Bev and Red | ✓

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| B E V A N D R E D |
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Beverly's heart raced at at least a million miles per hour. His left hand gripped his pocket so tightly, that he was sure sweat would slip from his fingertips.

Red noticed this, shipping his fingers into Beverly's, the two of them interwoven, until they made it to the front of the County Jail. Beverly knew his father was just only so many steps away.

But what if the man didn't want to see him? Beverly had doubts, but Red was sure he wanted nothing more than to make sure Beverly was okay. When the two were locked up together, the old man couldn't stop talking about the son he never got to see.

A buzzer rang out through the courtyard, and the gate opened, a police officer standing curtly, a plastic box in hand. "Drop your cellphones, jewelry, wallets, car keys, and any other personal condiments. If there is any trace of weaponry, we'll have no choice but to escort you out. Am I clear?"

Both Beverly and Red nodded, following the man's orders, while too lost in their thoughts to care.

The police officer walked them into the sorrowful building, where he looked Beverly deeply into his eyes, watching as the young boy swallowed his nerves.

"And, who are you here to see?"

     "Esteban Reid—"

     "Alright, come with me." The officer made sure that the two were directly behind him, watching them as he made his way into a full full of chairs in front of glass windows, telephones to the right of them.

     "Take a seat here, and we'll let the inmate know he's got his very first visitor in years." The way the officer said years had Beverly's heart frowning in his chest.

     Maybe he should have come sooner? Maybe, his father wouldn't have ever felt so alone that way.

     Red stopped him for a moment, his erratic thinking apparent on his innocent, clueless face. "Everything's gonna be okay, Bev. Okay? I promise."

     "You can't promise something like that—"

     "But I am, so, do you trust me?"

     Beverly's heart began to beat faster once again. "If I didn't trust you I wouldn't be here—"

     "It's a yes or no question, Bev. Do you trust me?"

     "Of course I do." With that, Red leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Beverly's temple, whispering closely.

     "I'll leave and come back in a moment. Give you two a while to reacquaint yourselves."

     As though on cue, Esteban rounded a corner, just as Red slipped around the other, Esteban's body covered in an orange jumpsuit, a number printed on the left side of his chest. A teardrop was tattooed under his eyes, while other tattoos slithered up and down his arms as though like sleeves.

      He looked confused, and Beverly could only assume that the officer was right. Esteban wasn't used to his loved ones giving a shit about him.

     But when his eyes landed on Beverly, his jaw dropped, his eyes immediately beginning to tear up. He sat down on the opposite side of the glass, lifting the telephone to his head right away.

     "O-Oh my gosh, Bee? Is that you? Are you seriously here right now?"

     Beverly frowned in confusion at the nickname. Esteban noticed, a sad smile gracing his lips. "I, uh—I used to call you that when you really little. I'm not surprised you don't remember."

     Beverly smiled at that, wanting to only ask one question that remained in his mind. "What happened to you? H-How did you get in here?"

     Esteban grimaced, his lips pursing tightly. "Got into some really bad shit when I was about—your age. And next thing you know, I land myself in here, my girlfriend telling me I can't ever see my son again, while I know she's not totally sober—"

     "She wasn't totally sober, she's in jail right now, too. But, back in New York. She's been in out since I—since I can even remember." Beverly answered truthfully.

     Esteban shook his head in disappointment. Maybe in himself, or even Norma. "Who took care of you? Where have you lived all these years—"

     Esteban's has dropped once more, when Red's face slipped from around the corner, a small can of sofa in hand. He slipped it down to Beverly, nodding his head in acknowledgment.

     Beverly could read the confusion all over Esteban's face, the older man struggling to find words. "W-W-When did you two meet?"

     "Just a little over a month ago, he took me in when I lost my place, let me work with him, gave me food to eat. He's been amazing to me, okay?—"

     "You," he pointed to Red, "you told me that the second you got out of here, you'd move down to the east coast, what the hell happened?"

     Red shrugged, not bothering to look up from his hands.

     "So, you've got no steady income, and you're taking my son in?" Esteban's question was valid, but he didn't know of Ed's program for ex-cons.

     "No, Esteban," Beverly answered, feeling uncomfortable with calling him dad. "He's a mechanic—a good one, too."

     "Well, I guess it's nice to know you've made friends, and that you're alright without me." But I'm not, Beverly thought to himself.

      And it was if he never would be.