The Rise Of A Broken Man

Seven

With everything packed and ready to go, Devon walked back downstairs where Hector was waiting for him, already sure he was going to grunt at him for taking too long. He had come by to bid him goodbye, and also collect the keys to his apartment, so that someone else could settle in there.

Somehow, Miguel always had one ex-con or the other to help him settle back into the society once they were out.

It was an admirable thing to do, and it was really nice.

“You do know the house isn’t going to miss you, right?” Hector’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, saying just about what Devon had expected.

“Of course, he's never going to disappoint me.” Devon thought as he chuckled with a shake of his head. “It won’t?” he asked, walking toward him where he was leaning against the car Miguel had gifted him.

Hector gave a snort. “Man, that place will probably throw a party the second you’re gone. You’ve been sulking in it so long, it forgot what sunlight looks like.”

That was right, he had been sulking, crying himself to sleep anything the thought of all the injustice done to him came to mind, and then punching the wall in anger when his heart couldn't take it any longer.

Still, Devon smirked. “I was giving it character.” he said.

“Yeah? Well, judging from the smell, you were giving it trauma.”

Devon laughed; an honest one this time, the kind that loosened something inside his chest. “You’ll miss me when you have to fix the plumbing yourself.” he said, remembering the three times he had hung out at Hector’s place, and he had asked him those three times for favors to help fix one thing or the other.

“I’ll call a professional,” Hector shot back. “Someone who doesn’t curse at the pipes like they’re part of a conspiracy.” he said.

“They were part of a conspiracy,” Devon said, deadpan. “That kitchen sink hated me.”

“Sure, man. Keep your delusions. You’ll fit right in wherever you’re going.”

Devon opened the driver’s door, then paused, resting his arm on the top of it as he looked at Hector. “You sure you’re not gonna miss me, though?” he asked with his brows pushed up.

Hector shrugged, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Miss you? Nah. But the silence might. I’m sure it’s not used to being this peaceful.”

Devon grinned, tossing the apartment keys over to him. Hector caught them easily.

“That’s it, then,” Devon said quietly. “Three days and you pulled it off.” he was grateful for him, the fact that he had done what he didn't think he could. Who could find someone a job in three days? Just who?

Hector’s tone softened. “You earned it. Now go do something with it. And, uh…” He gestured toward the truck. “Try not to get arrested before you reach Valemont.”

Devon rolled his eyes as he slid into the driver’s seat. “You have so much faith in me.”

“I have just enough,” Hector said, tapping the roof twice. “Text me when you get there, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He started the engine. The low growl of the old pickup filled the air; it was rough but Devon knew it was good, enough to get him where he was going and around for a long time, a sound that somehow felt alive. For a second, he sat there, hands on the wheel, looking out at the narrow street he had walked every day for the past few weeks he was out for. The worn sidewalks where he ran mostly in the mornings. The rusted streetlights that didn't let his path be completely dark. The noise of the neighborhood waking up.

It wasn’t much, but it had been something, something that helped him feel the sense of normalcy again.

He took a slow breath. “I guess that’s it, then.”

“Guess it is.” Hector’s voice was quieter now, almost drowned by the hum of the engine. “Take care of yourself, Dev.” he said, his voice sounding like he was emotional, or going to cry.

Devon felt a sense of déjà vu, the fact that Hector had sounded this same way when he had left him in prison, released before him, only this time, Devon was the one leaving him behind.

Devon gave him a small nod before he shifted the gear, and pressed the accelerator. The truck rolled forward, and he could see the sunlight glinting off its hood.

In the mirror, he could see that Hector was still standing there, arms crossed, as if he was waiting to watch until the truck turned the corner and disappeared.

The town fell away quickly; first the low buildings, then the cracked streets, and finally, the skyline itself. Devon didn’t look back again.

The road opened ahead of him, two lanes cutting through endless stretches of open land. The kind of road that seemed to go on forever, the kind that made you believe that there was something waiting for you on the other side.

The one that gave hope kind.

He turned on the radio and it was static, of course.

Devon exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head. “Figures.”

But as he drove, a faint feeling stirred in his chest, something unfamiliar after so many years of anger and confinement.

It wasn’t peace. Not yet, but he could swear that it was close enough to make him keep driving, and keep hoping.

The road to Valemont stretched like a ribbon of faded asphalt, beneath a pale afternoon sun. The air outside the open window carried the faint scent of pine and dust, the kind of smell that told him he had left the world he knew behind.

Devon drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the open window frame. The old pickup hummed beneath him, its engine the only sound breaking the silence, and maybe the noise that was still in his head, the one he was trying to drown. Somewhere along the road, the static on the radio gave way to a faint country tune, too soft to make out, but enough to fill the emptiness.

He passed a weathered sign half-buried in weeds: “Welcome to Valemont —Est. 1892.” The letters were faded, the paint cracked. The place felt old, but he hoped new enough to offer him some new beginnings.

He slowed down the car as the landscape changed, open fields giving way to endless rows of grapevines stretching across the hillsides, their leaves trembling in the breeze. The vineyard appeared ahead like something out of another century. Broad acres of cultivated order framed by wild beauty, the soil dark and rich under the late sun.

The air here was different, sweeter and more hopeful, and he smiled a little, thinking already about his job, and how he was going to throw himself into it.

At the far end of the road, he could see a large house. It wasn't a mansion, at least, not by today’s standard, like the ones he saw in the TV show like the one Miguel liked to watch back at the shop, but it was close, from what he could see; elegant still, weathered wood and stone, its white shutters slightly askew. A wraparound porch stretched across the front, shadowed by overgrown ivy that crawled up the railings like green veins.

Devon pulled up to the circular drive, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. The engine sputtered once before going quiet. For a long second, he sat still, taking it in; the view, the silence, the strange heaviness that came with being somewhere that already felt like it had a story of its own.

He stepped out of his car, and his boots immediately met with gravel, the air cool against his skin. The house stood quiet, almost watchful, and he wondered if someone was watching him through any of the windows he could see.

Then the front door opened, and he looked away from the window to the door.

A woman in a gray uniform stepped out, a housekeeper by the look of her, her posture sharp, her eyes assessing him with a kind of tired authority. She wiped her hands on her apron and looked him over once, head to boots.

“You’re late,” she said.

Devon frowned, immediately confused because he didn't understand what that meant. “Late?” he repeated as he walked to her, looking at her for some kind of explanation.

“Mr. Winyard is waiting for you,” she replied briskly, stepping aside as if to let him pass.

He blinked, uncertain he had heard right. “Winyard?” he echoed. “That’s the manager?”

The woman gave him a look that didn’t quite answer the question, part confusion, part impatience. “You’d better come in,” she said, nodding toward the open door. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I'll take you to him.”

Devon hesitated, glancing back at the truck, then at the woman. “I was told I start work tomorrow.”

Her brows lifted, just slightly. “Then I suggest you ask Mr. Winyard about that.”

And with that, she disappeared back inside, the screen door creaking shut behind her.

Quickly, Devon opened the door, and followed her inside, hoping he wasn't about to get into trouble on his first day here.