Chapter Text
Andrew's POV:
He still dreams about it.
He's telling Cath he loves her too—his voice so faint it barely registers to his own ears—admiring her soft face in the dim light as he fucks her.
She's so beautiful, always has been.
Kisses run along his neck and chest. Warm hands cradle his jaw, stinging him more than any beating he's ever taken.
She can barely look at him, barely make a sound. When their eyes finally meet, he sees it: Brows furrowing. The frantic, desperate look in her eyes. She's afraid of him—he can practically smell it coming off her. Bile rises in his throat.
He knows what he has to do, and yet every time he's worked up the courage, all the strength in his body leaves him.
Andrew takes a beat to memorize as much as he can of her—mourning her in real time. His hand grabs the nearest pillow. Sharp nails rake across his skin. He's sobbing, staining the pillow with his tears. Andrew always jolts awake when her body goes limp and silent. In bed, he trembles fiercely, and the marks she carved into him sting anew.
Every time Lena asks about Cath, Andrew's heart squeezes painfully in his chest. He'd watch her face go somber, her eyes dimming, and he knew before she even breathed in to speak what she was going to say.
His body instinctively prepares itself, tensing and going rigid. Each time, he prepares to hear the accusation in her voice, the anger that she deserves to feel. She should hate him. She should get as far away as she can.
She never spews her words at him. They always come out small and feeble, just like a child pleading for someone to give them hope.
She trusts him to help her cling a little longer to the chance her mom might come back. And that fact makes his gut twist so much worse when her plea drifts through the air. When he's forced to give her that hope, knowing it's just another empty promise.
"A flashbang? For a food truck? What, you carry an RPG now, too?"
Andrew returns to the present: him, Craig, and Deran celebrating their most recent heist at a lunch table in the sand. Forcing his gaze away from the water, he turns to Deran. "Why, you got one?"
Deran and Craig chuckle, and the three of them clink their beers. Condensation from the glass wets Andrew's palm as he takes a large swig and drops his arm back onto his knee. The bottle glints amber in his hand as he peers down at it, reflecting the setting sun.
For the briefest moment, he thinks of squeezing the glass so hard it shatters in his hand. The shards would break the skin of his palm, giving him white hot pain that makes all the thoughts in his head go quiet. He imagines the blood running down his arm as—
The lockbox creaks as Craig pulls the money out, and the thought fades away just as fast as it came.
Untying the stack, Craig starts counting their score.
"This is the shit we should be doin' man, not trailing after Baz like we're his fuckin' puppies. We had fun. Admit it."
God, he should've fucking known. Of course, this wasn't only about the cash. "It went okay today, but it's not always gonna go so smoothly."
"We never had any trouble when we stuck to the nice and simple shit. Now Baz is tryna act like we work for him. You spent three years in prison because of him—"
"Jesus, man, just let it go," Craig butts in.
"I went to prison because a guard was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Shit happens." He pauses, the gears shifting in his head until it all becomes so clear to see. "This is exactly what Smurf wants—for us to fight and turn on each other. I'm not doing that—I'm not letting her win."
Deran shifts his attention toward the sand, leaving Andrew's words in the air between them.
Even though he knows what he's saying is right, it still leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
With the way he's talking, it's as though he simply forgave Baz for the time he did for him. That he put it all behind him, just like that.
He didn't. In prison, his blood turned hot most nights when he couldn't sleep, stuck replaying the same moments on loop in his bunk. Baz tripping, the unexpected guard around the corner—out of those sixteen seconds, it only took Andrew three to decide that he'd rather it be him; he'd draw down if it meant saving his brother.
It's hard keeping that altruism when you're chained naked to a chair in solitary, bright lights beating down on you, music blaring in your ears, sleep never coming. They drugged him out of his mind half the time.
Craig breathes in deep as he ties off the cash with a rubber band. He's wearing a shit-eating grin as he says, "Almost ten grand. Goddamn truffle fries." He hands them each their cuts.
Thanks to the molly the truck was selling, the wad of cash feels heavy in his hand.
"Take it." Andrew holds it out in front of him.
Deran turns his head, glaring at Craig.
"He didn't say shit, except that you needed money. I'll give you the rest."
He needs to quit his stupid hubris and take the handout. What's Deran's alternative? Robbing a highly secured bank alone?
That's how you get caught. That's how you end up like Andrew.
"I don't need your money—"
"Consider it a loan and pay me back when we hit the church fundraiser. Take it." He thrusts the cash into his hands, not taking no for an answer.
Craig hands Deran his cut, too.
"You too?" Deran questions, the corner of his lip turning up as he finally accepts their help.
"Yeah. You don't have to pay me back, but I do need a place to crash for a bit."
Deran shakes his head, his long sun bleached hair hiding his face.
"Don't expect me to say thank you." He takes another sip of his beer, ending the conversation.
Powerpuff Girls blares from the TV as he opens the sliding glass door, entering Baz's house.
"Turn that down, Lena," Baz drones. With a cursory glance, he catches Andrew near the doorway. "All good with Deran?"
"He'll wait to hit the Church. Just needed some quick cash for somethin'."
"Lena, what did I say?" he repeats, more weight behind it than before.
Andrew eyes the beer on the counter. Lena looks back at Baz before quickly lowering the volume.
"I'm already going nuts, and I've only spent three hours with her."
"Where's Lucy?" Andrew asks, as nonchalantly as he can muster.
Hearing Lena mistake Lucy for Cath this morning was like a punch to the gut.
Could've all been avoided if that fucking juice never spilled on her shirt, his teeth clench at the thought.
"Went back to Mexico." Baz gulps down some more beer before haphazardly dropping it onto the counter again. "So look—we still go in the same way. All we need to worry about are the cameras." Pointing to the blueprint of the church on the counter, he lists a few of their locations. Behind Andrew, the TV's volume increases again; not as much as before, but still noticeable.
Baz sucks his teeth, slightly disrupting his rhythm before he continues going over the plan. "We gotta find some way to bring our tools in, but I dunno how—Hold on a second." Andrew's head snaps to Baz marching around the corner towards Lena. He grabs the remote out of her hands and smashes it against the wall.
"I said turn it down! Listen to me when I ask you to do something!"
Lena curls into herself as Baz strides back behind the counter.
Andrew's never seen her so small.
He won't let her put up with this—with him. "Lena, come on, get your shoes. We're leaving." He keeps his voice low when he speaks to her, careful not to spook her.
She bounds for her room, her feet patting the floor.
"I've been askin' her to turn the TV down for the past hour," Baz barks, pointing towards her door. A vein is protruding from his throat.
"What did you think was going to happen? She's seven, you put her in front of the TV all day, she's gonna try to get your attention." Andrew hisses.
"Oh yeah? You got any more parenting tips for me, huh?"
"Here's one. I know kids don't like it when you yell at them." His voice gradually rises now that he's got a flow going. "They don't like it when you smash remotes against walls."
Baz, as irascible as ever, says, "You know what, Pope? How about you figure out your own shit before you come over here and teach me how to raise my kid." He's pointing two fingers at his chest, his face flushed.
"Her mom leaves, and the first thing you do is go bang another woman she's never seen before in her mother's bedroom." Andrew throws back. The prick just fucking scoffs. "It's not Lena's fault that your girlfriend doesn't like her."
"Listen, you don't know shit—you never will. No one will ever have a kid with you. Ever."
Andrew freezes. Air stays in his lungs.
His muscles almost cramp from trying to keep still—stay exactly where he is. He gives Baz a hard stare, hurling all of his rage behind it.
Baz maintains eye contact, his chest heaving from his exertion. He doesn’t even blink; they remain large and crazed.
Andrew's eyes drop first, straight to the countertop. "Let's go, Lena," he calls hoarsely, releasing his breath as he does. Sharp inhales and exhales pass through his nose in rapid succession.
On the drive to the church, he's unable to stop Baz’s voice from ringing in his ears. He white-knuckles the steering wheel, fighting to focus on the road ahead. The car's so silent he forgets Lena's in the backseat until he checks his mirrors.
After seeing her sullen expression, he tries to break the tension by asking who her favorite Powerpuff Girl is. She says Blossom, who he assumes must be the red one. When she goes on her own tangent about the episode she's been watching, he listens.
Andrew easily finds Amy when they arrive. He's lucky he met her earlier; she's nice—helps him blend in perfectly. She's tidying up the meeting room, organizing everything neat again.
As she places a few Bibles on the coffee table, she glances up to find Lena and him in front of her. Amy does a double take before her face brightens with warm recognition. She hurriedly straightens the books before making her way towards them, side-stepping a couch along the way.
"Your name's Andrew, right?" She leans back on the couch behind her. "And who is this?"
"Lena," she says, looking up at her.
Amy bends towards her. "Well, hey Lena, there are some toys and cake in the next room. Wanna check it out?"
Lena's head whips to his face.
"Can I?" she asks, smiling wildly. She seems to have mostly recovered after the drive.
"Yeah, go ahead."
He watches her run over, silently wishing that smile never leaves again.
"She's gorgeous, has your eyes."
"She's not mine—she's—she's my niece." He stutters. "I help my brother out and take her for a bit. It's been hard since his wife…" He looks to the floor before coming back to himself, "left him."
"Oh. He's lucky to have you." She says abashedly, looking everywhere but his face.
He doesn't reply.
"Uh—well, a bunch of us are getting some ice cream after Bible study if you want to come."
"Sure, Lena loves ice cream."
"What, you don't like ice cream?" She smirks at him. It takes him a second to realize she's flirting with him. He should go along with it—keep the plan on track.
"Yeah, I—uh—actually do. I do," he says, pulling the corners of his lips up.
"Good, you're coming again Sunday night, right?"
Searching his mind, he recalls if there’s a family meeting then. There isn't.
"I'll be there."
The sides of her cheeks crease from her satisfied grin. "See you there."
By the time he brings Lena back home, ice cream all over her mouth, Baz is gone. He's thankful she fell asleep on the way there as he redirects the car to Smurf's.
Valerie's POV:
The low hum from the fluorescent lights drowns out the rest of the store. Valerie scans the wall of egg cartons, cool refrigerator air hitting her skin. She has goosebumps under her sleeves, the body's attempt at conserving heat.
It's moments like this that make her feel too big for her own body sometimes; like all of who she is—her thoughts, her emotions—are cramped beneath her skin, ready to burst out.
A sharp pain begins at the base of her neck. Soon, it'll spread out, wrapping around her head like a snake.
Eleven ninety nine.
She swears the price rises every time she comes in here.
A baby's cry rips through the aisle, just more background noise.
Her rent is due in three days. She doesn't get paid until five.
Today was supposed to be relaxing. Sundays are her reset days, her chance to regain some energy, before spending the rest of her week either at work or studying for the next MCAT exam in a couple months.
She'd spent her morning curled in bed, finishing a book all in one sitting. The weight of it in her hands, the feel and smell of the pages, it was amazing. No better way to recharge than escaping to another reality, immersing yourself in someone else's world.
The only responsibility she had today was to go grocery shopping. It was supposed to be easy. In and out, just as usual. She hadn't anticipated this. She knew she had enough for everything she needed before coming in here. Clearly not.
It's just eggs, no big deal.
For some reason, reminding herself of that fact doesn't spur her into action. Her feet are still planted, her body frozen in place.
But no, it isn't just eggs. It's the constant game of catch up she always finds herself playing. Oh, you're raising the rent? No biggie, just gotta pick up more shifts at the diner. The bread costs more today? She can just put it back, buy it another time. The music never stops. She doesn't know how long she can keep dancing around the fact that this isn't sustainable for her.
Suddenly, a hand reaches around her, grazing her arm. She flinches at the contact, her head darting to the young woman standing beside her.
"You're blocking the eggs." She nods toward the cartons, her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose from the movement.
Valerie blinks, the world around her becoming sharp and clear again. An old man pushing his cart, a mother bending over a stroller, soothing her child with a pacifier; it all finally registers.
Her gaze snags on the filled basket in the woman's hand.
“Uh—yeah, sorry. Go ahead.” She takes a step back.
The lady wastes no time grabbing a carton before disappearing into another aisle.
Valerie spares one last glance at the eggs before moving on.
Walking in the other direction, it takes her a second to realize that she's roaming instead of getting anything else she needs. She stops abruptly, looking to her right.
Baby food.
Definitely not in the right aisle.
Valerie finds the sign for pet supplies, relieved to see it's in the aisle next to her. Buying eggs is one thing, but her supply of cat food is too low to take any chances right now.
Grabbing a bag of kibble, she sees a plastic salmon hanging off the side of the shelf. Large blue scales cover its frame; she can see a single eye from this angle, its shape molded to the toy.
Coraline would love that, wouldn't she? Valerie smiles bitterly.
Ever since she threw out her favorite mouse chew toy, Coraline decided to make one of Valerie's old shoes her next victim. She's just lucky she left her favorite pair in her closet.
The toy's cheap though, she can make an exception this once.
Valerie clutches the kibble to her chest with one arm, and plucks the toy off the shelf. Her shirt sleeve rises up her arm, revealing a small pale scratch; a battle scar from the chaos of trying to bathe a cat that avoids water like the plague.
As she moves through the store, memories resurface of the first time she caught Coraline tearing through her dirty white shoe. Valerie almost spilled the macaroni she was cooking right off the stove when she scrambled to wrench it out of her mouth. The little fucker just hid under her bed for the rest of the night.
Valerie ends her quick shopping spree with a pack of bread and the smallest gallon of milk available. She holds a red store basket, all of her groceries placed neatly inside.
Waiting in line to pay, she checks her bank account before she's up next. She memorizes the total, preparing herself to either pay or embarrass herself by asking to put something back.
The clerk scans her items, chewing and blowing bubbles with the gum in her mouth.
"Nineteen thirty-six, cash or card?"
Valerie breathes out a sigh of relief, releasing the tight grip on her phone.
That leaves her with just enough to pay her landlord. If it was three dollars extra, she'd have to keep hiding the rest of her shoes.
After paying with her card and bagging up the items, she walks through the automatic doors. The plastic bags bite into her hands as the sky reddens above her.
A ding rings from her pocket, her phone vibrating from a new message.
Valerie makes her way to the side of the building, careful to avoid any of the people passing by.
She places a bag down to take it out, reading the notification from Amy.
Amy: Please tell me you're still coming tn! It's so nice having you there with me.
Valerie groans. She completely forgot that they agreed about this last week.
She mutters a curse under her breath, before typing out:Yeah, for sure. Imma see if Ray can pick me up tonight.
Amy: If he can't just lemme know and I can drive you.
Valerie: Kk
She leans back against the concrete wall. The air carries a faint hint of salt, even though there's not a beach in sight; a staple she's learned about Oceanside her first month here.
Cars race by in either direction, contrasting the leisure pace of the group of teens laughing across from her on the pavement.
She finds Ray's contact and presses Call. A few rings pass by before it finally goes through.
"Hey Vivi, what's up? You finally asking me out?" Ray drawls.
He's lucky she still lets him call her that.
"Ray, I'd lick Frank's kitchen floor before ever asking you out on a date. Please try to remember that."
His tinny laugh crackles through the speaker. " Okay okay, why'd you call? You can't come for our shift tomorrow?" He sounds genuinely surprised.
"No it's not that, I need a ride tonight. Amy wants me to come to her Bible study again. I'd walk if it didn't end so late."
"Shit. Sorry Viv I can't tonight. I got plans at The Flying Pig with some friends."
And here she thought luck was finally on her side today.
Her head pitches forward as she huffs a breath. She pulls her head back up, speaking into the phone, "Okay it's fine, Amy offered to drop me off if you weren't free."
"Alright good, text me when you get home, okay? I better see you at the diner tomorrow. No slacking off, that's my job." She can practically hear his smile through the phone.
"Yeah I will. Thanks Ray." She ends the call, slipping her phone back in her pocket.
Bending down, she grabs the bag of milk again. Her sneakers scrape against the uneven sidewalk, and the bags swing from her arms. Tiny needles pinprick all over her fingers. She's slowly losing sensation in her hands, the lack of circulation making them go numb and cold.
She trips on a bump, catching herself by shuffling her feet in front of her. When she finally finds her balance, she's so grateful that she didn't eat concrete, she almost forgets about Amy and Church and sitting in a room full of people spitting out the same things over and over again.
The moment it all comes back to her, her small second of relief disappears like sand in water.
Valerie lives close by, only two blocks and one right turn away. To keep herself from dreading her night any more than she is, she focuses on the tasks right in front of her: dropping her food off and feeding Coraline.
She's gotta say it. She's having the most fun she's had in a while. Who knew some random dogmatist with a stick up their ass could make going to Bible study seem exciting for once?
Sitting with his back pin-straight, he grips a Bible with both hands between his thighs. Light freckles scatter across his skin, and lines run along his forehead and the corners of his eyes.
For the past thirty minutes, he's debated the meaning behind half of the verses they've read thus far. It'd be annoying if it was just him feeding an ego. But no, he seriously means every word he says. Not only that, he doesn't seem to care about offending any of them. The looks on their faces after he tears their arguments to shreds are priceless every time.
As Leon launches into his next spiel on God's abiding faithfulness, his eyes crinkle once again.
"Because no matter what we do, He's there," he finishes, gesturing with his hands.
Valerie fights to maintain a neutral face, to keep her scoff inside. What a joke.
So God is just "there for them" when all those shitty things happen to good people? People like her mom? Mysterious ways, her ass.
She comes to these meetings for Amy; but it's hard even sitting here when most of what will come out of her mouth is probably going to get her kicked out and side-eyed straight to hell.
Amy does her routine of nodding and paraphrasing exactly what they said back to them. Echoes of "yes" and "Praise God" fill the room.
"That's not the point of the verse," the man deadpans, his voice gravelly and flat.
There he goes. Valerie suppresses her snicker, covering her amused smile with her hand. An ache is building in her cheeks.
Amy blinks as her eyebrows rise incredulously. She's grinning as she asks, "What would you say it is then?"
"The end part. God is faithful. He will not let you be tried beyond what you are capable of bearing; but with the trial, he will also provide a way out so that you may be able to endure it."
"That's the part that matters—how we can bear anything if we must." His gaze drops to the floor, his mind going somewhere else—somewhere dark and distant, by the looks of it.
Valerie recognizes that stare, its depth. She wonders how much he had to bear to wear that expression on his face; if God is the reason he is sitting in that chair, or if it's because of himself.
"Right—because he loves you. I guess we're both right then."
"It doesn't say that." He shakes his head, making his soft waves tip over his forehead.
Now that actually does make her snort, laughing silently under her breath. This misstep causes the room's focus to shift to her, including the guy she just offended. His eyes narrow at her, and Valerie's stomach drops a little. If there were such a thing as a glowering contest, he'd take first place.
After a strong exhale through his nose, he brings his gaze back to Leon and returns to the conversation, finishing with, "It just says He'll get you through."
Leon chuffs and then remains silent, admitting defeat.
Amy concludes the debate with a final message on how "the beauty of the gospel is that we all interpret things in our own unique way." She always does that—placates others to prevent anyone's feelings from being hurt.
The others agree one after the other, nodding their heads as though conducted. She glances back to see the man's brows pinch together as he stares at Amy.
He sure is stubborn.
She feels the smirk on her lips again.
Finally, someone besides her calls bullshit.
With their forty minutes now over, Amy gives her thanks for everyone's attendance as they all rise from their seats. Valerie's back aches as she gets up. Spending a second to stretch her arms, she contemplates whether she should wait for Amy or leave. She doesn't take too long to choose the latter.
Right before Valerie walks out the door, Amy tells the guy about a kids' softball game the church is hosting tomorrow.
"Do you want to come? Maybe bring lunch and let Lena play with the other kids?" Amy asks, practically sparkling at him.
Before he can answer, she takes out a notebook to write something with her pen.
"Text me if you want to; I can pick you guys up in my car." She rips the page out and hands it to him, walking away after he takes it.
Huh, Valerie thinks to herself, she wouldn't have guessed he had a kid.
He seems to be a cantankerous man, and by the brief heated look he gave her, short-tempered too. Kids and short tempers don't mix too well, she'd know.
With the words "Lena" and "softball" spinning around in her brain, she exits.
Outside the church, a gentle breeze blows her curls toward her face, carrying a light chill that makes her skin prickle. As she pulls the front pieces away, there's a buzz in her pocket; another text from Amy.
Amy: Hey, you left already? Rays driving you home right?
Valerie stops near a streetlight, the road beside her devoid of any cars. Moonlight blankets the world in soft white. It's actually really pretty—seeing the night in shades of blue. If only she could blink twice and screenshot the view for herself. Phones never capture it right.
A dog barks in the distance, catching her attention for a moment. It's a quick reminder of the fact that it's way too late to be out here by herself.
Despite that though, she is calm, unafraid. She makes no move to pick up her pace, continuing to enjoy the nice quiet moment she's found for herself.
It feels too bright for anything dark to happen; like the moon is protecting her somehow, casting all the shadows away. Irrational, she knows, but she can't muster up the fear she usually feels when being alone at night.
Valerie: yeah he is.
Valerie: He's blasting his shitty music again. But I can't complain when he's the one driving.
Valerie hates lying to her; still though, she needs to get as much sleep as she can before she's up on her feet all day at the diner. If Amy is anything, she is exactly the type to stay as late as possible to help the church close.
It's annoying just how much she loves Amy's kindness; it only ever makes Valerie's life more complicated.
Amy: Hahaha, yeah probably not a good idea. Do you want to grab some coffee with me in the morning? My treat for coming again tn :)
Valerie pauses, deciding on how to respond. Even though she'd lose the extra sleep, she knows that going too long without at least some way to decompress, something to distract her for a bit, is going to do more harm than good.
Fuck, she's pathetic, isn't she?
She forces her mind back to their texts.
Valerie: Sounds good, see you at our usual spot.
Amy hearts her message, and Valerie shuts off her phone. She turns at the corner of the block. Behind her, tires crunch gravel, and an engine rumbles.
Throwing her head over her shoulder, she observes a golden car driving towards her, looking like it came straight out of some old-timey movie. The car's hood is gleaming under the moon, and for a split second, it reminds her of a halo. Through the windshield, she can vaguely make out the man from earlier behind the steering wheel. He's staring straight ahead.
Just before they meet, his head moves almost imperceptibly, and they lock eyes.
Then, like wind through her fingers, he's gone, driving down the street before making a left turn.
When she finally gets home and crawls into bed, she's still trying to erase his face from her mind—failing to stop herself from pondering the story behind it.
She never texts Ray that night.