Sorry the update is a day late, it's been a busy week! Hopefully, worth the wait. Still loving reading all of your thoughts after each chapter, it's really heartwarming to see how much y'all love these characters even when they're being a little bit dumb LOL.

banks

9

Boss is out sick a couple of days the next week and whoever's in charge of the universe either messes up or decides to give me a momentary break.

Have a day off on me lad. I'll see ya Thursday

If I dont die first

I read the text three times, snorting at his follow-up message, before possibly the worst idea pops into my head.

Go to Bree's.

"Edward, I can't find my shoes!"

Glancing toward Archie with his hands on his hips in the bedroom doorway, I point in the rough direction of where I last saw them. "Under the chair, Ace."

"Oh, yep. Got'em, thanks."

I promised Es I'd wait for the cops to give me the go-ahead to go to Bree's place. She thinks it's a dumb idea to go at all—she's probably not wrong to be fair, but that doesn't mean I'm not gonna do it anyway.

"I think we're g-gonna be late."

"Nah, we're good," I flick a quick look at the clock on the wall and jump up because actually, he's right, shit. We are definitely gonna be late. "Fuck, let's hustle, buddy."

"Ah wa bababa."

"So wise," I tell Charlotte with a grin, scooping her out of her bouncy chair and swiping the diaper bag off the counter as Archie grabs his backpack and hurries out the door with me right behind him. "All right, mate, you up for some off-roading?"

Over his shoulder Archie flashes me a crooked smile and nods like a li'l bobble head. "Oh yeah, l-let's do it!"

We make it to the school in record time, more than one set of eyes on us when I jump out with Charlotte under one arm like a football and Archie under the other, his bag swinging from his hands.

"Come oooon, you can make it!" He's giggling so hard he can barely speak, and I can't help but laugh at the sorry fucking state of us as I run toward the gates. The janitor is there, tapping his foot with his arms crossed over his chest.

But I see the slight smile.

"Y'all just 'bout made it." His eyes crinkle at the corners and his wrinkly smile has become a familiar sight at these gates; it's possible we're late a ton.

"I know, I know, sorry." Standing Archie on his own two feet, we do the now-familiar routine of him fidgeting until I give him my hat. It's way too big on his head but it seems to make him more chill about this whole school drop-off and pick-up deal.

"Th-thanks," he mumbles with a small smile as I turn it backwards on his head. "See you later."

It feels in-fucking-credible to know that he believes that now, too; that he trusts me to come back for him.

"Yeah, see ya later, Ace. Be good, okay?"

"Uh-huh."

The janitor walks him in, and I'm walking back toward the truck as soon as they're out of sight. Thankfully, Charlotte's an easy drop-off. She loves her sitter and starts babbling bullshit as soon as I hand her over along with her bag and tatty blanket.

Then, I'm on my way.

The hour and a half drive gives me time to start doubting myself.

This is a stupid idea.

Dirt roads give way to real roads, more houses around, more cars too. I cross the tracks where Bree once played hopscotch drunk. It was funny at the time.

Now I realize she was a ticking time bomb.

Drumming my thumbs on the wheel, I suck in a few big breaths before pulling onto Bree's street. It looks even fucking worse than the last time I was here, which was…I don't even know, a couple years ago? I dropped Bree home after her car broke down at the diner and she couldn't get a ride from anyone else.

As I roll to a stop outside her apartment building, I have to swallow the urge to vomit.

If I'd insisted on taking her inside, would I have met Archie that night?

I was pissed off for being woken up in the middle of the night. Annoyed Riley hadn't stepped up to go get his girlfriend. I think I spent most of the drive between the diner and Bree's place lecturing her on what a piece of shit he was.

My opinion of him hasn't changed, but how I handled that whole shitshow… I'd do things differently.

A million chaotic thoughts fly through my brain, feet like lead on the sidewalk when I eventually drag myself out of the truck, pulling my backup ball cap off the bench to stick on my head.

I could have known about Archie two, maybe three, years ago. He'd still have been a toddler. Charlotte…wouldn't even exist yet. Or…ever. Hell, if I knew I'd knocked Bree up, we wouldn't have slept together to make another baby. No matter how much they've turned my life upside-down, it feels wrong to wish either of them away, something that's started to sink in more and more with every passing day.

Looking up and down the street, I can see all the same shit I remember. The burned-out shell of a car on the dead grass at the end; kids sometimes used to be climbing on it. There's trash everywhere, a skinny cat eating from an overturned dumpster and a group of scrawny, obviously curious kids on the steps of the next building staring at me.

"Yo, mister, you lookin' for somebody?" one of them calls.

Jerking my chin at the building in front of me, I take my chances. "Bree. You seen her?"

I get six blank stares back, but one, the ballsy kid who yelled out, he shuffles on the stoop. "You, uh, you know Bree?"

"She's my friend."

Hands shoved deep in too-big hoodie pockets, the kid mutters something to his buddies who scatter, then he saunters over to me with his head on a swivel. Taking his lead, I keep my head about me, ears out for cars or footsteps as I watch him fidget in worn Chucks, toe scuffing the sidewalk. He's twitchy. On edge. Something's got him nervous.

Or someone.

"You know where she is?"

Clearing his throat into his shoulder, he eyes me with suspicious brown eyes before finally sighing. "She died. She, ah, she got shot. Few weeks ago. Sorry."

It doesn't get any easier, doesn't matter how many times I hear it.

Suppressing the shiver that threatens to ripple down my spine, I pretend I didn't know. Ask if he knows what happened.

Shrugging, Twitchy looks around again, obviously wanting to be anywhere but here. "Naw man. Freak accident I heard. Robbery gone bad or sommit."

Even if I didn't already have my own theories, I wouldn't believe this kid for shit.

But before I get a chance to tell him so, we both turn toward a door slamming open and what I quickly realize is the sound of slippers on concrete.

"Jimmy Jenks, what've I told ya 'bout talkin' to strangers, eh?"

"Shit," Twitchy, ah, Jimmy, mumbles, five big strides taking him toward the woman on the stoop of Bree's building. "Hi Miss Leah. You look real pretty today."

"Mm hm. Get yo' butt back to your mama's house before I kick it there."

Jimmy offers me a quick, two-finger salute before taking off like his ass is on fire. I stifle the urge to laugh and settle for a smirk and a shake of my head. Boy's obviously had his ass handed to him enough times to know Leah ain't playing.

"And you. You lookin' for somethin', honey?"

I've barely turned to face her properly when the color drains out of the woman's face. She grabs for the railing, flimsy metal creaking with her weight. Frowning, I step back, senses on high alert, but I can't leave.

Not when she clutches the front of her dressing gown and breathes, "You must be Edward., I won'ered when you'd show up. You bettuh come in."

- banks -

Leah's apartment is directly below Bree's.

The layout is the same, except Leah has an…eclectic decor style. The doors between her kitchen and living room, and living room and foyer, are missing—in their place curtains of beads that click together in the breeze sneaking in through the open window. I spot at least five different patterns, and the wildly different colors kind of make my head hurt, but somehow…it works.

She points at a floral armchair and tells me to sit before disappearing into the kitchen. I don't know what I expect her to return with, but a bottle of whiskey and two glasses sure ain't it.

"Uh, I'm driving," I say to be polite, thinking it's nine-thirty in the fucking morning.

Wrinkling her nose, she tells me she'll be right back and returns with a carton of orange juice instead.

"'Sa li'l outta date but it'll just give it tang."

I get a glimpse of the date when she pours, and I manage to force a smile. Five months is a little more than 'a li'l' but anyway.

When she's sitting opposite me, Leah sniffs. "So. How're those kids? You've got 'em, I take it."

Those kids.

"They're…" terrified, overwhelmed, kind of settling in "...okay." I settle for 'okay.' "You … you knew who I was?"

"Oh honey." She laughs, flicking her hair over her shoulder and getting comfy. "There ain't no denying who you are with them eyes. Those're Archie's eyes. Besides, Bree done shown me pictures of you."

Blowing out a big breath, I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "So, you know I'm…that I'm the—"

"The daddy of those babies? Oh yeah, I know." The amusement in her face dies. "Listen, you gotta know sommit about Bree. I know youse were friends or fuck-buddies or whatevuh, but she kept a lotta secrets. From you, from me, Lord even from herself. Ain't nothin' make sense 'bout why she kept you away from Archie and li'l Lottie, but I'm sure she had her reasons, ya know?"

"No, that's just it, I don't know." Taking my hat off with one hand and burying the other in my hair, I watch a bunch of emotions cross Leah's wrinkled face. "You knew, but she didn't tell me?"

I can see the indecision on Leah's face, in the way she shifts in the chair. "Listen, I dunno how much you know 'bout that boyfriend of hers—" She trails off, eyes on my face, and I guess my expression says it all. Leah nods, tightening the belt of her robe as she heaves herself back up to her feet. "Okay then. Well, I won't harp on 'bout him. But just…bear in mind that she loved them babies. Didn't always do right by 'em, but damn sure she tried her best wit' what she had."

There's a big, ugly-as-fuck ceramic dish on the small dining table under the window overlooking the street. She fishes around in it for a second, pulling out a key with a little figurine on it, before jerking her chin at me.

"C'mon."

Uh, okay.

When she takes a left toward the stairs up, I realize where we're going.

My stomach drops to my feet, heart beating in my throat as we take scuffed steps up to the fourth floor.

The air in my lungs floods out at the sight of a tattered piece of police tape on the floor outside Bree's door. Swallowing hard, I force my eyes away from it and stare at the door instead. Leah has to jiggle the key in the lock a few times, but eventually gets it open, using her shoulder to push it when it gets stuck in the frame.

Over her shoulder, she says, "The cops kicked it in on the night…you know. Ain't enough money to fix it proper so they just wedged it back in."

Of course they did.

I can't think about that, though, because now we're in and every drop of blood in my body is rushing in my ears.

I'm going to kill him. One way or another, Riley Biers is going to die.

The sofas I almost broke my neck carrying up the stairs when Bree moved in are missing their cushions and one is tipped onto its back. There isn't a single dining chair standing up. They're all knocked over or broken, and there's a bottle of vodka lying open across the dining table, a puddle around it. The floor is covered in paper and trash and just stuff. A couple of storage bins lay on their side, their contents every-fucking-where, and the TV screen is shattered, a baseball bat hanging out of it.

My blood is boiling, rage rising the more I look around.

My head could explode the second I spot a stuffed tiger amongst all the shit.

Holy shit, that's the same tiger we got Archie at Goodwill. Maybe just a li'l bit bigger.

"It wa'nt like this before the cops done raided it," Leah pipes up, hands on her hips, frown lines etched deep in her forehead. "I haven't been up hea since to be truthful." Her dark eyes are sad when she looks over at me, expression softening. "You wanna pack up some stuff for the babies? Their room's down there, last door."

Clearing my throat, I nod jerkily but just…stand there.

There's nowhere to step where I won't put my foot on something. A book, a piece of trash, something. Broken glass and what looks like a beaten-up laptop. There are smashed plates and bowls all over the floor, and the curtains are barely hanging onto the pole clinging onto the wall.

On her way past me, Leah squeezes my shoulder and says she'll be back with a couple bags to put stuff in. When I'm alone, I stand up one of the chairs with shaky hands and sit before my legs give out.

Holy shit, Bree. What a fucking mess.

- banks -

"Where ya goin', honey? I got your bags."

I pass Leah on the steps at a jog. "I gotta go. I can't…"

Bile rushes up from my stomach, burning burning burning.

Gotta get out gotta get out gotta get out.

"Whoa, wait!"

I don't—can't—stop. When I make it out onto the sidewalk, I gulp in big breaths, greedy for fresh air. My stomach rolls and I barely make it to the shitty little hedge alongside the stoop before I throw up.

Picking my way along the short corridor to the kids' room to see if there's anything I can take back for them, I can't help myself. The door to Bree's room is ajar, memories of her laughing and dragging me in here so we could go smoke on the fire escape dancing through my mind as I push it open.

Except those memories rush away because where her bed once stood is a big, empty square. Someone's hacked the carpet out with a knife it looks like, the edges messy and torn.

My eyes lift to the wall and I have to lean against the door jamb to stay upright.

Someone's made an effort to clean it but there's blood splattered across the wall, the outline of where her headboard used to be obvious in the absence of crimson on white paint.

"There, there, honey."

A glass of water appears in front of me and I can't find it in me to be embarrassed, not when I straighten up and see Leah's gray expression.

She saw it too.

"I di'n't know, sugar. Sorry."

When the water's gone, I hand her back the glass and wipe my sweaty face on my shirt. "It's not your fault. It's okay."

Shaky and too hot, I sit my ass down and pick up the plastic bag I dropped when I bolted out of there. The tiger falls out into my lap, the fur soft between my fingers when I grab it before it can tumble onto the dirty path.

It's the exact same as the one Archie has back at the trailer except maybe a size bigger, and this one is missing an eye; someone's sewn the eye hole shut.

My eyes burn as I stare at the stuffed toy and wonder if this is why Archie's so attached to the tiger back at home. He never said that he had this, but then…I guess he didn't think he'd ever see it again.

"S'that all you wanna take?"

Glancing up at Leah, I nod. "I got a couple of extra things from the kids' room. I don't want anythin' else."

I'm guessing she didn't go in there because if she had she would've seen that basically nothin' was salvageable. Clothes were all over the floor and covered in what smelled like paint, the crib was smashed into kindling, and there was no missing the slashes in the curtain hanging over a big pile of pillows which I'm guessing was Archie's makeshift 'bed.'

"Aight, honey."

A car door slams and her head snaps toward it. Following Leah's gaze across the street, I tense, ready to spring up. The black tinted windows of the SUV stop me seeing inside, but the way the hair on the back of my neck stands on end tells me exactly who it is slowly driving away.

Biers.

"Gimme your phone, hon. Gimme." Distracted, I do as she asks, standing once the SUV is out of sight. Handing my phone back, Leah manages a weak smile. "Now you got my number. Use it, ya hear? I wouldn't mind seein' those babies. We used to hang out ya know. That boy'a'yours is a li'l card shark thanks to me."

I'm too strung out to put much thought into what she's saying now, but I make a mental note to revisit it later. "I'll call you," I promise, not sure if I'm telling the truth or not yet. "Thank you for…"

"Uh huh." She eyes me, hesitating before pulling me into a fierce hug that squeezes the breath from my lungs. Into my ear, she whispers, "Randall. Find Randall, ya hear me?"

Randall?

The wide-eyed look of warning Leah shoots me when I pull back with a frown is enough to stop me asking what the hell she's talking about—for now.

Grabbing the bag and the tiger, I lope down the sidewalk to my truck, one foot inside when I remember—"Hey, Leah?"

She's still right there on the stoop where I left her, a cigarette hanging out her mouth and a small flask on its way out of her robe pocket.

Shaking my head with an incredulous smile, I steady myself on the truck door. The street has ears here, I know that much. So I settle for keeping it brief. "Bree's funeral…I'll text you the details."

Leah nods, plucking the cigarette from between pursed lips. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, hon."

- banks -

As it happens, it doesn't take long to plan a funeral when you've got no money to spend on all the extra shit. We got a small grant from the government to help with the basics, but all the other stuff…we just don't have the cash for it.

On a sweltering Monday in April, I call Archie out of school, bribe him to wear the suit Es dropped off the day before, and wrangle Charlotte's flailing limbs into the fanciest dress she owns. Carl and Es come over first thing to help, but honestly, I'm operating on autopilot. It doesn't feel real or right.

We're cremating Bree today.

"You okay?" Esme whispers, reaching up to touch my cheek. I shaved before the kids woke up. First time I didn't just trim it in weeks, and I don't recognize myself in the mirror.

"No."

Her eyes tighten with grief and understanding, and I find myself holding her a little tighter than normal when she wraps her arms around me. "You're gonna be okay. We'll get through this."

Will we?

Carl's got Charlotte chugging a bottle on the couch, and from where I'm standing in the kitchen, I can see Archie sitting on the metal steps outside. The door's propped open, a cross-breeze between it and the kitchen window taking the edge off the heat.

I can't see Archie's expression but he's hanging his little head, hand wrapped in his newly-trimmed hair. Es took him into work with her on Saturday for a cut and it's wild how much older he looks, the sides a little shorter than the still-shaggy top.

Feels like someone's stuck my chest in a vise when I watch him suck in a big breath that shudders back out.

"How am I gonna get him through it?" I murmur against the top of Es's head, keeping my arm around her shoulders as she shifts to look at Archie.

"Oh…" Sniffing, she squeezes me around the middle. "One step at a time. We'll get through it one step at a time."

Carl's been quiet since Charlotte ended up in the hospital. I've only seen him a couple times, only when I've gone over there. I know he's still pissed at me and that's okay; I'm pretty pissed at myself, too. So it hits me harder when he puts Charlotte in her bouncer thing and pauses on his way to change in the bedroom, hand on my shoulder and nothing but sincerity in his expression.

"You don't gotta do this alone, Ed. We've got you—you and the kids."

- banks -

Ten.

That's the number of people who show up.

Me, Esme, Carl, Archie, and Charlotte. The reverend. Two pallbearers since Carl and I couldn't exactly carry the coffin inside by ourselves. And then, just when I give up on anyone else coming, Leah and Twitchy Jimmy himsel arrive.

She blows me a kiss and flicks Jimmy's ear when he loudly asks, "Shouldn't there be more people?" and I warm to her even more.

"...So much ahead of her in life, so much potential unnecessarily cut short."

I bite the inside of my cheek and stare at the picture of her on top of the coffin in a frame that used to have Esme's hairdressing diploma in it.

This is bullshit.

"Bree was a bright young woman who, no doubt, would have gone on to do incredible things. She was a devoted mother, friend, and loved to cook."

I share a look with my sister, her eyes glazed over with tears as she bounces Charlotte in her arms.

We downloaded this eulogy from Wiki Answers and changed out a couple things, like…well, her name and birthday.

She was a fucking terrible cook.

I've only ever been to one of these things before, and all I remember is being desperate to eat the buffet food I'd seen the caterers carrying into the house before we left. I don't know how to write a eulogy or pick out the right kind of songs.

Archie shifts restlessly next to me, hands stuffed in his pant pockets, and I can't take it anymore. He yelps quietly when I scoop him up to sit on my hip but rests his head on my shoulder instantly, his arm finding its way around my neck. I'm not sure if this is more for me or him, but fuck it. I needed a hug and Archie doesn't protest, so.

Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I squeeze him back and tune out of the reverend's great attempt at making Bree's fucked-up life seem wholesome and wonderful.

The reason we didn't write our own eulogy is obvious really.

Her life started out shit and ended even worse.