Maybe I was a bit too blunt. Maybe I went in over my head. I told CJ I cared about him because it was the truth, and he needed to hear it.

And because I’d learned the very hardest way that life is just too damn short.

Things shouldn’t be left unsaid.

He clearly wasn’t used to hearing kind things said to him, and compliments may as well have been in a foreign language. God, I couldn’t imagine the life he’d lived. And how he came out of it still trying to find the good in people, I’d never know.

I wasn’t lying when I said it was about time the world saw the real CJ Davis. He was a good man. A good-hearted man who’d been dealt a really shitty life. The way he’d clung to me when I’d hugged him hurt my heart, like he was starved for affection. I wanted to hold him and never let him go.

His face . . . the black eye and cut through his lip . . . I hated that he was hurt and I hated that it was his father who did it to him. I hated the fact he was going home to where his father was. But it was CJ’s home. The only home he’d ever known. And truthfully, CJ had lived there longer than his father ever had. His father had spent more years in jail than he had in that house.

I hated that CJ felt so unsafe in his own home.

I called into the servo on the way out of town and grabbed a mobile phone SIM card with a twenty-dollar credit. I got back in the car, where I’d left CJ with the heater on full bore, and handed him the SIM card. He looked like he was about to object to me spending money on him, so I quickly added, “Please take this. It will make me feel better knowing you can call me if you have to.”

He sat back in his seat with a sigh. “I’ve got money at home. I can pay you back.”

“You can buy pizza on Saturday night,” I amended. “Then we’ll be even.”

He looked at the SIM card package. “I uh, I don’t know how this is supposed to work.”

“Here,” I said. “Let me. I’ll show you.” I took out the old SIM and put the new one in. “The phone number on the back of the package is your new number.” I quickly took out my phone and typed it in. “You’ll need to charge it for a while. It’s been dead for years, but it should work.”

I handed it back to him and he smiled at it, turning it over in his hand. “Thank you.”

I drove out onto the highway, and when we were on our way to Ten Mile Creek, I said, “You can text me whenever.”

His smile died. “Did you forget?”

“What?”

“That I can’t read.”

“No, you can’t read well. But you can read.” I gave him a grin. “And I’ll go easy on you.”

“Can you make it silent so my dad doesn’t know I have it?”

“Yeah, of course.” I wasn’t smiling now. “I won’t text or call you unless you ask me something or need me to reply. Just charge it, and there’s a button on the side; click it over and you’ll see a speaker with a line through it on the screen. That means mute.”

“Like on the TV.”

“Exactly. If you want, you can just bring it to work with you on Thursday and I’ll help you set it up then, when I call in for that unscheduled work visit.”

He smiled at my joke but seemed happier with the idea of me helping. “Okay, thanks.”

I drove through Ten Mile Creek, over the railway lines, and pulled up at the turn-off to Davis Road, and I shut off the engine. “You have my card with my number on it, yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“If you need, I’ll come straight back and get you, okay?”

“I’ll be fine. But promise me you won’t say anything to Dad’s PO.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it. Believe me, no good’ll come from that.”

The very last thing I wanted to do was to make things more difficult for him. I said I wouldn’t, and I meant it. I took his hand and his gaze shot to mine. I ignored his black eye, wanting him to know I saw the man inside. “You’re not alone, okay?”

He stared at me and my heart was screaming at me to lean in and kiss him. But I couldn’t. Eventually he nodded, shoved the phone and charger into his jacket pocket, and got out. The rain had eased up but it was freezing cold outside. He pulled his coat up around his neck and disappeared down the darkening road.

I drove home repeating the words I’d just told him over and over in my head.

You’re not alone. You’re not alone. You’re not alone.

Eighteen months ago, I’d have given anything⁠—anything⁠—for someone to say those words to me.

* * *

The next morning at work, I fixed myself a coffee and knocked on Terrell’s door. “Got a sec?”

He looked up from his laptop and smiled. “Sure.”

I sat opposite him and sipped my coffee. “This is a hypothetical only . . .”

“Yes,” he said, drawn out slowly.

“Say, hypothetically, that someone on parole physically assaulted a family member . . .”

His eyes narrowed. “If this is, say for example, not a hypothetical case, you should report it.”

“And if this person made you promise not to tell because it would only make things worse?”

He sighed. “Noah.”

“It’s just a what-if scenario.”

“Then you could do a surprise house-call and see if anyone’s in danger?”

“Would that just make things worse?”

“Not if the person in question is breaking their parole.”

“What if the person who asked me to promise not to tell was the one who got hit. Not the one who did the hitting.”

“The guy on parole was the one who got hit?”

“Actually, what if they were both on parole?”

Terrell sat back in his chair and sighed. “Noah.”

“It’s hypothetical.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’m sure if anyone was questioned, all parties would deny it, and then when we were to leave, parolee A would know parolee B had talked and that would put parolee B in further danger. Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically, parolee B could be removed from the house.”

“Hypothetically, he won’t leave. I’ve suggested that.”

“If they’ll both deny it, it can’t be proved, and if parolee B refuses to leave the situation, then unfortunately our hands would be tied until the situation becomes more serious.”

“So, hypothetically, keeping an eye on the situation is all we can do. For now. Until something else happens. Which I hope it doesn’t.”

Terrell studied me for a moment and then smiled. “In a completely unrelated matter, I’m scheduled to call in to see Dwayne Davis tomorrow.”

“Oh.” I acted surprised. “That is a coincidence. I have a scheduled work visit on CJ tomorrow.”

“Then we can go up together.”

I smiled at him and gave him a nod. “Good idea.”

* * *

The next day when Terrell and I drove up to Ten Mile Creek, the plan was he would drop me off at Mr Barese’s shop and he’d go and see Dwayne on his own. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know the likes of him,” Terrell had said. “If we both turn up, he’ll feel threatened and be less inclined to talk. If it’s just me, I’ll see what I can get out of him.”

It was probably for the best too. I didn’t think I’d be able to look at CJ’s father and not want to haul his arse back to jail.

I walked into the workshop and the smell of grease and oil hit me, making me think of CJ, and I smiled. Mr Barese saw me first and greeted me with his usual wide grin and warm handshake. “So good to see you!” He was such a genuine man and I really liked him. Not just for what he’d done for CJ, but he was an honest, hard-working man, and I admired him. Then he called out, “CJ, visitor!”

“Quiet day?” I asked.

“Yeah. But we have two cars booked in tomorrow.”

“That’s great!”

Just then, CJ came in from somewhere holding a wide broom. He stopped when he saw me and his lips twisted like he tried not to smile. “Hey,” he said coolly.

“Hey,” I replied. Then, to distract myself, I turned to Mr Barese. “Can I borrow CJ for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” he replied.

“But I have some forms to run past you later, if that’s okay?”

He nodded. “Sure thing. You come find me. I’ll be here somewhere.” He wandered out to the front of his shop, leaving me alone with CJ.

He was wearing old mechanic’s overalls, unbuttoned to show a black shirt underneath. It matched his hair and eyes. He looked sexy as hell, and I couldn’t even bring myself to care that I just stood there checking him out while he watched.

“You right there?” he asked with a smirk.

“Totally.” I met his gaze and didn’t look away. “I have to say, I like the uniform.”

He leant the broom against the wall and when he looked at me again, he laughed and shook his head. “Is your visit today work related, or you just here to check out the scenery?”

I shrugged. “Both.” I dropped my voice. “Your eye looks better.”

He nodded and gave a pointed glance to the back doors, which opened to the creek. When we were outside, he took his phone out of his pocket and handed it to me. “I charged it like you said, but then it wanted to do some set-up thing, so I left it because I didn’t want to click on something wrong.”

“Oh sure,” I said. I powered it up and went through the setting questions with him, and when it was done, I handed it back to him. Then I took my phone out and sent him a quick text.

Hi.

His phone beeped in his hand, startling him. He held it out like it was a bomb, and I showed him how to scroll and find messages, what to click on, and how to read them.

“Is that from you?” he asked, looking at the screen.

“Yep.”

So then I showed him how to reply. “Send ‘hi’ back to me,” I said and waited for him to find the letters on the small keyboard onscreen.

“Then I press the little arrow to send it?”

I nodded, and a second later my phone beeped.

Hi

I grinned at him. “Welcome to the age of the iPhone.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was an edge of pride there. So then I rang his number, and it rang in his hand, scaring the shit out of him.

“Press the green button on the screen,” I told him. “Green is to answer, red is to hang up.”

He pressed the green button and I put my phone to my ear. “Hey,” I said, looking right at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Hey. Now can you make it not ring?” He held the phone out to me and I showed him again where the little switch was to mute it.

“How’s your Dad been?” I asked. “Terrell dropped me off and he’s gone out to see your dad. It’s just a scheduled house call.”

“Yeah, he’s been all right. No different.” He shrugged, slid his phone into his pocket, pulled out his cigarette, and lit one. “We haven’t really spoken since. I’m not backing down to him. Not anymore.”

“Good,” I answered. “I mean, I don’t want you to be unsafe, but I don’t want him to treat you like shit either.”

He nodded and did that one-eye, squinting-at-the-sky thing he did when he blew out smoke.

“How’s Pops?”

“Yeah, good.”

“That’s good, I’m glad. And Mr Barese said you’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

He gave me a look and a smile that was like some rare insight into the real CJ Davis. It was as though he didn’t have to pretend to be indifferent with me, like me⁠—and only me⁠—got to see the real him. It was a privilege to witness. “Yeah, it’ll be good.”

“I have an appointment about getting your apprentice fees waivered.”

He tried for nonchalant, but I could see underneath the façade. “That’d be, uh, that’d be good.”

“It will. But I better go find Mr Barese and give him these forms to look over and sign before Terrell comes back,” I said. “And remember, you can text me at any time. Even just to say hi.” I winked, then went inside in search of Mr Barese. He was in his office with a pile of receipts in front of him. I tapped lightly on the door. “Hello there.”

“Come in, come in,” he said, doing that Italian hand-waving thing. “You done with CJ already?”

“Yeah, didn’t take long.” I held out the manila folder I was holding. “I’ve got some forms for you to look at for CJ’s apprenticeship.”

He brightened. “Ah, yes! Such a good thing you do for him.”

“And you too. He’s really looking forward to it.” Then I whispered, “He might act like it’s no big deal, but he’s excited about this.”

Mr Barese beamed. “I know! I can tell. He’s a good boy, he deserves good things.” Then he paused to frown. “Not like his father. Did you see his eye? That man doesn’t deserve him.”

I nodded with a sigh. “Yeah, I saw it. And I told CJ to call me if he needs to.”

“Me too.” Mr Barese picked up a pen. “Where do I sign?”

“You don’t want to take it home and read it?” I mean, it was clearly just an apprenticeship enrolment form, but still.

“No need. I trust you. You want good things for him too.”

“I do.” I don’t think Mr Barese knew just how much that was true. “You just need to sign everywhere I put those sticky ‘sign here’ tabs.”

A moment later, he’d signed everywhere I needed him to and he looked back to the door. “We better not let him hear us talking about him, or he’ll be mad.” Mr Barese winked at me. “God forbid we say nice things behind his back.”

I laughed at that. “God forbid.”

Then I heard CJ’s familiar footfalls in the workshop. “Hey, CJ?” I called out. “Can you come in here, please?”

He appeared cautiously in the doorway. “Wassup?”

“I forgot,” I said, holding my pen out to him. “I need you to sign something.”

His brow furrowed but he walked into the office and took the pen. I pointed to the one spot he had left to sign and watched as he scrawled his name. “Done,” he said bluntly, giving me back my pen. Then he cocked his head to a sound I didn’t hear. “Someone just pulled up. I’ll go,” he said as he was already walking out.

Then we heard CJ greet someone, the voice I soon recognised to be Terrell’s. “Ah, that’s my ride,” I said.

Mr Barese and I walked out to find CJ and Terrell talking about football or something, both standing there with their feet spread wide and arms crossed. They were aiming for pleasant small talk, but body language spoke volumes; neither one of them wanted to be part of that conversation.

CJ gave me a strange look. “Your Uber is here,” he said with a nod to Terrell.

Terrell laughed. “Yeah, thanks.”

I didn’t know what that was about, but I gave him a look I hoped he understood. “I’ll be in touch.”

CJ replied with the bit of a grunt as he walked away, swiping the broom from where it stood against the wall on his way. I thanked Mr Barese again, then Terrell and I headed back to town.

“Did you see CJ’s eye?” I asked as we got to the highway.

Terrell nodded. “Yeah, his old man pretended he knew nothing about it.”

“You mentioned it to him?”

“Yep. Told him I saw CJ when I dropped you off. Dwayne said he must have got it knocking about with the boys playing footy. I mentioned footy to CJ just now and he said he’s never played. Just watches it on TV with his Pops.”

“So Dwayne lied to you.”

“Seems that way. But it’s hearsay at the moment. Well, more like he said/he said. Just document in his file with the date, and if any more comes of it, we’ll have a record.”

I held out the manila folder like it was a trophy. “I got CJ signed up for an apprenticeship.

Terrell gave me a smile that pretty much said I was still a newbie who got excited over paperwork. “You can think I’m an optimistic greenhorn all you like. But this is going to change his life.”

Terrell laughed and shook his head. “Damn right it will. And that optimistic greenhorn attitude you got going on there?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever lose it.”

I sighed happily but then remembered what he said about football. “You didn’t look too happy to be talking to CJ back there. You both had your arms crossed.”

“Nah.” Terrell waved his hand. “I’ve been doing this long enough that I don’t let them bother me too much.”

“Bother you? What did CJ do that bothered you?”

“Nothing personally, and he seems like a nice kid. But he still did what he did. He broke the law. I hope he finishes the apprenticeship, and I hope he gets his life on track because if he doesn’t, he’ll end up just like his old man, down on Davis Row.”

I was really beginning to hate that name. “Not all Davises are pieces of shit. His old man yes, and probably his brothers too. But CJ and Pops are good people.”

“Did you read his case file?”

“Most of it.”

“The legal transcript?”

“No. Not all of it.” I’d been so caught up on the past reports on his childhood, I hadn’t read every single thing.

Terrell hummed. “Drug addicts are good liars, Noah.”

Drug addicts? “CJ’s not a drug addict.”

“Is that what he said?”

Jesus. It wasn’t like I could say that I’d been spending time with him, that I knew him better than he thought I did. “He’s not.”

Terrell nodded slowly and smiled at the highway.

“He got busted breaking into a chemist. The cops caught him inside, stealing bags of drugs.”

I knew what he got busted for. And truthfully, I hadn’t given CJ’s criminal history much thought. I’d been so caught up in reading about his troubled childhood . . . Even now, knowing CJ like I did, I couldn’t join the dots. It wasn’t like him. The CJ I knew had a kind heart, he worked hard, and he cared for an old man with failing health.

But he did get caught halfway through a B and E, red-handed. There were even surveillance cameras. It was indisputable.

Was Terrell right? Had CJ lied to me? Had he taken me for a fool?

“Read the police report, then read what the lawyers said in court. Then come tell me what you think of CJ Davis.”

* * *

I did exactly what Terrell told me to do. I sat in my office, started at the beginning, and read CJ’s whole case file through.

My heart sank as I read the police report. He’d broken into a chemist, unknowingly setting off a silent alarm. The police arrived and found CJ alone, standing in a row of shelving with a plastic bag full of prescription drugs.

He didn’t try and run. He didn’t resist arrest. He didn’t say a word.

When they asked him why he did it, he shrugged and said nothing. He was twenty-one years old, no previous record. It was noted by the attending officer that CJ had a black eye at the time of his arrest. It was also noted he was released, pending his court appearance, and was collected by his father, Mr Dwayne Davis. The officer also noted CJ appeared reluctant to leave.

Fast forward twelve months, when his case went to court, the judge acknowledged CJ had maintained an impeccable work attendance record and had remained out of trouble, and it was duly noted that it was first offence. But the police had a strong case against him.

Evidence provided to the court was the contents of the bag found on CJ’s person on the night of his arrest: Cold and flu tablets, Vicks nasal spray, Promethazine, Rentamine, and butane.

Oh, Jesus H Christ.

Pseudoephedrine, desoxyephedrine, amphetamine, ephedrine, and lighter fluid.

CJ had ingredients to cook methamphetamine.

The police had a strong case, the judge agreed. CJ’s lawyer had pleaded for leniency, as CJ’s father had just returned to prison, leaving CJ as the sole carer for his ill and elderly relative, and his ageing employer also relied on him. The judge found CJ guilty and handed down a two-year suspended sentence, with strict parole conditions pertaining to employment and drugs and alcohol meetings.

I could almost hear the slam of the gavel as I read it. Closing the file, I sat back in my seat and ran my hands through my hair. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know how to feel.

How could I have been so blind to truth? Because even if he had the best excuse for doing what he did, I should have known all the facts before I got so close to him. I should have known better. I jeopardised everything for him. To what end? For some stupid chance at happiness? With a meth dealer?

Is that what he was?

I stared at the file on my desk. I wished I’d read it months ago. I wished I’d never read it at all. The CJ I thought I knew wasn’t in this file, and I had to ask myself, which CJ was the real one?

I needed to ask him for the truth. But when? He had his rider licence course tomorrow, and the next weekend, then he had to sit for his actual licence. I promised to help him, regardless of how things stood between us. And maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did, but I knew him well enough to know if I confronted him and accused him of lying to me and worse, asking about his meth-cooking skills, there was no way he’d let me help him.

He’d shut me out, and not only me, he’d shut out anyone who tried to help him in the future. I knew him well enough to know that. He’d never get qualified as a mechanic, he’d never get his licence, he’d never get off Davis Row.

I couldn’t let that happen. I’d promised him.

He was off parole in one week. He only had to get through a week, and we’d have some breathing room at least. Well, that’s what the rational part of my mind said. But my heart . . . well, my heart was another matter entirely.