Anna

This can’t be happening. Not again.

I knew something was wrong when I talked to Wes earlier. Something in his voice tripped every worry alarm, sending me into sheer panic. John thought I was overreacting but decided to indulge me and come with me to see if Wes was okay.

This is one time I wish I was overreacting.

But the sight that greets us in the parking lot of Banks Carpentry makes my lungs collapse with fear. What the hell happened? I know it has to do with Austin, and I find myself wishing Eddie had never hired him.

That makes me feel ashamed because everyone deserves a second chance. Evidently though, something went terribly wrong here tonight.

John and I hurry out of the car to find some answers. A cop blocks us from entering the building with his hands up.

“Where is Wesley? Wesley Scott?” My voice is shrill with panic and fear, but the cop won’t tell us anything other than we need to leave. I look over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of him, of anything that might let me know he’s okay.

“That’s my best friend in there,” John tries to explain calmly. “Can you tell us what’s going on?”

“This parking lot is closed. You guys need to leave.”

“Can you at least give us information about Wesley Scott? Is he under arrest?”

His grim expression says it all.

“Under what charges?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss anything with you.”

“What?” I shriek. Wesley’s being arrested? For what?

He hasn’t done anything illegal since he got out. He’s been busting his ass to start his business.

John curses under his breath and taps my shoulder, nodding toward a cop car about twenty feet away from us. Wesley’s strong profile is hard to miss, his shoulders sloped down in defeat. He’s looking our way, and my need to go to him is fierce.

“Wesley!” My heart is in my throat, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m in a dream. A nightmare.

“Please, can we just talk to him briefly?” John asks as a police officer starts up the cop car he’s sitting in.

“Wesley! Where are you taking him? This has to be a mistake!” Hysteria makes my voice shrill, but I’m past the point of caring.

The car pulls off, and I meet his eyes.

Face shrouded in regret, he stares at me, mouthing the words, I love you.

Logic has no place in my actions right now. I have to get to him. I lunge forward, only to be caught by John, but I shrug out of his grasp. “Let me go!”

I know I can’t possibly catch up to the car. Rationally, I know this.

But it doesn’t stop me from trying. I run and run, pumping my legs and arms. I run until I can’t see the car anymore, then I collapse on the street and cry.

John reaches me a couple of minutes later, panting and clutching his side. “Shit, Anna! I can’t run like you can. Come on. We have to try to talk to Eddie and see what happened.”

The glimmer of hope that he might be able to shed some light on Wesley’s arrest is the only thing that gives me the strength to get up. We hustle back to the warehouse just in time to see Eddie walking out of the building, a cop next to him.

“Eddie!” John shouts. “What happened? Why did Wes get arrested?”

“It’s a misunderstanding, but no one seems to be listening!” His eyes are wild with frustration, face covered in a sheen of sweat. “These hooligans came here because of Austin. Wesley was only trying to protect us.”

I knew it. Wesley would never do anything to go back to jail.

“How can we help?” I ask.

“Get him a lawyer. Fast.” The cop ushers Eddie away from us, likely to give his statement.

“What a fucking clusterfuck!” John kicks at nothing on the pavement, hands pulling his hair.

“Come on. We have to call a lawyer to help him.” I jog to my car, fumbling for my cell phone to call my dad.

This conversation is not going to be easy, but the only thing that matters is getting Wesley out of there.

He survived jail once, but he didn’t get out unscathed. I’m not sure he’ll survive a second sentence. Maybe he’d be physically fine. But, mentally, he’d give up any hope that he could make his dreams come true. And he’d be convinced he wasn’t good enough for me.

The line rings, then my dad’s concerned voice answers. Let’s just say it’s been a while since I called my dad.

“Hello?”

“Dad, it’s me. I need your help.”

Wesley

Some people are born into wealth.

Some born into poverty.

Some into a loving family.

Some into foster care.

But I believed that no matter what circumstance you were born into, you could rise above it. Work hard and make your own path. Even if you make a mistake.

One mistake can’t define who you are.

Or can it?

The cops take one look at my record, the fingerprints on the gun, and the drugs in my car, and they decide I’m guilty.

They grill me over and over again about the events of the night, but my story never changes. They come up with different scenarios, asking if I work for Zeke—whoever he is.

“Why would you care if Austin had a gun at work?”

“Because I didn’t want any trouble to come to Eddie or his business.”

“Why not just call the cops when you learned he was breaking the rules of his parole by carrying?”

I sigh, explaining for the eight hundredth time that night. “I called Winston Ross and Eddie both before those guys showed up. Call Winston. He has a voice mail from me telling him I needed his help.”

The cop crosses his arms and glares at me.

“Why would I use an unloaded weapon for protection? I was trying to keep them from killing us long enough for you guys to get there. You can trace the call to 911; it was made with my phone, right?”

He nods, conceding this point.

“Well, why would I call the cops on myself?”

He harrumphs. “And you expect me to believe one of the guys just so happened to pour cocaine in your truck to frame you?”

“He was trying to get me to hang up, to incriminate me. You won’t find any of my fingerprints on the baggie, I swear.”

“Start from the beginning again.”

I sigh, burying my face in my hands.

It’s like they aren’t listening. Or they don’t want to hear the truth.

But I start from the beginning and answer all their questions.

It isn’t a surprise when they put me in a holding cell to spend the night.

I never wanted to see the inside of a jail cell ever again. I have a feeling this won’t be the last time.

The thing I don’t understand…why did life tease me with happiness, only to take it away again?