Being defiant doesn’t always turn out so well.” The scraping resumed and almost drowned out his soft voice. “Even when we’re convinced we know a better way.”

I stared at the ground, hating the hint of heartache in his words.

His hand grazed the edge of my chin. “Hey, it’s fine.”

Is that what he called it?

“I’ll make you a deal.”

Oh boy. This couldn’t be good.

His ambiguous grin only made it worse. “I’ll work out my schedule with Trey so I’m here only on days when you’re not, if . . .”

I sat back on my heels. “If?”

“If,” he said, still grinning, “you let me pick out the song for our dance at Trevor and Jaycee’s wedding.”

That
was my end of the bargain? “Um, sorry to burst your bubble, but that’s kind of a lost cause. Trust me. There isn’t a single detail of Jae’s wedding that she hasn’t had planned since she was sixteen.”

“I don’t know. I can be pretty convincing.”

I rolled my eyes. “Good luck with that. Not even your best man status will score you enough points on this one.”

Unabashed confidence flashed across A. J.’s face.

Perfect. Just what he needed. A challenge.

He reached for the half-chiseled section of paint above him. “We’ll see.”

Except I didn’t have to see. I
knew
. There was no way he’d get anywhere near the chance of slipping something unplanned into Jaycee’s day. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I shrugged it off until what he’d said earlier sank in. I’d been so distracted by the second part of his proposition that I overlooked the first. He said he’d come back to the center only on days when I wasn’t there. I stared past the court into a blur of thoughts. He was keeping his word. That day in the gym, he promised to respect my choice to disconnect our heart tie.

A. J.’s whistle drew me back to the moment. “If you scrape that section any longer, you’re going cut straight through it.”

The scratched-up pole blinked into view. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

A series of car honks rang up front, followed by a roar of whoops and hollers. I exchanged a hesitant glance with A. J., dropped my chisel, and sprang toward the source of all the commotion.

A tour bus with the words “Biggie Rey” running down the middle took up most of the street in front of our building. The kids who’d been dancing earlier all congregated around it like roadies waiting for some star to emerge through the door.

Andre strutted over to us with his arms crossed. He might’ve pulled off the tough look if his smile weren’t glowing. “Mr. A. J., you have somethin’ to do with this?”

“Sorry, bro. Wish I were that cool.”

I looked between them. “Someone want to fill me in, here?”

Andre’s already-widened eyes nearly doubled in size. He tapped A. J.’s leg. “She’s just playin’ us, right?”

A. J. kept his mouth shut.
Smart man.

I knelt to Andre’s side, waiting to be schooled.

He pointed at the bus. “Biggie Rey.”

I blinked. “And he is . . .?”

He shifted his weight to one leg, cocked his head, and stared at me like I was from another planet.

Darius strolled up beside us. “Dang, girl, where you been living? He’s only like the flyest rapper on the music scene right now.”

I pressed on my thighs to stand up. “Sorry. Never heard of him.”

A laugh met me a foot away. “I’ll try not to take that personally.” A hefty guy about my age, surrounded by a swarm of kids failing miserably at playing it cool, stood in front of me. He extended a hand. “Rey Alvarez. You must be Emma.”

I shook his hand on autopilot and looked at A. J. for some clue on how this was happening.

He pointed behind him. “Yo, is it a’ight if we park here for now? It’ll take us ‘bout an hour to set up.”

Andre squeezed himself between us. “Setting up? You mean, like a concert? You’s playin’ right here? Stop messin’ with me.”

He laughed. “I’m not messin’. I even got a few backstage passes.”

Andre busted out a Michael Jackson spin. I caught him by the shoulders and eyed the big time rapper who’d somehow landed in front of our building. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I must be missing something.”

“Riley didn’t tell you about the benefit concert? Wow, my boy’s one smooth dawg, keepin’ it a surprise. I gotta give him props next time I see him.”

Riley. Music scene. Benefit concert. The pieces threaded together a fragment at a time. “He put you up to this?”

“Said you guys could use some help raising funds.” He flicked his chin toward the building. “I grew up in a place like this in Philly.” He took off his cap and fit it over Andre’s head. “We do what we can. Right, little dawg?”

Andre ran his fingers over the bill of the hat, too enthralled to answer.

I fought back an unsolicited rise of emotion. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t gotta say nothin’.” He motioned for his crew. “We’ll take care of everything.” Halfway to the back, he turned. “But you do gots to promise me you’ll stay for the show so you can say you’ve heard of Biggie Rey now.” Laughing, he spun around and disappeared onto the court. Away from my burning cheeks.

A. J. leaned a shoulder into mine. “That was pretty cool of Riley.”