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“You haven’t changed a bit.”
“I’m going to help that boy.”
“So the end justifies the means?”
“I need to know where he is.”
After another moment of study, McDonald nodded. “I understand. And we both know that I’m going to give you the information.” He looked over at Kirk, his gaze not wavering for a second. “But we both need to acknowledge something else, first,” he said. “Whether I tell you about Abraham Billings or not, you and I both know you had no intention of saying a word about my past.”
Kirk appreciated Steve’s loyalty. But he spent much more time in honest introspection these days. “I’ve been known to do whatever it takes to get what I want.”
“You’ve never sold out a friend.”
“I sold out my own father.”
“Only after he and your mother spent a lifetime selling you out.”
Kirk reared back. “What the hell are you talking about?” Steve must be getting his story mixed up with someone else’s. Not that it really mattered, but Kirk was insulted, anyway.
“They couldn’t be bothered with the hard work of raising a kid, so they paid your way out of every mess you got into.”
“They paid my way out of jail.”
“They robbed you of every chance to make mistakes, be accountable for them on a kid scale, and learn the necessary lessons. Instead, you had to learn them a much harder way, and pay on a much grander scale.”
Kirk stood there for a full minute, attempting to arrange the pieces Steve was trying to give him into the puzzle that he knew was his life. Any way he looked at them, they didn’t fit.
“Remember when we were five years old and all the guys were trying out for T-ball?” Steve asked.
“Vaguely.”
“We all had a great time at the try-outs. Yeah, we were scared we weren’t going to make the team, but we worked up the courage to try anyhow. And experienced the thrill of genuine victory when we were all chosen.”
“So?”
“Your father sponsored the team, bought brand-new uniforms for everyone with the Desert Oasis logo on the back, and in return, you automatically got a place on the team. You didn’t get the chance we did to face the possibility of failure. And then to succeed. And I don’t think any of the guys ever forgot that the whole year.”
He never felt a part of that team. But then, in his old life, Kirk had never been a team player. He was the only player. And a winner.
“And what about that time in high school when you were running for student body president and your father bought boxes of pizza on voting day?”
Kirk looked at his watch. “Much as I’d like to continue this trip down memory lane, I’ve got to get outside,” he said. “What’s the scoop on Billings?”
HE MADE IT OUT to his post but had to force himself to gentle his voice so he didn’t bark at the kids. The only thing keeping him focused at all was watching for Valerie’s car. He had to talk to her. She’d know what to do.
Hell, small as the juvenile court community was, she probably knew the judge who’d made such an incredible error.
Not that the who mattered to him. What he wanted from Valerie was a way to undo the damage that had been done yesterday to a very special boy—before it was too late to get him back.
Valerie had a meeting downtown and started to drive off before Kirk even managed his morning wave. He flagged her down instead. And got a quick affirmation that she’d meet him for coffee that evening. Then she was speeding away from him. Leaving him with a frown on his face and a load of frustration building inside.
How the hell was he going to wait until nine o’clock that night to set in motion the plan to save his star basketball player? And what was happening to Billings in the meantime?
Whatever it was, Kirk had a feeling that ignoring a minor infraction—the kid smoking a cigarette outside a cemetery—would have been a better option than sending him away.
BY THE TIME Valerie’s car pulled up outside the coffee shop that evening, Kirk had passed beyond angry to livid. Frustration and worry—with no action—did not set well with him.
For the first part of the day, he’d alternated between living in the past, reliving his own brief stint under the state’s care, and hoping Abraham was someplace other than the detention cell he’d been in. The state might not call it jail, but anyone who’d been sent to detention knew exactly what it was.
