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"Brook. I'm in jail."
Of course, you are.
"Are you for real right now?!" I whine. "I do not have the money to bail your ass out, Link. Wait it out."
Edging to toss my phone back on the nightstand, his next sentence made me freeze.
"They think I robbed a gas station, Brook. With a gun."
I sprung up from the bed, his words waking me up like a defibrillator. "Wait, what?"
"I'm being accused of armed robbery," he choked out.
"Did you do it?" I asked.
"I don't own a gun," he snapped back.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to sort it all out in my head. Lincoln had been in trouble a lot over the years. The foster care system wasn't kind to either of us and once he hit high school, he rebelled in every way he could. Since dropping out of high school and emancipating himself at sixteen, he's been in and out of jail a handful of times, though usually for petty things like possession of marijuana or peeing on cop cars. But this was serious.
"Okay, just sit tight," I tell him as I flipped my comforter from my legs.
"What the fuck else am I going to do?" His words were dripped in sarcasm. He's scared. Snarkiness was his defense mechanism.
"Lincoln, just hold on, okay?" I say calmly as I get up and grab a pair of ripped jeans and a baby Yoda t-shirt. "I'm going to come down there, and we will sort it all out."
* * *
Two weeks had passedsince Lincoln's arrest, and of course, I didn't get it sorted out. We couldn't afford the bail, and Lincoln's shitty lawyer wasn't any help except for warning us about shady bail bond schemes. So Lincoln sat in jail while I worked to find a lawyer. Turns out, lawyers, good ones, cost almost as much as the bail itself. Dead ended, I'd settled on putting my trust in the shitty public defender for the time being. But I visited him as often as I could. Unfortunately, between my waitress job at Estelle's Cafe and attending college full time, I missed a lot of visitation hours.
Today though, Lincoln had called me, desperate for me to come in because he hadn't seen me in over three weeks. I succumbed to his request and took off from work early, something I knew I'll pay for in lack of grocery money next week. After packing a few of Lincoln's favorite snacks, I headed out the door to my '91 Jeep Wagoneer.
The engine belted out its usual labored cough before turning over, and I flipped the lights on, making my way down the street. The Jeep had been a gift from the last foster home I'd stayed at. The Jeep was old, painted a flat lemon yellow. There were rust spots around the edges, and none of the hubcaps matched. As I made my way down the street with Doja Cat blasting from the speakers, my eyes began to burn with tears as memories made their way to the surface. In my twenty-one years of life, I have lived through the struggles of what felt like five lives. But there were two constants: My Jeep. And Lincoln. And I couldn't afford to lose either.
I pulled up to the jail and parked in the visitor lot. After signing my name on the dotted line and going through security, I followed the rest of the human cattle into the common area where we all waited. A loud buzzer sounded, making my shoulders jump, and I stood once I caught sight of Lincoln. He found a table near the back, and I walked over.
"I don't care what people say. Orange is not the new black. You look like shit, bro." I set down his bag of goodies and settled into the hard bench.
"Yeah, well, I'm in jail for a crime I didn't commit," he said, taking a drag of his cigarette as he pried open the small bag of hot Cheetos. He tilted his head and exhaled. "Any luck finding me a new lawyer?"
"Oh, yeah, sure. Let me just add up the tips I got last night serving chicken fried steak to a group of seedy truckers, and I'll get right on that."
Lincoln narrowed his eyes as he held my gaze and smashed his cigarette into the small ashtray. "The d-bag representing me is doing a shit job, Brook. I don't even think he believes my story. I need a reputable lawyer, or I'm fucked."
I swallowed and let my shoulders slump forward. The attitude I was throwing at him was all smoke and mirrors. Honestly, it terrified me whenever I thought about Lincoln's situation. Although we bickered and complained like mortal enemies, I couldn't deny that he was the reason I survived foster care and all the other shit that came my way. He was why I had the drive to graduate high school with a 3.8 GPA. The reason I believed in myself was enough to push my way into college. I needed him.
He must have seen the emotion surfacing in my eyes because his expression softened. He reached across the table, taking my hand in both of his. "Listen, sis, I know it seems impossible. But I also know you. You always find a way. And right now, I really, really need a way out."
I nodded, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over my lashes. The buzzer sounded again, a harsh reminder that visitation was short-lived. I stood and let go of Lincoln's hand. A slither of hope rested in his eyes, and it hurt like hell to see it because I had no idea how I was going to get him out of jail.
I walked back to my Jeep and made my way home. Stonebridge was a small city nestled about three hours outside of Chicago. It was the best of both worlds with a bustling downtown and quaint main street vibes. But like everywhere else, it had its nice parts and its less than desirable parts.
My apartment fell into the latter category. I parked behind a building with eroding brick walls and barred windows. Climbing out of the Jeep, I slammed the door shut as I ignored the sirens in the distance. Hoping to make it to my front door without a hiccup, I heard a whistle and against my better judgment, I looked back over my shoulder and eyed a couple of men leaning against the side of the building.
"Hey there, kitty cat," one of them called.
"How much for a ride, baby?" The other one chimed in.
I ignore their advances and hurried inside. Powering up the two flights of rickety stairs, I pulled open the door and sauntered down the hallway to my apartment. Fumbling with the keys, they dropped out of my hands, and I squeezed my eyes shut as tears forced their way through the corners. The weight on my shoulders was enough to crush me. Yet even if it did, I still wouldn't get a break.
I made my way to the kitchen, popping a cup of ramen in the microwave before grabbing the one wine glass I own and filled it with wine from the box on the counter. My entire life was ironic, really. My wine costs more than my dinner. Priorities. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Playing catchup with the cast of Bridgerton, I twirled my fork into my noodles and shoved them into my mouth. Ready to repeat my actions once more, the chime of my phone stole my attention and my screen lit up. A notification from the latest dating app my best friend Mallory signed me for slid across my screen and I rolled my eyes, but still, I couldnt look away. I begrudgingly swiped my thumb across the screen, and my eyes locked on a man who looked to be in his thirties with dark hair and brown eyes. I mean, he wasn't not not attractive…
I clicked on the message he sent. "Nice headshot. Love the red hair. Does the carpet match the drapes?"
Shaking my head I tossed my phone aside, and poured myself another glass of wine.
