Chapter 1

They say each era is a generation apart, different rules, different perspectives. When you are born into a legacy, it's always hard to keep things to the tradition, that was laid out before you. Everybody thinks that because you are apart of it, means your just going to be like the ones before you. Trying to pull yourself away from the norm and lay out your own tracks is always the hardest part of being many generations into what your family legacy has left behind for you.

Tritan Benoit had that same situation going on with himself. He didn't want to do what the Benoit's before him did. He wanted to be different, set his own legacy and own goals. Ever since the day he was born, everything was already set out for him to follow. So everybody treated him like that once he reached the age of sixteen. He rebelled against the whole idea. He was giving everybody in his family a hard time, ever since his father had passed away two years ago. He became man of the house at the age of fourteen. He knew he had a lot to carry since he was told of the death.

Sighing as he ran a hand through his short dark brown hair. Lowering his blue eyes as he looked to the piece of paper he was holding in his hand, an address was scribbled down from his mother. Loose worn out tan workboots sounded upon the pavement as he dragged his feet in the sand, as he was walking along the side of the road. He was dropped off by bus out it the middle of nowhere. The city was a walk away, he'd rather be back there, where he had spent most of his life growing up. Stopping as he put his duffle bag down for a moment in the grass, he needed a break. It seemed like he was walking for hours, but it only had been ten minutes. Seating himself next to his bag, adjusting his baggy dark blue jeans, that were hanging off his hips, even though a dark brown belt was around his waist. It was the latest style when it came to the teenagers in the city. Red bandana was tied around his wrist, in a way to show he was part of one of the gangs in the city.

Lifting his blue thin flannel up onto his muscular shoulder, which was riddled with scars from the many gang fights he had encountered. It matched his left shoulder and a few on his back and legs. The last fight he was in, he ended up in the hospital for a week. It scared his mother into sending him out to a friend of hers place to maybe teach him so hard working skills. He snorted at the idea, as he lit a cigarette, he was holding between his lips. Placing the lighter back into the pack, placing it back into his jean's pocket. Holding the lit cig between his right index and middle, leaned his head back as he enjoyed the warmth of the sun. He already had a tan complection from being outside all day long, plus working out. A gentle breeze picked up as he stood to his feet, grabbing his duffle bag, slung it over his shoulder, continuing his walk while still smoking his cigarette.

It seemed like he was walking forever as he stopped, reaching into his front jeans pocket for the piece of paper. Looking to the address that his mom had given him. Looking at the mailbox that stood at the end of a long driveway, which was blocked by a gate and a high brick wall. Putting the paper back into his pocket as he stepped up to the gate, looking past the cast iron gate. A huge nice looking log cabin, two stories high, stood upon a small hill. It had a wrap around porch and a garage off to the side. Lifting a brow as he saw the property went out farther than he first thought. It kept going on, off into the distance. Sighing as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, "Great a farm.. I've been sent to the country..."

Hearing a buzz as the gates opened up in front of him, lifting a brow to this, Tritan slowly stepped through them, following the driveway up to the house. "You're late.." A voice sounded as Tritan stopped in his foot steps. Slowly turning his 5'10 frame as one of his mother's buddies came into view. Wearing a pair of blue jeans and black work boots only, no shirt as he put down a shovel he had in his hands. Dirt and sweat mixed on his hands and forearms from working. Sweat dripped off his forehead as he wiped his face off with the shirt he had in his hands. "Hey I was told to be here for 4pm. Not my fault the bus was late.." Tritan commented as he narrowed his eyes.

Sighing as he shoved the shovel into the ground, leaving it stuck in the huge pile of dirt that was sitting on top of a huge blue tarp. "You must be Tritan. You're mom told me you were coming. I'm David Batista. You can call me 'sir' or Dave. Let's get you quickly settled and get you to work." Dave explained as he walked past the kid, walking up the porch steps that led to the house. Tritan rolled his eyes as he followed Dave up and into the house. "Kick your boots off when you come in here from working. Keeps the place a bit more cleaner, easier on the help to keep clean." Tritan kicked his boots off as he followed Dave through the living room, that was attached to a huge kitchen.

Stepping up to the frig, Dave opened the door, grabbing a bottle of water. Closing the door as he indulged in the cool beverage. Tritan sighs a bit as he looked around. Seeing different photos and such on the living room walls. Stepping up as he looked to a few hanging on the walls in frames. Dave walked to the doorway as he saw the young kid looking, not saying a word for a the moment. Letting the kid settle in a bit to his new surroundings. Tritan was so intrigued he didn't even realize Dave was standing in the doorway watching. "These all yours?" He asked as he stepped away, grabbing his duffle bag. "No.. Some are mine, some belong to the other guy that lives here." Tritan stopped in his foot steps, "What did you just say man..."

Dave lifted a brow to the kid's attitude. "I said some are mine, some belong to the other guy that lives here. Come on, follow me up to your room. You're going to get changed out of those clothes and into some jeans that are not falling off your hips. Leave the shirt on it's fine and the boots, but tie them. Got plenty of work to do, might as well get started." Tritan followed Dave upstairs and walked through the hallway, a few doors to the rooms were open, some were closed.

Dave stopped as he motioned into an empty room. "This is your room for the time you're here. You can make it home for you. But you won't be spending too much time in here, mostly just sleeping." Tritan stepped into the bare room. Only thing in there was a dark brown dresser that sat in a corner. An oak wooden frame, twin size bed, with folded sheets and a dark green blanket, sitting in the middle of the bed. The right side of the bed was pressed up against the wall, with a window right above the head board. The walls were painted a light blue color with white framed windows and base boards at the bottom of the walls. Dark green plush carpet sat under his feet.

"What am I suppose to do all the other time I have on my hands..." Tritan questioned as he stood in the doorway to his room. "The rest of the time you are going to be working. Your mom has specifics on what she wanted us to do for you." Sighing as he rolled his eyes once again, "Whatever.. I'm here for a little while. Then I'm gone once I turn eighteen, Which is in a few weeks. So I'm not getting cozy here." Dave lifted a brow, "Really? Well remember I mentioned I was not the only one living here?" Tritan turned his attention to Dave, "Yea? So.." Dave chuckles as he pats the kid's shoulder, "You're at a work type camp kid. I'm not the only instructor you'll have. You're mom knows us all from working with us, back in the day. She might of mentioned that to you." Shrugging the man's hand off his shoulder. "She did.. Nor am I impressed with that either." Dave chuckled deeply, "You'll learn to respect us while you're here. That is a guarantee.." With that said Dave walked away, leaving the punk kid to his room.