Phoenix Simpson [PUBLISHED]

4

Phoenix Simpson

Chapter 4

The library session didn't last much longer after my run in with my old cellmate's brother.

Just seeing him, the spitting image of Eddie, was bringing so many unwanted memories crashing back. I'd packed away my laptop with vigour and strode out of the building with hunched shoulders. As if to spite me, the old scar down my side started to twinge. It rarely ever hurt anymore, so it was just ironic really. Driving home had been a five-minute blur, and I found myself back inside and standing in the living room as I watched the triplets trading old knives on the carpet.

"Why do you still bother trading knives?" I asked them. "You shouldn't use them anymore. At all. Don't even – "

"Don't even carry them on you, yeah, we get it," Gomez cut me off, rolling his eyes. "We're not carrying them on us."

"Then again, what's the point of trading?" I frowned.

"It's just fun, okay?" Gomez looked up at me. He heaved a sigh. "It's just a bit of our old life that we still miss."

I looked between Giovanni and Severn, wondering if Gomez was voicing their thoughts too. Severn shrugged lazily.

"I mean, Gomez is being a little dramatic, but he is kinda right," Severn said. "We do miss some of the good old stuff."

"Like beating the shit out of the Santiagos," Gio grinned.

"And what about when they did the same to you?" I questioned.

"Oh," Gio shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't say I miss the feeling of being punched in the face, but it was all part of the same game."

I huffed in mild amusement. These boys were treating stab wounds and broken ribs like they were nothing. But I supposed they'd learned from the rest of us. We were lucky none of our injuries had killed us. It had almost come to that, too many times, but we were all still here. Peppered with bullet wounds and old scars, but still here. The same couldn't be said for the Santiagos, who were now missing one. Diego's death at the hand of a rival gang, the Zikas, was still fresh. It may have been a few months ago, but I knew how Carlos and the others were feeling. The death of a sibling was almost impossible to heal.

I walked to the armchair, sitting myself down and leaning back. It was the same one from our old house. In fact, nearly all of the furniture was. Why buy something new when we could keep the same ones for the memories they gave, both good and bad. Many times we'd covered the long sofa with plastic sheets and laid one of us down for Landon to stitch up. And if it was Landon who needed help, I would do it. Or the person whose hands weren't shaking the most.

Watching the bowed blond heads of my youngest brothers, I was glad that I didn't have to worry about them getting hurt like that again. It was the whole reason I put the gang life to bed. Death had knocked on the door too many times, and soon it was going to barge in.

"How was the library?" Gio asked me.

"Uneventful," I answered automatically.

It only made me immediately remember Jazz, and how there was so much we could have talked about. Should have talked about. But instead he'd chatted to me about business and skirted over the elephant in the room. I sighed deeply and rubbed my face. I didn't fancy bringing up the past either, so I wasn't exactly complaining.

I realised I hadn't asked Gio and his triplets what they'd been doing up until this point today, but he wasted no time filling me in.

"We were at the beach, again. It was quite cold today, there was a breeze so we didn't go in the water."