Page 36 of Breakaway

“Oof.” She grimaces, a hint of her playful side peeking through once again. “I guess we all have mommy issues.”

“Oh, honey,” I sputter, my laugh that follows skirting on the edge of deranged. “I’m gonna venture out on a limb here and wager that between me, you, and Dayton, the three of us could host seminars about the effects shitty and absentee parenting has on their offspring.”

“I doubt we’d garner much of an audience.” Andi rolls her eyes, completely oblivious to how alluring she is. Her aura alone would fill every seat, the masses clamoring for a chance to hear the tiniest morsel about her life. Hell, the entire state is currently sitting on the edge of their seats as they await the trial of the century to begin. Her disconnect from mainstream media is likely to blame for why Andi is so unaware of how fiercely she’s captivated the country.

“You’d be surprised,” I reply coyly, leaving the meaning of my words open for interpretation.

“If you say so.” She shrugs her shoulders innocently. “But something tells me our share circle would be on the smaller side. Three members, to be exact.” I tug her down the hallway, my chuckle fading as we enter the next portion of the building.

“This used to be a textile business, and from an aerial point of view, it’s shaped like a T,” I tell her, knowing the history of this place verbatim. We veer to the left, which takes us to The Attic, a full-fledged thrift store where everything is free ninety-nine. “And this,” I gesture with my hand, “is Rita’s pride and joy.” Her lips part in awe as she spins in a circle, her gaze bouncing from one thing to the next in rapid succession. Racks of clothing fill most of the massive room, organized by gender and size. Household essentials line the walls, such as dishware and linens.

“What is this?” Andi questions, her soft tone full of wonder.

“It’s called The Attic. One of the main things Rita insisted on when she and Royce were still in the brainstorming stage of what The Village should entail was her desire to retain a certain level of pride amongst their visitors. As you know, Rita was one of the first people Royce was able to help, and she vividly remembers the years prior to them meeting and how ashamed she felt at the mercy of other organizations. She didn’t want to take away a person’s ability to choose the items they liked simply because they were down on their luck and couldn’t afford to browse a regular store.

“In here, they’re free to pick whatever they want instead of being given a sack of clothing to make do with. There’s even a dressing room to try things on. Most people don’t give a shit what stuff looks like as long as it keeps them warm, but moms with school-aged kids and anyone in search of a job tend to be frequent shoppers. It’s not much, but having a small say in how you dress can make all the difference in a person’s confidence.”

“No, it’s huge actually.” Andi gives her own attire a brief once-over, her fingers toying with the hem of the sweatshirt she’s wearing.

It’s her go-to option. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in anything that wasn’t loose-fitting. But somehow, it’s only occurring to me now that maybe she dresses the way she does because her options are limited to what a few good samaritans gave her. My jaw is clenched so tight, it’s painful. Someone needs to make this right, but I have no idea who’s deserving of the blame. This entire city has failed her, as well as the other victims imprisoned by Veritas. We were too blind to our own problems to notice the goddamn cult that was operating in our backyard.

“It’s amazing how much thought has gone into this. I can’t imagine the logistics of running such a place, and while I’ve caught on to Royce’s wealth over the past few weeks, it must cost a fortune to offer this level of accessibility to those in need,” Andi muses, sticking close to my side as I lead us in the opposite direction.

“It’s certainly not cheap, but Royce is a businessman above all else. He knows how to get expenses down to the bare minimum and what can be written off as a tax exemption. Aside from that, The Village relies heavily on donations. Not everyone is appreciative of what he’s doing in Chaplain, but there are a few people loyal to the cause. For instance, Waylon’s is a local farm-to-table grocery store that contributes several pallets of produce every month.” I point to said items as we step inside the next room on our tour, appropriately called The Pantry.

“Holy shit,” Andi sputters, her eyes flaring wide at the dozens of shelves filled with food of all kinds. “Based on everything I’ve learned, I’m going to assume things work the same in here as they do in The Attic?”

“Bingo.” I grin proudly at how fast she’s catching on, then gesture at the stack of baskets by the door. “We have a system in place to avoid anyone taking more than necessary, but for the most part, that’s not an issue we see too much of. Rations are determined based on family size, and every week they’re allowed to shop for what they need versus getting a box of random items they might have no use for.” Andi’s feet plant firmly to the floor when I attempt to move us deeper into the room, so I spin to face her, my breath catching when I notice the wetness gathering along her lashes.

“I’m sure you guys are told a million times a day how life-saving this place is, but seriously…you have no idea what I would’ve given to have something similar when I was a kid. So thank you, from little Andi and every other kid who’s been put in a position where they’ve had to play the role of parent at far too young an age.” Her smile is fragile, and like it has a mind of its own, my thumb swipes at the lone tear cascading down her cheek.

“Why do I get the feeling your life was never easy, Sunshine?” My words are spoken quietly, pulled from the broken shards of my own childhood.

“It wasn’t,” she sighs, her eyes falling closed as she searches for strength to speak her thoughts. “I didn’t have parents. I had Prissy and Danny, and even on their best days, they couldn’t be trusted to act responsibly. Maybe as a teenager I would’ve appreciated their lack of care, but to a six-year-old with the flu, their detachment was hurtful and confusing. And the saddest part of all is that they were perfectly capable of giving their attention to whatever piqued their interests; they just cared about the wrong things.” My stomach drops at the hollow way Andi delivers the explanation, but Rita catches sight of us before I can think of a tactful response.

“You made it!” She hugs us both, her excitement palpable. “Since you’re here, I’m assuming things were resolved with Seth?” I give her a quick explanation of how our morning went, then steer us towards a safer topic.

“What can we help with?” I ask, patiently awaiting Rita’s instruction.

“It seems you arrived at the perfect time. Murphy just delivered several boxes of perishables that need to be put away as soon as possible.” Her smirk is telling, as is the dread-filled groan that escapes me.

“Really? You know I hate the freezer. Surely there’s something else that needs tending to?” I steeple my hands beneath my chin in a gesture of pleading, but Rita isn’t swayed by my poor attempt at puppy dog eyes.

“Nice try,” she chastises, an amused laugh on the tip of her tongue. “Better get to it. Those boxes aren’t going to unpack themselves.” Rita smacks a kiss to my cheek and saunters off, a pleased grin stretching across her face.

“You heard the lady.” I sigh in defeat, taking hold of Andi’s hand once again and making a beeline for the sub-zero walk-in that Royce added last year. As expected, the food Murphy so kindly gifted us is placed by the door. I yank it open, grunting from the effort it takes to slide the boxes in. “Murphy Bader owns a butcher shop in Sandy Springs, the next town over. He takes monthly donations from his customers and puts them towards the cost of a cow. He doesn’t charge us any labor to butcher it, but Royce frequently slips his wife a check as a way to show his thanks. So far, beef is the only meat we offer, but maybe one day we’ll work our way up to chicken and pork as well.”

“I had no idea nonperishables were even accepted at food pantries, so I was shocked when Rita mentioned it over dinner,” Andi comments, busying herself by placing the labeled packages in their respective spots.

“They typically aren’t, but as you know by now, nothing about The Village is typical.” I flash her a quick smile, rubbing my hands together to generate some warmth. “Obviously, anyone who’s homeless or living in a shelter wouldn’t have any use for this stuff, but families going through a rough patch or living paycheck-to-paycheck are grateful for the option.” She hums in agreement but doesn’t add her thoughts to the mix.

The next few minutes are spent in silence as we empty the remaining boxes. Since Andi divulged her rocky background prior to Veritas, she’s been somewhat withdrawn. My palms start to sweat when I realize she deserves the same transparency from me. I’d rather cover my dick in honey and spin it around like a helicopter in front of a fresh-from-hibernation grizzly bear before recounting my pathetic need for validation. And yet I find myself doing just that, if only to ease Andi’s mind and make her see she isn’t alone when it comes to parents choosing any and everything over their own flesh and blood.

“My mom…” I start, my voice cracking instantly. Shit. It’s been so long since I’ve said that name aloud. “She was beautiful. I remember looking through her old yearbooks as a kid and thinking she was definitely a part of the cool crowd. Sadly, her downfall began when she was only seventeen, but it took several years for it to become apparent. She made the great mistake of falling in love with the wrong guy. He craved control, and wielding her body however he pleased was his favorite pastime.

“At first, he just wanted to share her with a few buddies, chalking it up to curiosity. It wasn’t uncommon to experiment in the seventies, especially when it came to drugs and sex. But that quickly shifted to him loaning her out like a prized toy he bragged about, and she caved to any demand he made because she loved him. At some point along the way, she got pregnant with my older brother, Elijah. Of course, she had no idea who his father was, and I barely have a memory of him before he left home at fifteen. I came along later, when she thought her fertility was a thing of the past. I tried to get her help too many times to count, but she couldn’t be reasoned with. Sadly, her delusional definition of love is what eventually killed her.”

For several long seconds, I avoid looking at Andi, fearful of what I might find staring back at me. When I finally retrieve my balls from their hiding place and muster up some courage, her face is wiped of all emotion. Even if someone held a gun to my head and forced me to take a guess, I still wouldn’t have the slightest clue what she’s thinking. She’s skilled at hiding her thoughts when she wants to, and the why behind that is nauseating.