Chapter 8

Trace Kalecki

“I remember when you were fun, babe,” Eric slurred lazily. His head lolled back against the couch, and I eyed the mess all around. Two dudes were lost in their highs on the floor. Pizza boxes, empty bottles, fucking needles, and tinfoil.

“I remember when you were sober,” I replied absently. Why had I come? Why had I bothered tracking him down?

It used to be just booze. Then he’d tried his ma’s pain meds. Then he was buying Tramadol on the street. Then benzo. Then he discovered oxy. And now…

He was one party away from shooting up fentanyl.

Who knew what he was on right now.

“Come on, Eric. Let’s go. You can crash in my room.”

He found that funny for some reason. “Like your dad’s gonna let me in.”

“We’ll wait till he’s gone to sleep.”

He shook his head and sprawled out across the cushions. “Life’s too good, Trace.”

The edges of my vision grew blurry and my lungs burned and… I sucked in a breath, the images faded, and I cursed and rolled over to bury my face in my pillow. God-fucking-dammit.

It’s just a bad dream.

Unfortunately, the memories pulled me back in.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“What’s there to break up? I haven’t heard from you in weeks!” My voice bounced off the walls in the alley, and I had to get a grip. I was fucking working. I couldn’t deal with another ride on the Eric roller coaster. I was so done.

He glared at me, though it fell short ’cause he was still affected by whatever he’d been on. “What the fuck happened to you, Trace? We used to do everything together, but ever since your old man put a lock on your?—”

“He didn’t put a lock on shit,” I seethed. “He offered me help—he gave me an out, and thank fuck I took it. Otherwise, I’d be you right now.”

I was so mad that I couldn’t see straight. How fucking dare he come here? Selfish motherfucker. He wasn’t even one of those friends who’d struggled with depression and never got help; he was an arrogant party animal who didn’t wanna stop. He’d stolen from his family, from me, and from his friends. He was an excellent manipulator, and he came and went as he pleased. Nothing was ever his fault.

Drugs had killed everything I’d once liked about him and amplified the shit I hated.

Trace, wake up.

I wrenched away from the voice, and the touch, and catapulted myself out of the nightmare in the process. What the fuck? I was in bed, it was still mostly dark out, but I could hear the faint sound of traffic. Sleep-laden anger and images of Eric morphed into disorientation and…there was Ben.

I sat up and scrubbed my hands over my face.

Why did I have to dream about that motherfucker? Eric belonged in my past—a part of my life that still made me cringe.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked quietly.

A breath gusted out of me, and I nodded and let my hands fall.

I was okay. Sort of.

“You wanna talk about it?”

That wasn’t what we did. Ben and I didn’t talk. Not on that level anyway. We were infuriatingly awesome at being friends in a more casual way. We could talk sports for hours. We could hang out and play pool, prepare soup kitchen kits, cook, play darts… He was too good at darts. In pool, we were evenly matched. I could lose track of time watching him work on the bar, which was almost finished. He could talk forever about Alvin.

We just didn’t dig into each other’s pasts or any topics that were sensitive.

“Not really.” I glanced over at him as he got ready to go to bed. He must’ve recently come home from his night shift. He’d showered and changed into a new tee and boxer briefs. “Busy night?”

He shook his head. “Just two calls, and I got the second right as I finished the first.”

That was better than the time he’d come home exhausted and got a call right as he’d slipped under the covers.

“Come on.” He nodded toward the doorway. “I’m hungry.”

How was that my problem? I grabbed my phone on the armrest of the couch. “It’s six thirty.”

“You could probably eat too. You didn’t touch my ma’s casserole last night.”

Because my emotions had devoured a whole bag of pretzel sticks!

Whatever.

I got out of bed and pulled on my sweats, and then I followed him out into the kitchen.

Ziggy was like, fuck that nonsense. He stayed on his stack of blankets.

The empty corner in the kitchen was a mess, ’cause Ben was restoring a kitchen table he’d found for free on Craigslist.

I yawned and aimed for the coffeemaker. I didn’t drink much of it, but that cup in the morning was vital.

Thank fuck it was Monday today. I was off. The bar was closed.

I had to go out and find a birthday present for Ben. May was here, and he turned forty-nine tomorrow. He’d made reservations downstairs for four. I was gonna meet his mother and son.

I’d already become well-versed in Elsie’s cooking, and it was next level. Actually, Ben was a great cook too. Whenever he had dinner in Elmwood Park, he came home with leftovers.

Once the coffee was brewing, I grabbed two bananas. He was putting bread in the toaster, so I knew what he was in the mood for.

“When I came out to my folks, Ma cried and apologized for struggling to understand,” Ben said out of nowhere. “She said she loved me and supported me, no matter what, but it was difficult for her.”

I side-eyed him and chewed on the inside of my cheek.

Made sense. His parents were of that generation. You had to give them time—if they didn’t kick you to the curb outright. My mother had struggled too, but mostly because she didn’t want me to get bullied and shit like that. Dad had been weirdly understanding. He was usually more old-school and set in his ways, but he had his moments.

“My old man, on the other hand,” Ben continued wryly. “He stopped speaking to me. He turned the whole family against me—except for Ma and Angie.”

I frowned to myself and grabbed a knife and a cutting board.

“What else,” he sighed. “Oh, first time I spent a night outside, I bawled my eyes out. I felt like the biggest failure on the planet.”

Okay, ouch. And he had to have an agenda with these confessions, right?

“Why are you telling me this?” I had to ask.

“Because we know everything and nothing about each other, Trace,” he murmured. “I know you talk shit about your old man but have a very special relationship with him, and you act like a married, bickering couple on the phone when you discuss the bar. I know you’re generous. I know you look out for your staff. I know the first thing you do on Wednesday morning is go through the For U deals on the Jewels app.”

“’Cause without coupons, they’re fuckin’ expensive,” I defended.

He chuckled quietly, and the toast popped up. It was our cue. I sliced the bananas, he spread the butter, I spread the Nutella, and then he put the banana slices on top.

“What I don’t know is why you’re having nightmares about someone you called Eric,” he went on. I winced. “I also don’t know why you don’t date. I think there’s more to the story of how you learned self-defense and eventually taught it to women and at-risk teenagers.”

So now he wanted to get real?

Fuck.

I poured us coffee and grabbed the milk while he plated our toast, and then we went back to the front room.

It’d become an automatic thing; one of us turned on the TV and muted the sound. We both liked to have something running in the background.

It was especially helpful if I was going to rehash anything from the two years of my life I’d rather forget. Except…maybe the part about Eric wasn’t that rough. Where Ben was concerned, I mostly dreaded him figuring out that my past was coming back to haunt me because of him. And I knew how quickly he rushed to blame himself for shit. It wasn’t like he’d intended to hurt me, and I was the one who’d told him we didn’t have to discuss the letter. He’d asked me a few days after his return if there was something we should resolve because he didn’t want anything to go unsaid.

Ben was right. We knew everything and nothing about each other. And we both sucked at talking about what mattered.

I poured some milk into my coffee and braced myself. “Eric and I went to high school together, and we…I don’t know, hooked up from time to time. I can’t say we ran in the same circles, but we ended up at parties together on the weekends.” I took a sip to test the temperature. Ah, cheap and milky, my favorite. “After graduation, we started hanging out more, which I know today is because I was a fucking mess. I didn’t know what to do with my life, college held zero appeal, and it wasn’t like we had the money to send me to a good school.” Even if we’d had the money, I wouldn’t have gone. I’d been so tired of school. “I took a few classes to appease my folks, but the more Dad pushed me toward business and economics, the harder I fought back. It was so clear that he wanted me to take over the Clover one day, and it wasn’t on my radar at the time.”

Ben hummed around a mouthful of toast. “No surprise. You’d just gotten free from school.”

Exactly. He got it.

“Right. So I went the opposite direction because I’m a dumbass,” I said. “I started going out more. Eric and I were suddenly a couple, and I got hooked on his way of constantly turning us into the life of every party.”

Even though I kept my stare fixed on the TV or my food, I sensed his gaze on me.

“I drank a lot. Did some coke…” I swallowed. “Did more coke, smoked more… And quickly realized I was too poor to maintain a coke habit. So Eric introduced me to cheaper thrills, but they weren’t my jam. He wanted downers, and I craved uppers. His version of parties turned into funerals. He just wanted to sit on a couch and act like a sloth.”

“And you preferred clubs,” he guessed.

I nodded. “Fake ID, Boystown, and ecstasy. At the same time, I had enough self-awareness to know I was spiraling. I knew that if I continued down the path I was on, I’d get stuck. I became kinda grossed out by myself, because in that environment, I saw so much shit, and I did fuck-all to help anyone.” Those memories could still give me guilt trips to this day. Young girls doing anything for a hit, guys trying to prove themselves in front of friends, theft, abuse… “Dad tracked me down at the exact right time,” I admitted. “He was furious. He physically dragged me outta there, slammed me up against a wall, and asked if I wanted a future or not.”

I’d broken down like a fucking baby.

“I never had to spend a night on the streets,” I said. “Dad kicked me out of the house because I was upsetting Ma, but I had friends to crash with. A week here, a month there… And that went on for roughly a year, before Dad found me at a party.”

“Good man.”

“One of the best.” I guessed I’d reached the worst part now. “After that, I…” I exhaled a laugh, even as my stomach churned with unease. “I rebelled again, this time with myself. I got this idea that I needed structure and a good authority figure.”

“Ah. The Army and your attempt to become a cop.”

“Exactly. And then self-defense and some martial arts. I vowed to myself never to look the other way again when a piece of shit should pick on someone their own size.” I shook my head and finished my first piece of toast. My last too. I had no appetite. “I still had a foot in the door of the place I’d left behind. I was trying to get Eric away from drugs and all that shit.”

Back then, I’d had a studio apartment on the edge between the South Side and Evergreen Park, and I’d never forget how Eric played with my hope. He’d made so many empty promises.

“Dad didn’t trust me around the bar yet, but he’d called in a couple favors so I could work elsewhere,” I continued. “I worked part time at Sam’s Club and Mariano’s close to where I lived. Hunting down Eric was also a part-time job, I guess.” I picked up my coffee mug, seeing his intoxicated expression in my mind. How I’d fucking hated it. “Every time I managed to pull him away from one of his parties, he promised to get clean and start fresh. Then when I woke up the next morning, he was gone.”

Eventually, he’d stopped making promises.

Eventually, I’d stopped hunting him down.

Eventually, he’d OD’d and died.

I took a swig of my coffee, but it tasted of old memories.

I noticed Ben was no longer interested in his toast either.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m the reason you’re having nightmares,” he said with a sigh. “I take it Eric’s story didn’t end well.”

“I found out he was dead seven months after he’d been buried,” I confirmed. “And before you give yourself a hard time, you weren’t my boyfriend when you walked out without a word, Ben. I didn’t know you leaving that way was gonna stir up old shit. Besides, I’m not actually sure that’s why.”

He furrowed his brow and glanced my way.

It was time for me to be honest.

I swallowed and set down my mug. “My biggest fear is that’s gonna happen again, and everything’s different now. It would hurt way more.”

Right then and there, I realized I was willing to lay it all out. After weeks—fuck, months—of shitty communication on both our parts, he’d taken the first step today. More than that, he’d been very open in that damn letter. So it was my turn to make myself vulnerable, despite that it scared the shit out of me. Because it was so new. Other than Eric, I’d had one brief relationship, and it’d crashed and burned within a few months. I hadn’t been able to commit as much as he’d wanted, so he’d moved on without telling me for a while.

Ben wasn’t like my pathetic pool of exes. I knew that.

“I’m not going anywhere, Trace,” he told me quietly. “I wish you’d told me, though. We should’ve hashed this out weeks ago. You should’ve let me grovel.”

I shook my head tiredly. It was pointless. “In your shoes, I probably woulda done the same thing.”

I knew firsthand how feelings could freak someone out, and he’d hinted at an attachment. That it hurt to borrow a page from my life or whatever. He’d felt the need to leave because he’d crash once the illusion burst.

“Can I share my biggest fear now?” he asked.

I eyed him wearily.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat to face me more. “Other than losing what I’m currently trying to create, I’m…” He trailed off and scratched his forehead, seemingly changing his mind. “Maybe it’s not even a fear. I’m more resigned.”

“About what?”

“Never catching up,” he admitted. “Dating and all that shit—it doesn’t exist for me, because it can’t.”

I felt myself go cold at the same time as my heart caught on fire in the worst way. It fucking hurt. It pounded, as if screaming for help, and a cloud of anxiousness billowed up in my chest.

“Alvin will always need me.” He dropped his stare to his food. “The day I manage to get him to move, it has to be a place I’m prepared to spend the rest of my life in. And…” He swallowed. “While I’d never trade being his dad for anything, it’s painful to accept that my inability to be flexible will make sure I’ll always be alone. Most of my money will continue going to his care, and I highly doubt I’ll be able to get to where I once was, work-wise. Having my own company, feeling somewhat secure with my finances, having a buffer. I’ll always worry.”

But I can be there.

Fuck.

“What happens to him when I die?” he asked. “What happens when my mother dies? What happens if, in a year or two, there’re layoffs and I lose my job?”

A low, rushing sound invaded my senses, and a new fire ignited. He was never going to pursue anything with me, because he had bigger problems, and he didn’t want to burden anyone with them. More than that, he didn’t believe the person who might wanna share all this with him existed.

I knew the person existed, though. He was sitting right fucking here, and it was almost as if he’d been waiting for Ben to give him a new purpose in life.

I understood Ben and Alvin were a package deal. Of-fucking-course they were. Ben’s ma, too.

My stomach knotted with nerves and discomfort as a quick flash of an image shot its way into my brain. I saw Alvin in one room, Elsie in the one with the half-bath, Ben and me right in here. And despite the immediate urge to run from such a commitment, I forced the scenario into the forefront of my mind. I let the image grow and unfurl. I saw way more laundry in the bathroom. I saw home-cooking and a reason for having a kitchen table. I saw my family merging with another. I saw Ben and me sharing every struggle…

For every second that ticked by, each glimpse crystallized further and became part of my new dream.

I saw a future that scared the shit out of me with how much I wanted it.

My brain started spinning, and I took the leap the second I realized I was conjuring strategies to win him over. Because this was fucking happening. I understood he was too afraid to even hope, but I wasn’t. I was gonna make him see that we belonged together.

Ben had fought for his survival for years. He’d had just enough energy to get through the present. And now he was on his way. Now he could see a tomorrow too. Then…? Goddammit, I was gonna give everything for the chance to share a future with him.

Holy fuck.

So, yeah. I should get my ducks in a row.

“I don’t think you’ll be alone,” I said.

He knitted his brows together in confusion and reached for his coffee. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Sh-yeah,” I chuckled.

Elation buzzed within me all of a sudden, because I was so fucking determined. I was sure the nerves and the fears would cause me to waver from time to time until the day he joined my fight, but we’d get there.

One of the obstacles was what he’d told me at Costco a few weeks ago. In order to get him to promote me from fuckable—or however he’d label me with his statement of being “confident to deliver on a quick fuck”—to…someone he wanted to shack up with and hopefully fall madly in love with, I was going to need to up my game.

I had to start behaving more honestly in terms of openness, flirting, and interest in knowing everything about him. Meeting his ma and son tomorrow would help. I’d dig all the way to China if I had to.

Which, come to think about it, I’d essentially done from the start. I’d snooped around to find his damn wallet in order to get to a place I could trust him more, so I could help him more. I’d wanted to go the extra mile for him way earlier and to a higher degree than I’d ever wanted before, and it was sure as fuck not only tied to wanting to be helpful.

“Are you gonna elaborate?” Ben drawled.

Right. That seemed like a logical follow-up question, but the answer was no. He wasn’t ready.

“What’s there to elaborate?” I deflected. “I’m just confident your Irish luck’s about to change.” And speaking of Irish and…his wallet…I should confess.

“When did I tell you I’m Irish?” His forehead wrinkled.

“I was getting to that,” I replied. “Your last name is Cleary or something, right?”

“O’Cleary,” he corrected.

“That’s what it was!” Fucking hell, I should’ve remembered the O. “I found that out back in January because I dug through your wallet when you were in the bathroom, but then I forgot most of the information, and it’s been bugging me for months.” I scratched my head. “But yeah, I knew it was Irish.”

He stared blankly at me.

I grinned sheepishly. “The more information I had on your tight-lipped ass, the more I could trust you, and the more I could help out.”

“My tight-lipped…” He shook his head as if to clear it, and he shot me a little scowl. “You fuckin’ sneak.”

“You left without a word! Call it even?”

That earned me an “Are you fucking serious?” look.

I slid closer to him and linked my arm with his, and that evidently earned me some suspicion too.

“Think about how cute I am.” I threw that out there, reminding him of the word he’d used at Costco. Fucking cute. What about irresistibly sexy? I’d rather be that.

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I cranked up my innocence and rubbed his arm.

This might actually be fun.

Unfortunately, my phone started ringing, and only one person was ballsy enough to call me this early.

Ziggy woke up and looked our way, quickly losing his interest.

“Hold that thought,” I said and stood up. “Or move on to a better thought if the current one isn’t working in my favor. We don’t need negativity in our home.”

I grabbed my phone from the armrest, and sure enough, it was the Spawn of Satan calling.

“Mornin’, sis?—”

“Thank God you’re awake,” Sarah croaked. She sounded like death warmed over, so I guessed my day off now included uncle duties. “Is there any way you can watch Charlie after kindergarten? I woke up with a fever and haven’t stopped barfing.”

“Thanks for the image.” I made a face. “Do you need help getting him there first?”

“No, one of his friends’ mothers is picking him up in an hour,” she replied. “I don’t have the freaking time to be sick, and this week is so busy.”

Yeah, I knew that. I was gonna watch Chip on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.

“We’ll work it out,” I said. “When do I pick him up?”

“Three-fifteen. The problem is, I promised him we’d go to that color run thing by Navy Pier—the Monday to Monday in Color I told you about? Today is the last day.”

I didn’t remember Sarah saying anything, but Chip had been buzzing about it for days.

“Okay, so I’ll take him.” I shrugged. We could get a couple beefs afterward. “What time is the run?”

“You’re the best, Trace—thank you so much. They start a run every hour from noon till six. I’ll email you the information. It’s free, by the way. And it’s in that park right before the pier, you know where Lake Stage is?”

“Yeah, I got it. So we’ll head over right after I pick him up. No worries.” I paused and figured it couldn’t hurt asking. “You sure it’s not morning sickness?”

“Not this again,” she grated out. “I’m not fucking pregnant!”

“Easy,” I bitched. “I’m just lookin’ out for the family.”

“No, you’re looking out for the bar by treating me like a baby factory.”

“Is it working?” I asked.

She hung up on me.

Fucking rude.

I sighed and dropped my phone on the mattress, then turned back to Ben, who was handing out one of his wry smirks.

“I’m watching Chip today,” I said.

“Oh, I heard everything. You were sweeter than sugar right up until you started hinting at Clover heirs again.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. He and Sarah had met a single time, for about ten minutes, and it’d been enough for Ben to be Team Sarah on the baby front. Fucking White Sox fans. They always picked the wrong team.

“Anyway. Shouldn’t you go to bed?” I thought it was best to change the topic. “I’m gonna hit the shower and think about what I’m buying for your birthday.”

That was code for, be nice to me because I’m giving you a present tomorrow.

He grinned faintly and scooted up on the bed. “I already told you what I want.”

I rolled my eyes and walked out of the room. It’d be a cold day in hell before I put on a Sox tee and posed for a picture.

* * *

Chip was feeling pumped by the time we arrived at Polk Bros Park by Navy Pier, and I couldn’t lie. The music, the freaking T-shirt weather, and the view breathed life into me too. The green slope was lined with parents and dancing organizers of the event; there were big balloons, food vendors, a DJ on the stage, and colors everywhere. The part of the lawn near the finish line was an explosion of colors from that powder they threw over the kids when they completed their race.

I could give Sarah a lot of shit, but she was an amazing mother. She was always bringing Chip to events like this one.

She’d already texted me twice with reminders to take a ton of pictures, but as I spotted one of the two organizer tents, I noticed they offered photos for…holy shit, fifty bucks?!

Uh, I had half a mind to call the cops, ’cause that was highway robbery.

I scratched my forehead, then turned my ball cap backward.

So, blurry photos on my phone or professional pictures that robbed me blind?

“Where do I get my number, Uncle Trace?” Chip looked around, then started jumping in place and pointed up the slanted lawn. “Here they come! They run so fast!”

Aw, fuck it. He was worth it. I was splurging today.

I looked up toward the gaggle of maybe twenty kids running down the lawn, and the DJ scratched the turntables and boomed out, “Here come all the winners!” Parents cheered, and the staff got the dust cannons ready.

The run was a quarter-mile long and probably started on the other side of the tree line. I’d have to make sure to score a good spot where I could see Chip. He was a fast little shit, and I didn’t wanna miss the moment he ran through the dust. Or when he received his gold medal that was made out of chocolate.

Uncle Trace liked chocolate too.

“Let’s go get your number, chipster.” I ushered him to the other side of the finish line, and we ended up in another line.

I had no complaints, for once. Except for the price tag on that photo package. Christ. But otherwise, it was a good day. Unseasonably warm, over seventy degrees, which was promised to last for a whole day before we dropped to sixty and rain for a week, and the skyline was obviously a highlight too.

I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and assumed it was another text from Sarah.

Huh. It was from Ben.

Is there room for one more?

Was he here? I glanced around before I responded to him.

Of course. Where are u?

“Right behind you, kid.”

Shit. I spun around, only to come face-to-f… Face-to-sternum with Ben. Delicious-looking Ben in jeans, a beater, and an open flannel shirt. He only wore flannel when he was working on something handymanly. Was that a word? It should be.

“It’s Ben!” Chip declared cleverly. “Hi, Ben. I’m gonna run and get color powder in my face!”

Ben’s faint smirk morphed into a smile as he glanced down at Chip. “Well, I couldn’t miss it. Are you excited?”

“Yuh, super! Oh, this song!” Chip instantly turned to me and held up his arms, and I laughed and picked him up. Which didn’t happen every day anymore. But yeah, we had this song.

We didn’t even know the language, but it was a club-worthy remix of an African artist’s song, with a fast beat, tribal fusion, saxophone that Chip pretended to play like a pro, and lyrics we could sort of lip-sync to.

We bobbed our heads to the beat, and I didn’t exactly stand still. I had to put some oomph into each dance move Chip performed seated on my hip. The boy went all in with his hands in the air, his whole body shimmying.

I smirked. “Take it away, sax player. Here’s your solo.”

He was ready. Fuck air drummers and air guitar players—Chip beat them all with his air sax.

I bumped my hip to Ben’s, and he grinned and shook his head at us.

Chip made time move faster, and the line got shorter and shorter until it was our turn. I added his name to the roster, and a woman gave him his number for me to pin to his shirt. Scripted instructions were rambled, and I got the gist.

The line for the photography was a hell of a lot shorter, and no wonder. I pointed to the price tag and leaned closer to Ben.

“If you ever wonder if I love my nephew…” I said.

He followed where I pointed, and he lifted his eyebrows. “Jesus Christ. That’s highway robbery.”

Exactly what I’d thought!

“Is the camera included?” he joked.

I laughed. “Right?”

When it was our turn, I filled out a form with Chip’s name and, more importantly, his race number and my email. One of the photographers would keep an eye out and guaranteed ten photos we could choose from. One print and three digital files were included in the price.

Fifty bucks poorer, I headed over to the staff that was gonna guide the kids through their run, and due to the growing crowd on the last day, they were adding extra runs. That suited me perfectly, because it meant less waiting.

A woman introduced herself as Terri, and she had nine helpers to make sure no kids veered off track.

“You stay close to Terri, you hear?” I leveled Chip with a serious look. “You listen to what she says.”

“I will!”

“Good boy. Ben and I will be at the finish line. Oh, and remember to close your eyes when they shoot the color dust, okay?”

One of Sarah’s reminders.

“You sound like Mommy—that ain’t cool,” Chip laughed.

I sucked my teeth. Fucking brat.

As I’d guessed, the run started just on the other side of the lawn, over the small hill, but it still made me a tad nervous to let Chip out of my sight. Thankfully, the race was gonna start in a few minutes.

I bit at a cuticle as I watched Terri and her staff usher approximately fifteen young kids up the slope, and Chip turned around and waved excitedly to me.

I smiled and waved back.

Ben came up next to me. “I never wondered, by the way. If you loved him.”

I glanced over at him.

He smiled, still looking in Chip’s direction. “I miss those days sometimes. Alvin was never into activities that tend to attract crowds, except for one thing. He was obsessed with watching marching bands at games.”

I smiled too.

“He’d wear noise-canceling headphones and fuse himself to me right up until the band started playing,” he said. “He became a whole other person.” He nodded up the hill. “Kinda like Chip. For a short moment, Alvin was all energy and excitement. Couldn’t sit still to save his life.”

I was looking forward to meeting him tomorrow.

“And now…” Ben sighed. “Now he’s into bath bombs and chalk.”

I chuckled—wait, chalk? “Chalk?” I’d heard about the bath bombs, and I’d actually read up on it. Because every now and then, in between reels of bar food and sports, I sometimes saw those videos pop up on Facebook. Bath bombs being taken apart, sparkly fingernails clicking against glass, people cutting soap of all things…

It was a whole thing where visuals and sometimes primarily sounds gave off pleasing vibes for viewers.

Ben laughed through his nose and nodded with a dip of his chin. “Yeah, that’s the latest. He orders blocks of gym chalk online and breaks it apart in his videos. Can you fuckin’ believe it? His last one got four hundred thousand views.”

Seriously? Four hundred thousand?

“Jesus.”

“I know.” He shook his head, and we started walking back toward the finish line. “He’s got nearly twenty thousand followers now. It’s insane.”

Gym chalk, huh? I made a mental note.

Because one thing was clear. Ben missed the fuck out of his son, even though they saw each other at least three or four times a week these days. In other words, Alvin was my best weapon. If I could get that guy to like me…?

“Speaking of Alvin, I reserved a corner booth for tomorrow,” I said. “He can have his back to the whole dining area if there are too many impressions.”

“I appreciate it. Thank you.” He folded up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. “He’s mostly sensitive to sounds, but too much movement will drain him too.” He nudged me with his elbow. “He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“Oh yeah?” I grinned. “Have you talked me up good and proper?”

He chuckled. “I, uh…I introduced him to Nutella and pretzel sticks. No talking up necessary after that.”

That made me laugh. Priceless!

“He says they have the perfect crunch. Plus, he loves Nutella.”

Well, I was a genius, so…

We found a good spot near the finish line that wasn’t too crowded, and I circled back to how Ben had ended up here today. After a weekend of working extra, he only had today off before he returned to day shifts tomorrow, so I’d assumed he’d sleep more.

“I was in the area,” he replied. “Someone in River North wanted to get rid of two solid oak kitchen tables on Craigslist, so I hightailed it over there. The tables look like shit, but it’s good material.”

I smiled to myself and scratched my nose. “That explains your slutty handyman outfit.”

He didn’t precisely take the bait. “Should I worry that you have named all my outfits? The slutty handyman, the slutty casual wear, the slutty road worker?—”

“And it stops there,” I pointed out. “You only have those three.”

“I don’t need any more.”

“I didn’t say you did. I’m just saying it hasn’t exactly been a huge project to come up with three names.”

“Clearly,” he snorted. “You’ve shown zero creativity.”

I grinned and scrubbed a hand over my mouth, beyond addicted to the way we talked. He was just so fucking easy to be with.

“It’s actually four now,” he added. “Ma bought me a button-down at Old Navy the other day. Apparently there was a sale.”

“What color?” I eyed him. His casual wear included jeans and a dark-green Henley that he looked incredible in.

“Black.”

I nodded. “Hot. But it doesn’t count as a fourth until you have pants that go with it.”

“What kind of bullshit rule is that? I have the same pair of jeans for the handyman and the casual.”

“Yeah, but you have a pair of sweats too to make up for that.” I frowned up at him. “Don’t you know anything about fashion?”

He gave me a look and folded his arms over his chest, but before he could sling back a wisecrack, we heard a blast go off in the distance. It was quickly followed by kids cheering, and I vaguely remembered having heard it before. Only, it hadn’t registered until now. The race must’ve begun.

I waited for the little runners to appear and changed the subject. “We’re getting something to eat after. You wanna join?”

“Yeah. Not here, I hope.”

Fuck no. I liked Navy Pier, but the food was overpriced.

“On the way back to Grand,” I replied. “I suggested we get beefs, but he wanted a hot dog.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said. “But I drove, so no need to take the L.”

Ah, of course. He’d picked up the tables. Craigslist was his one exception; otherwise, he didn’t touch the work car unless he was on the clock.

Then I cursed, because life wasn’t easy with a five-year-old. “Chip doesn’t have a car seat.” If he’d been taller or a little older, I’d be okay bending the rules with a makeshift booster seat, but Sarah would be so pissed if I accidentally killed my nephew.

It wasn’t like she had any spare kids, which I told Ben too.

He closed his eyes and shook his head at me, shoulders trembling with silent laughter.

I smiled.

We’d figure it out. Chip and I could take the train. No worries. Right now, we had a color run to watch.

The DJ cranked up the music again, and I eyeballed a motherfucker who thought he’d position himself in front of me. Think again, jagoff.

“There they are.” Ben nudged me.

I refocused and saw the little crowd of kids coming down the slope, and I grinned as I spotted Chip near the front. Pride filled me to the brim. Just seeing him so excited was contagious.

Ben and I applauded with the other family members.

“You got this, Chip!” Ben let out a sharp whistle.

“As fast as you can, chipster!” My cheeks hurt from smiling, and we were about to get what we’d come here for. The staff on the sidelines got ready with the color dust, and the DJ announced that all the winners were inbound.

A beat later, the colors exploded in the air, and the kids sprinted into a rainbow of neon yellow, pink, green, blue, and orange.

The first line of kids emerged with triumphant grins and crossed the finish line, with Chip following shortly with a few others, and then the rest. Fuck, he was cute. And completely covered in color powder, from head to toe. So now it made more sense that Sarah hadn’t let him wear his usual gym shoes to kindergarten. Shoes weren’t as easy to get clean. Clothes could be thrown in the washer.

“Come on,” I said at the same time as Ben put a hand on my back and nodded at the kids.

We exchanged a quick smirk, then went over to meet up with Chip. And collect our photos. They’d better be fucking stellar.

“Chip!” I called. He’d just been handed a chocolate medal that he quickly put around his neck, and he spun around in an attempt to locate us.

I was almost there when he saw me and beamed, and then I scooped him up and hugged the shit out of him.

“Did you see me?!” he exclaimed. “That was so fun!”

“You were fucking fantastic.” I grinned and wiped some orange dust off his cheeks. And fuck, it was rubbing off. I was definitely doing laundry tonight.

“Did you see me too, Ben?”

“You kiddin’ me? I saw every second of it.” Ben made the mistake of ruffling Chip’s hair, which sent a cloud of purple and green dust over all of us.

“For chrissakes,” I laughed. “Let’s go see if the photographer earned his money.”

“Can I sit on your shoulders?” Chip begged.

Ben answered before I could. “You can sit on mine, buddy. White Sox fans tend to stand taller.”

I swung an incredulous look his way, and he just laughed. Oh, the motherfucker needed to be brought back down so both his feet touched the ground. But it would help if the Sox hadn’t won their last two games. And if the Cubs hadn’t lost their most recent one.

The moment Ben’s knee hit the ground, Chip was all too happy to climb up.

“You’re not corrupting my nephew,” I warned.

“Corrupting or saving?” Ben helped the boy into place, then rose to his feet, eliciting a wheeeeee! from Chip.

“Corrupting,” I insisted.

Ben ignored me. “Hey, Chip? Do you know the most common words spoken by a Cubs fan?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. What was he up to now?

“Like, words they say a lot?” Chip questioned.

“That’s exactly it,” Ben replied. “Can you guess?”

“I will end you,” I whispered.

Ben winked. He fucking winked. Maybe half a percent of the population could pull that off. He had to be one of them?

Chip giggled. “I don’t know! Go Cubs!”

“Close,” Ben said. “But correct answer is, Maybe next year.”

I rolled my eyes and decided to give him the cold shoulder until I’d scrubbed the memories of my old man saying, “Well, there’s always next year” a million fucking times over the years.

“Is he teasing you, Uncle Trace?” Chip asked.

“He totally is,” I was quick to reply.

That only made the boy snicker. “Mommy does that too.”

What the hell? Was this Gang Up on Uncle Trace Day?

I left the shits in the dust and stalked over to the photo tent.

“Wait!” Ben called. “I have more Cubs jokes!”

Oh, screw it. It was on now. I handed over Chip’s race number to the guy at the tent, then turned around to face Ben.

“You want jokes? Look in the damn mirror, man,” I said. “Or how about a quiz? What do the Sox have in common with a possum? Both play dead at home and get killed on the road.” I wasn’t done. His scowl only fueled me. “What do you call forty rich fuckers sitting at home watching the World Series? The White Sox.”

Chip started guffawing, though I doubted he understood the digs.

“What does a Sox fan do after his team has won the World Series?” I pressed. “He turns off his PlayStation.”

With that said, I turned my back on him once more, and I took a deep breath. It was important to stop before things got too heated.

“Here we go, pal.” The guy adjusted his laptop so I could see the images they’d taken. There were more than ten, and he explained they took extra to ensure I had ten quality pictures to choose from.

One of the first I clicked on became an instant pick. It’d been taken a second or two before Chip ran into the color explosion. His arms were raised in the air, hands balled into fists, a warrior cry frozen in time, and eyes screwed shut. Fucking perfect.

The other two, I had to go with when he emerged from the dust cloud. I scrolled through a dozen of them, and they were all good. He looked so damn happy. Sarah would probably like the one where he’d just opened his eyes and he was reaching the finish line.

“Okay, so those three there.” I pointed at the screen. “And the last one in print, thanks.”

“No problem. You’ll get all three in a zip file on your email, and your print will be ready in a few seconds.”

“Thank you.” I nodded and stepped aside for the next schmuck who’d shelled out the big bucks. But at the end of the day, fucking worth it.

* * *

“And how do you want your hot dog, champ?” I asked, helping Chip down to the ground again.

Trace’s preferences were eerily similar to mine, so that would be an easy order.

Chip stepped closer to Trace and tugged on his tee, to which Trace bent down to hear what the boy whispered in his ear.

We’d ended up at a vendor in the middle of rush hour, so I hoped the plan was to return toward Navy Pier so we could eat in peace. It was just a couple blocks away.

“Next!”

I jerked my chin and stepped up. “Hey, two dogs with everything, except pickles—and extra mustard on one.” I turned back to Trace, who was nodding.

“Yup, and next time you see Grandpa, you call him totalitarian for deciding what you put on your food, you hear?”

Chip grinned and nodded. “Okay!”

Trace smiled and met my gaze. “One with just relish and ketchup.”

Fair enough. Suddenly, I understood the whispering, and I could guess what Trace’s old man had said. I sincerely hoped he hadn’t been serious. Alvin loved his ketchup too.

I placed the last order and dug out my wallet from my back pocket.

It was still an indescribable feeling to be able to pay for my food and treat Trace and Chip. I was feeling like a human being again. One who was currently fucking starving—and losing his mind. But the latter was Trace’s fault.

Coming up here today hadn’t helped.

It didn’t matter what Trace did; everything about him reeled me in. He was talking about his worry of waking up and seeing me gone, but at this point, I wasn’t sure I physically could. Helping out at the bar made me feel like I was contributing well enough—I mean, I’d replaced the entire bartop, and now I was gonna fix the booths that needed a makeover. Trace was right. It was a win-win situation. For once in my life, I wasn’t the only one on the winning side when it came to people helping me.

Moreover, I was rediscovering traits that’d been buried for years. For one, I wasn’t one of those who naturally felt shitty about themselves. Low self-esteem wasn’t my default setting. I was feeling better now that I could afford the care Alvin needed. I could make sure Ma’s fridge was stocked, and I could pitch in with rent.

I didn’t have to lie to anyone anymore.

When we got our food, I held on to Chip’s for now, and I noticed Trace had dug out a twenty from his pocket. He eyed me carefully, half in question, and I smiled and shook my head. I knew he wanted to offer to pay as much as he understood this was important to me.

“Thank you.” He reached up and kissed my cheek.

Fuck me, I was so screwed.

How could one person be so fucking disarming that he could control my heart rhythm?

It was bullshit.