While having just been released from prison, due to a night full of misfortunate mistakes, Red McCoy witnesses an old friend of his, son being kicked out of his apartment in the middle of the night.
Beverly Reid had been living on his own since he...
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While the strange man sat beside him, Beverly silently prayed that the stranger would offer him somewhere to sleep—just for the night. But when Red stood, and began to quietly walk away, all hope shattered.
Then, Red stopped.
He couldn't leave that boy there, to sit and freeze—and most likely even starve. He was Esteban's son. What he say if he knew Red left him there to die all alone.
"Get up, and get your shit."
Red ordered, and Beverly halted, his breathing suddenly stable and comprehensive. "B-But you're a stranger—"
But what Beverly didn't know, was that Red in fact, wasn't a that much of a stranger. "Do you want to sit here all night, or do you wanna ride back to Jersey with me?"
Jersey? Why would the man be in New York, if he lived all the way up in New Jersey? But who was Beverly to ask questions. The man was offering him somewhere to stay, for goodness sake.
Without another word, Beverly stood, and grabbed the backpack his mother had given him the last time they saw one another. Then, he shoved his mere necessities into the bag, a smile hanging at his lips.
"Thank you so, so, so much. If it weren't for you, I would be stuck—"
"Yeah, I know. You're welcome, just—get a move on it."
The two make their way down the staircase, Beverly with a happy, grateful smile, and Red, with a look annoyance, yet remorse for the young orphan.
Esteban had been in and out of jail for over ten years. And all Red could do was feel bad for the boy who'd grown up without a father, nor a mother. To anyone, it was utterly heartbreaking, but to Red, it was simply disappointing.
As Beverly buckled himself into the passenger seat, silence filled the vehicle to the very brim, as Red maneuvered the truck out of the parking lot.
"So," Beverly began, his voice hoarse, due to not having enough confidence to speak into the silence. "How old are you?"
"Why're you asking?"
Beverly shrugged, "Just . . . wondering."
Red was reluctant to answer, nor wanting to create any sort of bond with the young boy beside him. "I'm twenty-seven. You?"
"Twenty." This surprised Red. He'd expected the boy to be at least seventeen. His eyes made him look younger, foolish.
"So . . . Jersey, huh? I hear—"
"Let's just cut the small chat. We're almost there, maybe you should get some rest." Beverly smiled sadly, nodding, then, allowing himself to drift off to sleep.
It was so, so easy to trust the attractive stranger.
