2025-10-11 18:50:05All he saw was red throughout the day, and he wanted to punch something, but up until now, he was able to reel in his emotions, because the last thing he wanted to do was screw up this for himself, this job he was grateful for.
Before Hector left the prison, and promised to find him a job, he had doubted he would ever get a job at all. He was an ex-convict, whether or not he liked it, or what made him that was his fault. He had no college degree; he didn’t even finish high school. But thankfully, during his sentence, he had been able to earn his GED and complete a certification in automotive repair. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get him through the door; enough to make him feel like maybe he still had a chance to start over. He had spent years under fluorescent lights fixing broken engines just to survive, now, doing it for a paycheck felt almost like redemption. Almost. Still, seeing them again; the Curtises, had ripped open wounds he thought had scarred over. Every time he replayed that moment in the shop, Diana’s voice, Sean’s face, his hands shook. He gritted his teeth and tightened another bolt on the engine in front of him, forcing the anger back down. He couldn’t lose control, not here. Not now. If he wanted his freedom to mean anything this time, he had to hold it together. “Hey, Devon.” Hector called him as he walked into the back room, a grin on his face. “Are you okay?” he asked and Devon nodded. “Yeah, why won't I be?” he asked. Hector shrugged. “I don't know, you've been on edge since… I don't know, but I noticed it.” he said. Devon gritted his teeth, hating that he hadn't been able to keep his emotion in check. “I'm fine, just a bit hungry, that's all.” he said. “Good. Miguel invited us both to his house later this evening for a cookout, with some of the guys as well.” Hector’s grin widened. “His wife’s making carne asada, man. You don’t say no to that. Trust me, you’ll dream about it for a week.” Devon wiped his hands on a rag and gave him a look. “I don’t really do crowds.” “It’s not a crowd, it’s a backyard and a grill,” Hector said, leaning against the workbench. “Couple of guys from the shop, Miguel’s kids running around, music, beer… normal stuff. You could use some of that.” Normal. The word sat heavy in Devon’s chest. He had spent twelve years watching the world move on without him; normal was a language he hadn’t spoken in a long time. He tried for a smile anyway. “I don’t know, man. I wouldn’t exactly fit in.” “Bullshit,” Hector said, smirking. “You work hard, you keep your head down, and you fix cars better than half the guys here already. That’s all anyone cares about. You think Miguel gives a damn about your past? He invited you, didn’t he?” Devon hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. I’ll go. But only for a bit.” “That’s the spirit.” Hector clapped him on the shoulder. “And wear something that doesn’t smell like engine grease, yeah? I’m not showing up with the ghost of the shop.” Devon huffed a quiet laugh. “No promises.” As Hector walked off, still talking about food, Devon leaned back against the workbench, telling himself he needed to get his feelings sorted and put on a mask more. He needed to be unreadable, ice cold. It was the only way he wouldn’t be hurt or taken for granted anymore. He had after all, been taught that being soft, could be the fall of a man. Sighing, he rubbed his temple, and walked to his locker to get changed. He needed to get to the target store to get himself some clothes, not the ones he had brought out from prison. He got out of his overalls and wore his faded jeans and T-shirt, the same ones he had gotten while still in prison. They were worn thin but clean and good enough for now. He slipped on his jacket, the fabric still carrying a faint scent of motor oil and the outdoors, something that oddly grounded him. As he shut his locker, his reflection caught in the small dented mirror on the inside of the door. For a second, he didn’t recognize the man staring back; short-cropped hair, tired eyes, a jaw always tight with restraint with the five o’clock shadow on his face. All the years behind bars had carved out the boy he had once been, leaving only edges and silence in his place. He blew out a breath slowly and shut the door with a metallic clang. The Target was a fifteen-minute walk from the shop. He could’ve asked Hector for a ride, but he preferred the quiet, the space to think. The city around him was alive; honking cars, kids yelling near a bus stop, a woman laughing into her phone, and yet, he felt like a ghost moving through it. No one looked at him twice, and that was how he wanted it. A lot had changed since he was last on the outside world, the kind of cars now, trucks, the people, the houses. Inside the store, the bright lights made him squint. He grabbed a basket and wandered to the men’s section, scanning the racks like he was searching for something more than just clothes. He picked up a plain button-down, grabbed two black t-shirts, one short sleeved and one long, and two pairs of jeans that actually fit. Moving slowly, his eyes caught a belt and he picked it up, then he picked up two white Tshirts, and a pair of grey ones. He picked up a pair of grey sweats and a black one, then a simple black hoodie. Nothing fancy, just things that would make him blend in, disappear. Those were all the clothes he needed to look… decent, and not like some thug. At the checkout, the cashier; a girl who couldn’t have been older than twenty, smiled at him. “You finding everything okay?” He nodded, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah.” “Big plans tonight?” she asked, scanning the clothes. “Something like that,” he said, his tone low but he made sure he was polite. He might be angry at the world, but he was cultured enough to know he shouldn't take it out on innocent people. When she handed him the bag and wished him a good evening, he managed a faint, awkward smile. “Thanks.” Outside, the sun was dipping lower, and Devon stood for a moment by the curb, clutching the bag in one hand. He told himself it was just a cookout, just food and a few laughs he didn’t have to join in on. But somewhere beneath the hardened surface, a small, uneasy part of him wondered if this was the start of something; something dangerously close to living again. Sighing again, a habit he realized he was leaning more and more into since his release, to keep him off the edge, he told himself to get home to his apartment, and shower, so that he could get himself to Miguel’s on time. Oh, right! First, he had to pick up a bottle of cheap wine. He wasn't showing up in someone’s house to dinner empty handed.
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Thirty Five
The next few days, Devon was reintroduced to the workers and staff on the vineyard, and he a lot of things had changed about him. Finally, he had had it all wrapped around his head and he got around to calling Hector. He sat on his bed, his palm sweating like he was nervous to tell his friend, the man who had helped him and even unknowingly reunited him with his own family. He pressed the phone to his ear and waited as the phone rang, his heart beating as he remembered that he was now someone new. He was no longer the man that strived and struggled like an animal, during and after leaving the prison, but a new one who had been given a purpose. Devon swallowed hard, his throat tightening as the ringing continued on the other end. His knee bounced restlessly, the tension in his chest building with every passing second. It wasn’t fear, not really… more like the strange pressure of stepping into a version of himself he hadn’t fully accepted yet, even though it was far better tha
Thirty Four
The next few days, Devon was reintroduced to the workers and staff on the vineyard, and he a lot of things had changed about him. Finally, he had had it all wrapped around his head and he got around to calling Hector. He sat on his bed, his palm sweating like he was nervous to tell his friend, the man who had helped him and even unknowingly reunited him with his own family. He pressed the phone to his ear and waited as the phone rang, his heart beating as he remembered that he was now someone new. He was no longer the man that strived and struggled like an animal, during and after leaving the prison, but a new one who had been given a purpose. Devon swallowed hard, his throat tightening as the ringing continued on the other end. His knee bounced restlessly, the tension in his chest building with every passing second. It wasn’t fear, not really… more like the strange pressure of stepping into a version of himself he hadn’t fully accepted yet, even though it was far better than wha
Thirty Three
For a moment, nobody breathed at all or said a word. Everyone just maintained their position, and stared. The only sound in the dining room was the soft, trembling buzz of the phone vibrating once in Georgie’s unsteady hand before falling silent again. Someone was texting Devon, but right now, that doesn't seem to be important. Devon stood rooted to the spot, unsure whether to reach for the phone, reach for Henry… or run out of this room because he wasn't sure he knew what this was all about, or maybe he was just lost in the meaning. He looked around the table at the wide eyes, the stiff shoulders, the disbelief tightening in every face of the people standing around. Everyone stared at the lockscreen photo like it were a ghost resurrected in digital form.Then Sophie whispered, her voice breaking the fragile silence like cracking glass. “Uncle Henry… what’s going on?” she asked. Henry swallowed, his throat bobbing slowly as he looked at Devon… really looked at him; like every pie
Thirty Two
For a full minute, everyone was quiet, and Henry had gone back to his food like nothing had just happened. Devon stared at him, not even sure what to do anymore at that point seeing as all eyes were on him. He cursed Georgie in his head, blaming him for his lack of appetite to eat his lunch. It was as if he had known he was up to something since that smile he had given to him outside. He wondered how this would have gone if he hadn't had that conversation with Hector, and then worked up the courage to go talk to Henry. That was how this man would have outed him just because he was that wicked. He had lost his appetite, honestly, and there was no reason sitting on here, pretending that what had just happened, had not. At that, he pushed his chair back, and pushed up in his seat. “Mrs. Martha. Thank you for lunch. I'm sorry I couldn't eat much.” he said, even though he was sure what he ate shouldn't even be considered eating the food at all. He started to walk away when Rogelio pic
Thirty One
Georgie grinned through the serving of lunch and it made Devon really uncomfortable, even though he couldn’t figure out why for the life of him. It wasn’t as if he did anything wrong but knowing that men like Georgie would only be this happy when they were planning something bad for others was what had his stomach in a twist. After Mrs. Martha sat down, with food in front of everyone, Sophia spoke. “So, Uncle Henry, I heard you ordered in some new designs of bottles.” She started. “Yes, Sophia. I hear they should arrive soon.” He said with a nod.Devon soon zoned them out, just faced his food and no one else. He said nothing, until Georgie spoke to him first of course. “So Devon, speaking of hearing about new. things, I heard something interesting about you.” He started.Sophie stopped talking… actually, everyone around the table stopped talking, and looked at Georgie. “Dad, what are you talking about she asked. Georgie grinned, looking at his daughter with a shrug. “Well,
Thirty
Staring down at the picture on the screen on his phone, Devon smiled, feeling suddenly nostalgic. He had gone on his mother’s old social media photos, and he had found this there, the only one that had his father and mother with him in it. He was five years old in this photo, maybe six, he wasn’t sure, but he could still remember the taste of the cookie he had just bitten into, the remaining chunk still in his hand as they took that photo. He remembered his mother’s voice, the one calling for him to smile. “Smile Devy, be a good boy for mommy.”“You mean for daddy?” his father had interjected, a hearty smile on his face, and then he remembered his mother had thrown her head back and laughed. Goodness, if only they hadn’t died, but they had, about four or five years after this photo was taken. He shook his head as the tears resurfaced, but he pushed them back down to focus on the photo. “I miss you so much, Mom, Dad.” He whispered, shaking his head as if to clear himself from th
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