Change
“Change is a good thing.”
That is what people say to make other people feel better about their current circumstances. The truth is, until the situation is resolved, no one knows if change is good or bad. We can fight against change, roll with it, or take complete charge of it. Whatever we decide, change is inevitable, so we better be prepared.
BREEZE
“WAKE UP, DIMPLES.”
Someone shook me and it wasn’t my dad. I should have dashed out of there, but as I looked up into glaring, brown eyes, the previous night’s debacle came crashing back to me.
I lived with Shame . . . in his house . . . above The Bastards’ clubhouse. Or maybe I was still asleep, having some teenage, hormone-induced dream.
“Get up! You got work to do.”
I had to imagine if I were fantasizing, I would want more than Shame barking orders at me. Besides, I had no business fantasizing about a man who was ten years old the day I was born. It was wrong, and if he reciprocated it was downright perverted.
His expression seemed troubled, like he had something on his mind he wanted to keep hidden. Dark shadows lurked under his eyes and he wore the same clothes from last night. I wondered if he had slept.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Are you?” He laughed, avoiding the question, not that he was obligated to tell me anything. “Let’s go. Up.” Shame pulled the comforter off of me. I’m sure not much embarrassed The Bastards fearless leader, but finding me in my underwear made him turn a bright shade of red. He covered his eyes, turning his head. “Jesus, don’t you have bloomers?”
I pulled the comforter over my bare legs. “What the fuck are bloomers?”
“Watch your mouth.”
He peeked through his fingers before lowering his hand. His stern expression alerted me he was serious about my language, which given his lifestyle was ridiculous. I smiled all innocent like.
“Whatever are bloomers, sir?” I asked. Then I broke out in a fit of giggles.
The lopsided smile he gave me made him look defeated. “Bloomers, you know . . . sleeping clothes.”
“What are you, my grandpa?” I laughed hard. “You mean pajamas?”
“Whatever. Something besides a T-shirt and skivvies.”
Skivvies?
I felt another what the fuck coming on, but I didn’t want to upset him.
“Nope. This is it. I don’t own a set of bloomers, gramps. Sorry.”
His hard expression didn’t budge. “Get some while you’re out today.”
“Why? I’m good sleepin’ in a T-shirt.”
“In my house you’ll wear pajamas. The last thing I need is someone getting the wrong idea.”
I slipped out of bed, flashing Shame a coy grin. “Yeah. We wouldn’t want anyone thinking you were a bastard.”
He tried remaining serious, but a small smile pushed through. It lasted a second before his jaw clenched tight. “You think this is a joke? I will not have anyone pervert the reasons for you being here, so you will wear fucking pajamas!” He turned his head and covered his eyes again. “You’re just a kid.”
That low, albeit truthful blow shut me right up. I rubbed my eyes, looking for a clock.
“What time is it?” I asked, steering the subject away from my sleeping attire and pulled the comforter from the bed to cover myself.
“Six.”
“In the morning?” My shrill voice bounced off the walls.
Shame laughed and lowered his hand again when he saw I covered up. “Yes, in the morning. Now get dressed and go downstairs. Viv’s waiting for you.”
“Oh, so you called off the guard dog?” I watched his face contort as I curtsied. “How kind of you.”
“Don’t challenge me, little girl. I promise you won’t like what happens.” The depth of his voice and his bone-chilling gaze made me hang my head.
“I’m not trying to. But that dog is vicious.”
Shame chuckled. “Gus won’t hurt you.”
I remembered last night and the way Gus growled at me. “Like you can know for sure?”
“I absolutely know for sure. Gus does what I tell him to.”
“It’s a dog. I’m pretty sure he does what he wants to.”
“Don’t believe me? Watch.” Shame put his index finger and his thumb in his mouth and whistled. Gus pranced right into the room and stood at Shame’s side waging his nubby tail. “No tail,” Shame instructed. Gus’s tail came to an immediate halt. “Good boy . . . Tail.” And again it wagged. “No tail.” And it stopped.
“Okay, so you taught him a trick . . . doesn’t mean he won’t eat me.”
His eyebrows rose. “Want me to tell him to?”
I gulped, not entirely sure if he joked . . . then I remembered, I was upset and stomped my foot. “No. And I don’t want him guarding my door either.”
“Go to bed,” Shame pointed and Gus left the room. His eyes settled on mine. “Do what you’re told and you and Gus will get along fine.”
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. “Okay.” He kept his stoic gaze on me. I preferred the playfulness he came in with and tried to change the topic of conversation again. “Why’d you get me up so early? The mall doesn’t open until like, ten.”
His expression never wavered. I don’t know why that bothered me but it did immensely.
“You’re here to work. You get up when I say you get up.”
Without another word, he left me, and I didn’t feel any less like a prisoner. I did, however, feel angrier with my father than I ever had before. To protect him, I had to pay the price for his mistakes. It wasn’t fair. Only, what choice did I have? I couldn’t leave his fate in the hands of The Bastards.
I quickly threw on a pair of sweat pants and a bra. Before I ventured out of the room, I glanced around for Gus. Sure enough he sat between the front door and me, and I think he smiled. His eyes followed me as I slowly inched my way toward the door. With each small step I took, my fear increased. As soon as Gus moved, I froze.
“Don’t move, Breeze,” I said, which was silly. I mean, what did I think . . . I could blend in with the furniture?
My life would come to an end as a doggie snack. I knew it. To my surprise, Gus sought my attention by sliding his snout under my fingers. My fear dissolved and I scratched behind his ears. “Well, you’re nothing but a big ol’ baby,” I cooed, now massaging the sides of his enormous jowls. I stood up confident and with a firm voice said, “No tail.” But the stupid nub kept on wagging. “Not scared of me a bit, are you?” Gus fell to the floor and rolled over, looking for me to scratch his belly. “Oh, no. No tricks for me, no belly rubbing for you.” His pitiful whimpering only proved to make me laugh.
A photo on the coffee table caught my eye. I picked it up, staring at the picture of a man and three children, two boys and a girl. The boys I recognized immediately as Shame and Liam. The girl, I didn’t know. Perhaps Shame had a sister. The man in the photo had to be Shame’s father, Berg. Liam looked exactly like him. I assumed Shame looked more like their mother.
My curiosity spiked, causing me to glance around at the other photos on the wall. There were a few of Berg with guys who I assumed were members of the club. Mostly they were pictures of the children, some with Berg, some without, but not a single photo with a woman. While puzzling, I had no business snooping.
I returned the photo before heading downstairs.
After a brief pause to collect my wits, I entered the clubhouse kitchen. Shame rested with his back against the counter, sipping from a mug. At first, I noticed the steam, but his mouth held my attention and made me blush. He spoke with a tall woman I assumed had to be his girlfriend or at least a regular bed-buddy. They were too close to be just friends.
She had long, blonde hair, the ends of which were ombre’d with a soft magenta. Her tight leggings and cropped sweater showed off her perfect figure. Not only did she have impossibly long eyelashes, but they were so dark, she didn’t need to wear mascara. I think I hated her.
“This is Viv,” Shame introduced me, setting his mug on the counter. “Viv, this is Breeze.”
“Hi.” I waved awkwardly at the gorgeous woman, suddenly feeling every bit of thirteen.
“Here’s an apron. Breakfast is at eight so we better get moving.” Viv paused and smiled, as if taking a moment to assess me, then tipped her head to the door behind her. “I’m gonna run down-cellar and grab some orange juice.”
“Okay,” I responded nervously, fastening the apron strings behind my back as she left.
Among the food loaded on the counter, I noticed three cartons of brown eggs that were not purchased from a store. “Farm fresh, huh?” I awkwardly joked with Shame, whose eyes had not left me since I walked into the room. He always studied me. And I always felt uncomfortable.
“Went out back and got them this morning,” he murmured, grinning.
“You have chickens?”
“Big, bad Shame has chickens.” Viv laughed, entering the kitchen with three jugs of orange juice. Like a perfect gentleman, Shame immediately went and took them from her.
Bloomers and skivvies and chickens . . .
Shame belonged up north on some farm, not in the middle of a major city. He excused himself and left with the orange juice.
“What are we making?” I asked Viv.
“Eggs Irish.”
“Typical,” I blurted sarcastically.
Could you get anymore cliché?
“Yep.” She pointed out a large bowl of diced potatoes.
“Let me guess, bangers and mash for dinner?” They probably ate soda bread, too. Yuck. I was proud of my heritage, but let’s be real, Irish cuisine was an oxymoron.
Viv laughed. “Not tonight.”
She seemed easygoing enough I felt comfortable with her, even if she was involved with the guy I had a crush on. And I might have even wanted to hate her for it.
Or did I? I had yet to decide.
I stared at the large bowl of corned beef mixture and squished my nose up. Thankfully Viv took on the role of flattening the hash. She threw the patties on the griddle. All I had to do was flip them. Additionally, she put me in charge of cooking eggs over medium, while she toasted English muffins, prepared hollandaise sauce and browned the potatoes.
The guys were ridiculously spoiled. If Viv weren’t around they would be eating cereal, and they could get it themselves.
I felt overwhelmed when we carried plates into the large dining room. There were two tables with eight chairs each and all but four were full.
Tank and Dozer, I already met, but Shame introduced me to some more of his crew, including three youngens’. One, Dink, gave me the creeps, maybe because I laughed when Shame introduced me. I couldn’t help it. Poor guy got stuck with Dink for a nickname. He must have done something shitty to Shame to earn that one.
Next was Rugby, an ex-rugby player with the scars to prove it. His dirty-blond hair, pulled back and secured with an elastic, reached the middle of his back. Dusty, looked to be the youngest. With short, sandy-brown hair, he was the most clean-cut and the friendliest.
“So many D names,” I commented as I sat next to Viv.
She let a small laugh escape. “Yeah, Dink and Dusty are sponsored by Dozer, so he picked the names. He calls them boobs and thought the triple D thing was funny. Typical male, juvenile humor around here, but you’ll get used to it.”
I made a face and dove into my food. Each bite tasted incredible. Before long I scarfed it faster than I could chew.
“It isn’t going to run away.” Viv pointed at my plate with her fork.
“It’s so good.” I paused long enough to wash down the food in my mouth with orange juice. I swiped at a drop rolling down my chin with my napkin. “I usually have chocolate milk for breakfast.”
“Really?”
“Well, occasionally I’d find a box of Bran Flakes. My dad’s always too wasted for grocery shopping.”
“I see why Shame picked you up.”
Her response surprised me, and I felt small. “My life isn’t that bad.”
“Okay,” was all she said.
Who was I kidding?
I was neglected, but I didn’t appreciate strangers judging my dad. They didn’t know his struggles or how badly my mom had broken his heart.
For the remainder of the meal, the guys talked quietly, but occasionally I heard the name Dixon. I knew who he was. The only gang my father despised more than The Bastards, were The Sacred Villains. A crew ran by one Ishmael Dixon. It was also well known Dixon’s crew knocked off Shame’s father.
I took the time to try and connect a name with each of their faces. Kegger appeared to be the oldest, with a long gray beard, wide shoulders and a smile that welcomed you in. In my summation, he was the teddy bear of the group. I also learned he was Tank’s dad.
Ziggy was the only one not sporting a beard for hockey season. His chin was scarred up pretty good, so I assumed that had something to do with it.
Tex was easy. He had the lightest blond hair and covered it with a brown, suede cowboy hat. If he should be without it, all I had to do was hear him talk to remember his name. No one ever confirmed he hailed from Texas, but I assumed it was how he ended up with his name.
There were a couple of other guys I couldn’t get straight, although, I had the names down, Crash, Minion, and Bender. It would probably take the entire five years to sort out who was who, and I would never know their real names. It was like they got a new identity when they joined the club.
After breakfast, Viv and I cleared the table and did all of the dishes. Once I showered and dressed, I met Viv downstairs to go shopping.
While I laced up my sneakers, Shame handed her a wad of bills and whispered to her. She smiled at him before telling me to follow her outside. I climbed into her black SUV and settled in the passenger seat. Talk about awkward. I didn’t know what to say, so I stared out the window until we entered the drive-thru at Dunkin Donuts. Viv ordered a coffee regular and then asked if I wanted anything. I was still full from breakfast, but I couldn’t turn down a caker with jimmies and a hot chocolate, especially from Dunk’s.
One of the few fond memories I had of my mom was our Saturday morning trips to Dunkin’s. A smile came, even if it made my stomach sour. I hated I still thought of her at all. Anger returned quickly when I remembered the only reason we made the trip was to cure her hangover with coffee and a bagel. She used to say the bread soaked up the booze.
Who tells a six-year-old that?
As we drove, I fidgeted and tried to ignore the quiet. Thoughts of Shame replaced memories of my dead-beat mother, which got me wondering if he and Viv were a thing. I didn’t want them to be a thing, which was honestly ridiculous. They seemed like a thing. I glanced at Viv a few times, and then when my curiosity got the best of me, I blurted, “So, are you Shame’s girlfriend?”
Had I known she would find my question so hilarious, I would not have asked while she had the cup to her mouth. Coffee shot out, spraying the window as she burst out laughing. I quickly found a napkin in the glove box and handed it to her.
“Sorry.” She continued laughing as she wiped her clothes and then the glass. “Shame’s like a brother. And he doesn’t do girlfriends. But I don’t date any of the guys. If you hadn’t noticed, they’re kind of nasty.”
When I considered what I saw at the clubhouse the other night, I could hardly disagree with her. Or was it last night? The details were all a little foggy.
“How long have you known him?” I asked.
“We met when I was fifteen. So . . . nine years ago.”
“How’d you meet?”
“Berg knew my father growing up, but they didn’t talk much after we moved to Billerica. When I was your age, my parents got arrested. Three strikes and they were gone. By fifteen, I was living in foster care, outta control and hooked on meth. Then one day, Berg showed up, packed my bag and brought me to the club. Thirty days later, I was clean. I’ve been with the club ever since.”
Obviously I wasn’t special. The O’Rilley men made a habit out of saving teenage girls. Imagining Viv as a meth addict proved hard. She seemed too perfect. Her honesty came easily too, as if sharing made her feel better. Or was she letting me know Shame hauling me out of my house was in my best interest? “Berg sounds like a good man.”
“Oh, he was,” she said, her smile full of adoration. “The best. So is Shame. When Berg died, I wasn’t sure what would happen to me. If I would be welcomed anymore, but life went on as normal. Shame never treated me any differently. He’s paying for my law degree, and in exchange, I work for him at the clubhouse.”
“You’re studying law?” I asked with obvious shock. “Like to be a lawyer?”
“Yep.” She smiled. “I’ve always been fascinated. And I want to help people if I can. I guess I feel like if my parents had a better attorney they wouldn’t be in prison. I want to make a difference.”
“But they did break the law?” I probed.
“I suppose, but a trial is subjective. They could’ve gotten a reduced sentence. It’s all about who your lawyer is. In my opinion, anyway.”
“Huh.”
I wondered if Shame held the same opinion. It seemed having a lawyer on the club’s payroll suited his best interest. No wonder he paid for Viv’s schooling.
Was that the life they led?
Always looking to have an up on the law, and rival gangs. I couldn’t help being fascinated with all of it. They took care of their own. Whether for prudent reasons or not, they kept each other close. My dad was blood and didn’t take care of me. So who was I to judge?
So, while the expression ‘change is a good thing’, is cliché, change can actually be a good thing. It can open the door to new opportunities, make you see the world differently or simply offer a new perspective. We merely have to keep an open mind.
SHAME
The cold metal handle of the diner’s door made me pause and think. I needed answers, but I didn’t want to go inside. I inhaled a breath, seeking courage. Through the glass doors, I spotted my sister at Pop’s regular table. It felt like she wanted to twist the knife further. She blamed me for his death. I had a feeling she came back to town to make me suffer.
“If you hadn’t been so hell bent on gettin’ outta Southie and going to college, he wouldn’t have been in the driveway. He would’ve been at Donavan’s eating breakfast. He’d still be alive. I hate you, Shame. I fucking hate you. It should’ve been you.”
She was right—It should have been me, but it wasn’t me who The Villains gunned down in cold blood. It was Pop, and making me come to this fucking diner made my sister a heartless bitch. Lying down with a Villain made her a traitor. Our old man would rise up out of the grave and slap her himself if he could.
I went through the storm door and stomped my boots on the rug to remove the slush and salt.
The door into the diner proved more difficult to open and worse when the familiar smell hit me. It was a typical diner smell, grease and bacon mostly, but always with a hint of the vanilla candles the owner, Belinda, liked to burn. Pops fell smitten with her and she with him. They spent time together, but after Ma, my old man would never settle down and Belinda understood him.
As I approached my sister’s table, a few people said hello and I nodded politely. Maddie’s expression tightened as I sat. Her hands shook and I could feel the fear emanating from her. Good. I wanted her to be afraid. Her life depended on it.
“I missed you,” she said, her voice quiet.
I leaned back in the chair, curling my lip. “Yeah, thanks for all the Christmas cards, and I adore our weekly phone calls.”
“Piss off, Shame,” she snapped. “This isn’t easy for me.”
“You think it’s easy for me?” I snapped back, leaning forward. “You blew outta town without so much as a goodbye. Shit’s changed around here, Sis. I run things now. And what . . . you’re back and I’m supposed to forgive you? Is that what you think’s gonna happen?”
Her fingers pressed to her forehead as she let out a long sigh. “It was too hard,” she whispered.
“Staying or saying goodbye?” I asked. It was harsh, but anger took charge of my mouth.
“Fuck, I don’t know . . . Both,” she admitted.
“That’s a wicked lame excuse and you know it,” I scolded, tapping the table with my index finger. “That’s weak-minded. Pop taught us better than that.”
“You, maybe,” she said, meeting my gaze. “Liam definitely. Pop was different with me.”
She spoke the truth. Maddie was daddy’s little angel. He raised her to be sweet and sensitive, I think so she would not end up with one of The Bastards. We weren’t exactly known as devoted husbands. But she ended up with a gangbanger anyway, which was the reason I came to Donovan’s. Not to talk about how hurt she felt.
“How can you go to bed every night with a Villain?” I asked outright. “It’s a disgrace.”
Her eyebrows pinched together. “It isn’t like that.”
The waitress interrupted to ask if I wanted anything.
“Just coffee.” When she left, I leaned close to my sister. “How can you do this to Pop?”
“I’m doing this for Pop,” she insisted, talking through her teeth.
Her words swam around it my mind.
Did she not remember anything? Did she not remember the stories Pop shared about when the Irish Mafia ruled Southie with dignity? How Jimmy Bulger himself had molded Pop? Of course, the end of Jimmy was kinda the end of the Irish-only reign. Street gangs came out of the woodwork, trying to take over, and if not for Pop they would have. Did Maddie not remember the people adoring Pop, treating him like a prophet? Did she not remember it was The Villains who took him from us, from Southie?
“Michael Delarosa’s one of Dixon’s guys. How is fucking him for Pop?” I asked and glanced away, because I could no longer stand the helplessly pathetic look on her face. “You’re gonna end up dead. They’re planning something big, and you don’t mean shit to this guy.”
“I know.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “That’s why I’m doing this.”
“What?” I asked.
“I want to take Dixon down, too. For Pop,” she said. I stared at her hand she placed over mine. “I want exactly what you want. Michael’s my way in.”
I lifted my head. Maddie didn’t play with her hair, which she was prone to do when lying. Instead her lips pursed, as they always did when she explained something she wanted me to take serious.
Clearly, my sister had not forgotten. She also sought to bring down Dixon, which confused me. The day Pop died, nothing outweighed my need for vengeance. Maddie, on the other hand, only wanted to end the war and escape our home.
It was strange to hear we wanted the same thing. Five years was a long time to plot revenge and not knowing what she had planned concerned me. I worried for her safety. The Villains were ruthless. Maddie was vulnerable. Not to mention The Villains’ leader never appeared in public.
“It’s too dangerous,” I said, hiding the pride I felt for my sister for finally aligning herself on the right side. “You can’t take on Dixon alone. Why didn’t you come to me?”
“I didn’t want The Bastards involved.”
“They killed Pop. The Bastards are involved up to their necks. You need our protection and—”
“Shame,” she interrupted.
“No.” I patted her hand and caught her eye. “I’m serious. Stay the hell away from Delarosa. I got this.”
Pissed as I was at my big sister, I refused to let her get hurt.
“I’m FBI,” she blurted, and then glanced around.
I pulled my hand away, staring at her in disbelief. There was no way I heard her correctly. “What’d you say?”
“I’m FBI,” she said again, this time slowly, and then glanced around again, I assume to make sure no one heard her. I honestly wished I hadn’t heard her. I stared dumfounded, unable to understand how Maddie could be working for the Feds. As her mouth opened, I knew I was about to find out. “After I left, I worked odd jobs and went to school. I studied criminal justice because I hoped one day to make Dixon pay. After graduation, the FBI recruited me because of my ties to Southie.”
“Tell me this is a fucking joke?” I huffed. She shook her head. “We finally got the damn Feds outta Southie. How could you bring them back?”
“Come on, Shame. Let’s get real. Do you honestly think the Feds have ever taken their eyes off Southie?”
“What, you couldn’t convince Pop to abandon the club, so you’re going to take it down?”
“No,” she responded, shaking her head vehemently. “I don’t want The Bastards.”
“The people you work for may disagree.”
“Come on. They’ve tried and moved on.”
“You hope.”
“I’m certain. I hate to bruise your ego, little brother, but you’re small time. Organized crime’s old news. The Feds are overwhelmed with trying to stop sex trafficking now that some big senator wants to honor his campaign promises. They’re after The Villains. Trafficking is huge, and Dixon is their top mark.”
I continued to stare at Maddie. It was no secret The Villains were involved in the sex business. All of the street gangs were. Except The Bastards. It went against the code. I never wanted to be in charge, but once I swore in, I vowed to play by the right set of rules, by Pop’s rules. Damn it if each year it got a little harder to keep the hood grounded in the past.
“I don’t like this . . . Dixon has power and influence. Hell, he probably has the Feds in his pocket. You need the club’s help,” I urged her.
“No . . . I need you to back off,” Maddie demanded and then paused, giving her words a chance to settle with me. “If we can catch him, it’s the end of The Villains. Dixon goes away . . . And . . . I . . . well, my career gets a big win.”
I inhaled sharply, not giving a damn about her career. “The only place I want Dixon is in a box.”
“And how long have you been trying to make that happen?” she asked. Too freaking long. Ishmael Dixon had become a myth. “You know you’ll never get close enough. This can work. He’s planning a big shipment out soon. Girls twelve to eighteen.”
“Disgusting.”
“We’re talking hundreds of girls, Shame. Poof . . . gone . . . because no one’s looking for them . . . Runaways mostly. He gains their trust, gets them hooked on drugs, and then sells them to the highest bidder. He’s ruthless.”
“That’s exactly why you should tell me how to find him. Please, let the club take him out.”
“No, back off! Let me do my job.”
My sister asked a lot. It would be a difficult sell to the club. I felt torn between family and honor, but my sister needed a branch, and I wanted desperately to give her one. I had missed her terribly, although I wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
“All right. We’ll lay off Dixon . . . for a little while,” I conceded. “The club has a rat, though. I have to know who it is.”
“Michael can’t tell you where to find Cole.”
Why was she still defending this guy?
“Of course he can. I have sources, Sis. He grew up with Cole.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“He can’t tell you because he’s my partner.”
Holy hell, the surprises kept coming. “Jesus . . . Are you kidding?”
“It wasn’t a coincidence we were partnered up,” she explained.
“So he’s not your fiancé?”
She shrugged. “We fuck, but you know I like a little rougher type.”
I did and I smiled. I always thought Maddie would end up with Tank.
“If Dixon finds out—”
“I need to do this,” she interrupted. “These are our girls. Southie’s girls, from families who’ve known Pop for years. Pop was always a savior. He would want this.”
“He might. You gotta swear to me if anything’s coming down on the club, you’ll let me know.”
Her expression brightened as she held up her pinky finger. “Bastard for life.”
I smiled, remembering how we used to pinky promise as kids. I curled my pinky around hers. “Through and through.”
“You’re a lot like him,” she commented, releasing our fingers.
I sighed. The way she looked at me like the wise big sister told me she knew about my new houseguest. “You heard about Breeze?”
She shrugged. “Viv and I still talk.” Although Viv never mentioned it, I wasn’t all that surprised. There had been a time her and Maddie were as close as sisters. “For what it’s worth, sounds like you did a good thing. I know you could’ve taken Clery out and been done with it. But taking this girl in is exactly what Pop would’ve done.”
It was my turn to shrug. Maybe saving Breeze from her old man was the right thing to do. My feelings for her were wrong. And my intentions were purely selfish. Nah, I didn’t take Breeze because of Pop’s influence. I did it for me, to make me feel worthy or justify my wanting her in the house.
I wanted Breeze to accomplish something bigger than The Bastards, bigger than Southie. Something I always wanted for myself. I needed to prove someone from this town could make it out. Maybe Maddie did, but she proved her loyalty belonged to the club. That’s not freedom. She still served the life.
There is another saying that goes, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” You see, we can only change ourselves. When we fight to make others change is when we realize we have no control at all. Yet, we continue to push because when it comes down to it, we believe we know best.