Watch Me Fall

By Riley Parks

Sometimes, You Can

Having it all is hard work, and Elijah Tucker has no problem 24/7-ing to keep himself on top. But life has a sense of humor and a big-ass mirror that reminds Eli where he came from, and shows him what he's really made of when he meets Gideon Valsecchi.

Gideon Valsecchi has one life goal - get out of the shithole where he lives on the South Side of Chicago. To say life has been unkind is a joke he can't even laugh at; to say he's going to have to claw his way out is a reality that nearly crushes him every day. But...he has a secret weapon, and he's learning how to hone his skills. Yet, hope is a feeling he won't indulge in until he gets to know Elijah Tucker, who shows Gideon there is an out, and it can include love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Group
• Release date: Mar 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781948029186

Book preview

One

Even from a young age Elijah had understood that the pulse of the South Side would always push the blood through his veins. He often wished he could ignore it, that he could pretend his past, present, and future weren’t determined by twenty-one years spent pounding the pavement between Roosevelt Road and 138th Street. Sometimes, when he was riding up the glass elevator to his penthouse on Lakeshore Drive, he felt like six years on North Side had finally rid him of the grime, grit, and struggle, but as soon as he felt that freedom, 5132 South Peoria Street pulled him back.

Taking a long drag off his newly sparked cigarette, he walked faster, still ruminating about how far he’d come and how easy it would’ve been to get stuck in the patterns of his upbringing. He was about to pass the alley beside the Circle-K when a blow to the back of his head stopped him dead in his tracks.

Ow, what the… He dropped to his knees, cradling the back of his aching skull. The whack had stunned him so profoundly he had nearly forgotten he was on a boot-beaten sidewalk on the South Side. An indisputable reminder came in the form of fingers reaching into the back pockets of his jeans to lift his wallet and cell phone. Suddenly, Eli’s Englewood blood rushed to his fists, reminding him it was time to fight. Lowering his hands from his head, he hooked an arm around the assailant’s legs, taking the perpetrator by surprise and dropping him to the pavement with a grunt.

Fuck, the mugger muttered as Eli turned to get a look at his face, letting out as a wry laugh as soon as he recognized it.

You got sticky fingers, Gatorade ganker, he chided, having watched the kid steal from the Circle-K minutes earlier. Elijah reached over to grab his shit from the punk’s hands, shocked when he gave it up easily. He kept his gaze trained on the boy’s baby blues as he shoved the items back into his pockets.

Just as Elijah was about to rise to his feet and go about his business, he felt a strong hand grasp his wrist and hold it tightly as a balled fist crashed into his cheek. The punch was brutal and left Eli laid out on the sidewalk seeing stars. By the time his head stopped spinning enough to sit up, the teenager was gone. Confused, Eli reached behind him, feeling his wallet and phone still safely where he’d placed them.

Fucking South Side, he grumbled, climbing to his feet. His legs wobbled from the flood and release of adrenaline and his head banged from the attack. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the guy’s desperation, Eli had been there, but no matter how hungry he’d gotten or how awful things had been, he had never taken somebody’s shit by force. He wasn’t entirely sure that his former propensity for sneaky stealing and blackmailing was much better, but at the time, it felt less corrupt than assault.

He couldn’t help but laugh at how broken his moral compass was. Years of crawling along the underbelly of society had truly fucked him up.

Glancing down at his wrist to check the time, he was horrified to see his watch was gone. Motherfucker, he shouted in frustration, drawing dirty looks from two older women across the street who were pushing shopping carts full of dirty clothes and blankets.

Reaching for his phone, he dialed Kieran, relieved when his assistant picked up on the first ring.

Hey, boss. Want details about the showing?

Nah. Bullshit about a deal was the last thing on his mind at the moment. I, uh, got mugged, he stuttered, hearing the shakiness in his voice. He wiped the blood that was trickling from his nostril with the sleeve of his jacket.

Holy shit, are you serious?

It wouldn’t be a funny joke, Elijah replied, heading toward his childhood home.

Good point. Are you all right? Wait, what kind of mugger doesn’t take a cell phone?

I fought back, but somehow the little shit made off with my watch.

Fuck.

Yeah. I’m gonna try to get it back, but do me a favor, look up my insurance policy, and give the agent a call to report it stolen.

Wait, what do you mean you’re going to try to get it back? Elijah’s assistant was showing his suburban roots, and how ignorant he was to street rules and brutality of its life.

Gotta find out if my younger brother knows the guy.

Eli, I know you’re pissed, but you probably shouldn’t… he began, cut off by Elijah’s heavy sigh.

I’m no pussy. I’m not gonna let some fucker take what’s mine without consequence. Call the insurance company then go enjoy your dinner.

Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital or something?

Elijah laughed. I’ve been banged up worse.

Do I need to cancel your credit cards?

He didn’t get my wallet, only the watch. Elijah turned onto Peoria and hightailed it to Makayla’s door. Listen, I’m coming up to my sister’s house. I’m going to try to get to the bottom of this. Text me a confirmation you got in touch with the insurance company, okay?

Yeah, no problem. Call me if you need anything else.

Right. Eli ended the call before opening the door and hurrying into the kitchen.

Hey, babe, Makayla called out, Here for dinner? She narrowed her eyes when she noticed his bloody nose and busted lip. What happened? She quickly rinsed and dried her meat-covered hands before rushing over to him.

Some kid tried to jump me, he replied, cringing as his sister poked at the side of his lip.

Tried?

I fought him off, but he got my watch.

Makayla sighed and shook her head. I don’t know why you’d wear a nice watch around here, Eli. You should know better.

I was in such a rush to come help your whiny ass that I forgot to take it off, he snapped. He resented coming back here to help his sister try to maintain this relic of a house. He’d offered to move his sibs to a better area more times than he could count, but Makayla refused the help time and again, saying Eli did well enough coming from here, they’d do the same on their own.

It’s my fault now? she questioned, screwing down her eyebrows.

He shrugged, quite aware that it was nobody’s fault but his own. He wished he would’ve remembered to take it off. It wasn’t the financial value of the watch that had him reeling from the loss, but the sentimental meaning it held for him.

When he’d taken a chance on a life outside of the thieving and shakedowns he’d mastered, and had first signed on with the Baird and Warner real estate agency, he hadn’t expected to be anything more than a low-level agent making commissions on their cheaper listings. And while he’d hoped they’d see that there was more to him than his roots, he couldn’t have imagined that he’d become their top broker, earning endless accolades and the respect of his colleagues. After being honored as the firm’s highest earner for three consecutive years, he was gifted with the expensive watch, a gesture so generous that it blew him away.

Hey, his sister Sophia greeted as she and his brother Isaiah entered the room.

What happened to your face? Isaiah asked, squinting his eyes as if he was doing an intense examination.

I got mugged outside the Circle-K. The bitch got my watch.

No shit.

Shit, Eli confirmed. I think there’s a chance you two may know him. He was wearing a South Side High jersey, probably around your ages.

Makayla punched out a guffaw. Wait. Who the fuck mugs someone while wearing such an identifying piece of clothing? The kid has to be an idiot.

He hit me pretty good from behind. I think he figured it would’ve knocked me out before I got a chance to see him.

But it didn’t. Isaiah gave Eli a knowing nod. O.G. badass right here.

I don’t know about all that, Eli replied, feeling kind of good about his teenage brother thinking Eli was still street.

So what did he look like? What kinda jersey? Sophia pressed.

Um, he was a white kid with black hair and blue eyes, around your height, Eli said to Isaiah. Five eight or whatever. He had shin guards on, so I’m guessing soccer. I saw him in the store a few minutes before. He was wearing a sweatshirt, and when he reached for a Gatorade I saw some tats on his wrist that looked like they went to up his forearm. What? he questioned since his siblings were staring at him, wide-eyed.

That’s Gideon Valsecchi, Sophia replied, with a click of her tongue. He and his twin sister, Gabby, are seniors and they’re…not people you want to mess with.

Yeah, nobody fucks with the Valsecchis, Isaiah agreed. Sad to say, but your shit’s gone.

How bad could they be? The kid wasn’t so big. I’m sure if he hadn’t given me a cheap shot to the fucking head I could’ve taken him.

They’re like closets full of semiautomatics bad, Makayla said. I went to school with their older brother, Anthony. They’re bone deep no good, Eli.

Where do they live? Elijah asked, earning head shakes and frowns from the rest of the Tuckers.

Did you not hear a word we just said? Sophia questioned. They’re not people you want to fuck with, Eli.

I’m not saying I’m gonna do anything. I’m curious, he lied, knowing from the fear on his brother’s and sisters’ faces they didn’t believe him. Maybe I’ll call the police. Let them know who took my watch and where they live.

He could hear Makayla’s exhale of relief.

The cops know where they live, Isaiah stated, clearly avoiding divulging the information to Eli.

They live in the most decrepit piece of shit on Lafayette. It’s brown and right under the highway, Sophia informed, reaping the consequence of a smack upside the head from Isaiah. What? He said he wasn’t going to do anything. You don’t trust him?

Makayla and Isaiah shifted uncomfortably as Eli rolled his eyes.

Pot roast? Makayla offered.

Elijah figured he might as well eat before calling a cab to get the fuck out of the South Side. He nodded and took a seat at the table, silently trying to decide what he should do about the Valsecchi asshole.

Two

Gideon pumped his legs harder, the chilly late afternoon air slapping his cheeks as he ran down the field. Two years ago, the only running he’d done was bolting from the police, but soccer had changed that. It had changed everything.

Like so many things in his life, this monumental change had started with him being a prick. He’d been walking the track with his P.E. class, aggravated by being forced to participate. A few months earlier, he’d been popped by the cops for fighting, and after a three-week stint in juvie, he had been attempting to stay on the straight and narrow, or at least the significantly less curvy. Not wanting to add truancy to his list of wrongdoings, he’d forced himself to show up at school. The two hot meals a day they served were two more meals than he ever got at home, so if he was being honest, high school wasn’t that bad.

Think you’re supposed to get the ball into the fucking goal, man, he’d called to Gregory Boswell, who had been the soccer team’s captain at the time. Boswell was an all-around golden boy and encompassed pretty much every trait Gideon fucking hated in a person.

See you have jokes, Valsecchi, Boswell had hollered back, shaking his head with disapproval when Gideon flipped him the bird. How ‘bout you show us what you can do?

Nah, I ain’t into that faggot shit, he’d replied. I’ll leave all the ass slapping and cup tapping to you.

Can’t back that big mouth up, huh?

C’mon, Gideon, give it a try, Coach Byrd had challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. Show me and I’ll excuse the vulgar language.

Gideon had rolled his eyes and taken his time to get onto the field, unfazed by the chorus of annoyed huffs from the members of the team.

He’d stared down the goalkeeper, who was covered in an embarrassing amount of pads, and immediately sent the ball soaring over his left shoulder before the dude had even had a chance to stretch for it.

Again, Coach had prompted, his eyes having gone wide.

Gideon had tapped the ball with the side of his sorry-ass sneaker to line it up before giving it a whack so hard he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d split the seams. After several more goals, and pats on the back, Coach Byrd was promising a rave report to Gideon’s parole officer, and a drive-thru bag of McDonald’s chicken nuggets and fries to induce Gideon to join the team.

He couldn’t say he regretted saying yes.

Regland. Run faster, you goddamn molasses-ass motherfucker, Gideon screamed to his left wing, angrily waving him forward and waiting until he was running parallel to pass the ball in front of his feet. The defender, who was mere inches from Gideon’s face, looked taken aback by his brash delivery, earning him a hard shoulder check in response. Bitch, Gideon muttered as he ran past him to receive Regland’s return.

With one last goal, the game was a wrap and Gideon was heading back into the locker room, sweaty and exhausted. He considered taking a rinse, but decided it was safer to do it at home rather than in the communal shower with the rest of the team. Even though he wasn’t horny, he didn’t trust his eighteen-year-old dick to keep calm when hanging around all those cocks.

You walking, Rawlings? he questioned, wiping his face dry with a towel before tossing it into the rolling laundry basket. Gideon gave his best friend the look to tell him he should.

Was gonna ride with Bateman, but I could walk, Bryce replied.

Gideon nodded, sitting down on the wood bench to replace his cleats with beat creps, deciding to keep the rest of his uniform on. Slinging his backpack straps over his shoulders, he gestured for Bryce to finish up so they could get the hell out of there.

What’s going on? his friend asked as they made their way down Ashland Avenue toward their neighborhood. He adjusted his thick black-rimmed glasses while regarding Gideon. Are you in the mood to drink and then whatever? he questioned quietly while glancing over his shoulder.

Nah, man, told you I was done with that shit, Gideon replied, sniffing uncomfortably.

Drinking or the other shit?

I’m not gonna give up drinking. He laughed, shaking his head as he lit a cigarette.

So you’re done with me sucking your dick then? Bryce clarified, seemingly nonplussed by the statement.

Mmmhmm. Gideon knew his body reacted to men differently than it did women, but it didn’t mean that he had to accept that shit. I’m sure you can find another knob to slob.

It wasn’t that Bryce didn’t give good head; he was all right at it. But Bryce was a dude. And it had happened only a few times. Gideon rationalized if it stayed that way he wasn’t a homo, though it was still confusing as fuck. They’d gotten drunk and Bryce had sucked him off. His best friend wasn’t shitting rainbows, out and proud, flamboyant or whatever, but he was bi. It seemed harmless, considering Gideon liked to get his dick wet and Bryce was more than willing. It didn’t mean they’d had feelings for each other or anything like that; that would be fucking gay. It was more that they were best friends who made out sometimes and jerked each other off.

Yeah, I’m not worried about it, Bryce assured, companionably squeezing his shoulder, What’s going on then?

What d’you know about watches?

Um, that they’re antiquated now that people use their cell phones to tell time. Bryce grinned.

Gideon glared at him not amused. You’re half gay, aren’t you into fashion and shit?

Just my mouth is gay, and tongues can’t read magazines so… Bryce shrugged as if Gideon was shit out of luck.

Not wanting to honor the statement with a reply, Gideon grabbed his cell phone out of the front pocket of his backpack. Here, he said, opening a photo and shoving the screen in Bryce’s face. Can’t pronounce the fucking name, but I Googled the brand and there’s no way the shit I found was right.

Audemar Piguet, Bryce breathed, his gray eyes wider than his broad smile. Don’t tell me you ganked it?

I did, Gideon replied, proud as hell. Yesterday.

G, these watches are like thirty thousand dollars, he gushed. Jay-Z wears one. This is straight baller shit.

Guess I’m a straight baller.

I mean, I wouldn’t say straight… Bryce teased, his voice trailing off when Gideon shot him a deadly glare.

You gonna shut the fuck up or do I gotta make you? Gideon took a drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stomping it out. ‘Cause I’ll crack your fucking skull and you know I will.

Testes, testes, his friend chided, backing away with his hands held up in mock surrender. I’m done, okay?

Gideon cleared his throat and inhaled a deep breath before continuing. I saw that some can go for fifty thou.

Doesn’t surprise me. Bryce nodded. Where the hell are you gonna sell it though? You can’t take it into a pawnshop. This is some serious cash, and will raise all sorts of red flags.

I know. Gideon put his phone away and rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to relieve the stress that stealing something of such high value was putting on him. He couldn’t even fathom that much money.

He’d made some dough when he used to run drugs, and of course he’d stolen pricey items before, but nothing even close to the level of the watch. He shook his head at the realization some dumb motherfucker had actually worn the piece in the ‘hood. The dude seemed to be scrappy, and if Gideon hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought he was a local from the way he fought back, but there was no way anybody from the streets would wear a watch like that to the fucking Circle-K. If he was stupid enough to do that, he’d deserved to get it ganked.

Last night, Gideon been disappointed that he hadn’t gotten the guy’s wallet and phone, thinking that he’d fucked up a perfectly good mugging by letting them go. Little had he known that the asshole’s surprise attack back had put Gideon in a more lucrative position. He felt like he’d won the goddamn lottery, but he needed to figure out how to cash in.

What if I go to a North Side pawn shop? Gideon suggested. They probably see shit like this from time to time.

Nobody sees shit like this from time to time. Bryce laughed. If you show up to sell it, they’re gonna call the fucking police cause they’ll know you stole it.

Probably right. Gideon gnawed on the inside of his cheek as he tried to come up with a solution. How about on eBay or something?

You’ll have to set up an account and then you’ll have to pay taxes on that shit. The IRS will bang down your door and wonder how a little motherfucker like you got your hands on something like that. Then, big boy prison.

I hate you, you know that? Gideon grunted, glad his friend was pragmatic, though he despised every one of his answers. What about your cousin’s friend? Vinnie or whatever? Think he can move it?

Probably, Bryce replied with an easy shrug. But he’s gonna want a cut.

So I’ll give him a cut if there’s no way I can unload it. I gotta go for it or else I’m gonna end up holding on to the ugly piece of shit.

It’s far from ugly, Bryce tsked. It’s so gorgeous it should literally be in a museum.

You’re literally really fucking gay.

Whatever, that shit is beautiful. Where is it?

I’m not telling you, Gideon replied, looking at his friend as if he was crazy.

You think I’m gonna steal it from you?

Gideon shrugged. I’d probably steal it from you.

Yeah, but you’re a dickhead. Bryce chuckled. I’m a nice guy.

Nice guys do desperate shit when they wanna get rich.

C’mon, G, show it to me. I gotta see it in person. Feel the weight of it on my poor, limp wrist.

Gideon shook his head and laughed as they turned onto Lafayette. That’s just sad, man.

I’m telling you. I gotta see it.

Letting out a labored sigh, Gideon muttered, Fine. He led his friend up the stairs of his porch and held the handle to the front door tightly before turning to give him one last warning, But I’m not kidding, Bryce, I’m gonna to sleep with an AK under my bed and if I see your sorry ass creeping in to take that shit, I will light you up and feel absolutely no fucking remorse.

Got it, Bryce promised.

They walked to his bedroom and Gideon demanded that his friend close his eyes once they entered.

Are you serious, G?

Do I look fucking serious? Gideon questioned, eyebrows raised high. He was sure he did.

Bryce did as he was told, squeezing his lids shut tightly until Gideon told him he could open them. Wow.

I think it’s ugly, Gideon reiterated.

I think you’re an idiot, Bryce gushed, reaching for it and groaning when Gideon pulled it away. Just one minute. It’s all I need. Let me try it on. I won’t hurt it.

Gideon rubbed his forehead and gently placed the watch in his friend’s palm. He’d never seen anything more disturbing than the way Bryce lit up at the contact.

It’s amazing, Bryce half stuttered as he slipped it onto his wrist and admired it as if it was the Grand Canyon. I feel like a rich motherfucker just wearing it.

Yeah, well, you’re a poor motherfucker, Gideon reminded him. I’m the rich motherfucker now. He held his hand out and Bryce handed the watch back, dutifully closing his eyes until Gideon told him he could open them again.

What are you gonna do with all your stacks? Bryce questioned, reaching into Gideon’s bag and pulling out a cigarette.

Get away from here, Gideon replied, grabbing the cigarette from Bryce’s lips and shooing him out of his room.

The watch was his ticket to anywhere but the South Side and he couldn’t wait to sell it and get the hell out.

Three

Elijah had made a lot of bad decisions in his life. From fucking around with drugs to fucking around for money, and eventually fucking everything up beyond recognition—he’d done it all. Yet, after nearly a decade of responsibility and clear thought, he somehow found himself crouching behind a mailbox on Lafayette Avenue, staking out a teenage thug who was known for his violent tendencies. Sure, he wanted his watch back, but there was no denying there was some neighborhood pride involved. There was no way he was going to let some punk-ass bitch rip him off. Eli hoped the fuckin’ thief hadn’t sold it in the two days since the mugging.

Though Elijah had done some surface research, he was mostly unprepared for the confrontation. He probably should have had some sort of concrete plan regarding what he was about to do, but truthfully he didn’t. He’d intended to threaten him, not with bodily harm, but with life ruination. Lucky for Eli, Makayla had dated half of the South Side and she happened to have spent a few fleeting months with Gideon’s coach, Ryan Byrd, who in turn had fallen head over heels in love with her. A direct connection to something the thug seemed to