Pay It Backward Faith In Action Series Book 2 … a look inside
Table Of Contents
1. New Times 1
2. Great Day 6
3. Hope 10
4. Brotherly Advice 16
5. Personal Treasures 20
6. Miami Game Day 23
7. Chat 27
8. Revenge Fantasy 29
9. For Sale 33
10. Game Face 38
11. Wednesday Night 42
12. BMW Hunting 46
13. Kill Games 51
14. Chief Howell 53
15. Cash 4 Clunkers 58
16. Smooth Operator 63
17. Hanging Out 66
18. Justin 70
19. Bad News 73
20. Sunday Surfing 77
21. Four Friends 81
22. Divine Appointment 86
23. Amazing Grace 91
24. Chief’s Request 95
25. Temptation 100
26. Going to the Mall 104
27. Memorial 106
28. Ave Maria Cemetery 110
29. Evidence 115
30. Dr. Velez 120
31. The Truth for Now 123
32. Hialeah Police Station 127
33. Despair 130
34. A Day Off School 133
35. Miami 136
36. Andy 139
37. Crash with the Past 143
38. Undercover Angels 148
39. Thank You, Jesus 151
40. Winners 153
41. Come Home to Us 157
42. Boca Home 161
43. Red Letter Day 164
44. Apology 170
45. Catching the Spirit 173
1 New Times
I jump to my feet on the top row of the bleachers, whistling, cheering,
and high fiving with the other members of the Addison family. My
new family. My new high school. This is incredible. Jose and I have gone
from being homeless runaways to living with a loving, caring family.
There
goes Jose, racing over and handing Sara a towel as she pulls
herself out of the pool after an amazing high dive. Haha, now he's
all wet, too. It didn't take Jose long to fall in love with our new sister.
Or sorta sister. For now. And our sorta brother, Luke. This adoption
business is tricky. We'll see. It's only been a month.
For now, they say I can swim for the Boca South Swim Team with
Luke and Sara. I don't know. That chlorine smell could be a real deal
breaker. Burns my eyes. Now that we're safe, I want to wait a bit. Try
out different ways to spend my free time.
Free time. I didn't miss it until I didn't have it, working seven days a week at the circus. Like before Mommy and Poppy were killed. Church, school, art class. This
way of life is unreal most days. Yet here I am. I wipe the sweat from my
forehead.
"It takes forever for the dive team score to post." Mrs. Addison leans
in and pats my arm as we sit. I freeze for a quick second. While her
momentary touch is comforting, it's still unfamiliar. It startles me when
she does it, and she does it often. She is one of those touchy-feely
moms. Mommy was too. I like it, but how can I be sure Mrs. Addison
will always be there for us?
”Help yourself to a cold drink from the cooler. Don't be shy, Pedro.
Jose isn't." Jose has the cooler open and is pawing through the ice,
looking for a drink.
That must be the opposing teams parent section across the pool,
under the scoreboard. It's tough to see past the glare of the afternoon
sun on the pool water. I pull my new sunglasses down for a better look.
Sara said we were competing against a team from Miami. Boca Raton is
as far south as I ever want to live again. If I never return to Miami, it will
be fine with me.
That guy looks familiar. Whaaa? Can it be ... here? No way. I stand,
my body tensing. My heart is pounding, sweat forming on the back of
my neck. What are the chances that a loser like him would be at this
swim meet? At this pool? In this city … killers don't go to high school
swim meets. Wait! Would I even remember him after so many months?
Whoa. If it is him, he might recognize me. He did glare at me through
the window that day, the day he killed Mommy and Poppy. Stared
straight into my eyes for a full second. I'll never forget those eyes. Like
snake eyes. Hands shaking, I shove my sunglasses back down over my
eyes and pull my cap down. I sink onto the bleachers, my knees
weak. Mrs. Addison glances over at me. A half smile is all I can muster.
If he sees me today, Jose and I will be in danger ... again. On the run
... again. I thought we were finally safe. Would I always have to watch
our backs? Heart pounding in my ears, I stare into the rippling pool of
water, barely able to breathe. Got to stop this doomsday thinking. That
creep doesn't even know I exist. Deep breath.
The score posts, and the man stands, clapping. Short and bald, with a
big belly. It is him! Standing up, I take a step backward. My foot slips, and
I nearly tumble off the top of the bleachers. I grab the guardrail just in
time, meeting Mrs. Addison's startled look. Pull yourself together, dude.
Got to go check it out.
"Be right back, I mumble to Mrs. Addison, pulling my hat halfway down my face.
I wind my way to the pool deck, never taking my eyes off the man in the crowd.
The sound of my flip flops on the metal and my heart thumping inside my chest
are the only sounds in my ears.
I'll stand over here, behind the fence. Watch them. Two guys. Super
rough looking. Why wear dark slacks, sports jackets, and shiny black
dress shoes to a swim meet? Sweaty and out of place, they look as if
they're headed to the casino rather than spending a blistering afternoon
in the glaring sun.
Yes! The dude on the right is the owner of the crack house in Hialeah.
"Who are those guys?" Luke has walked up behind me. I tense. Relax...
”Street dudes I recognize from when I lived in Hialeah. Hey, Luke, can
you take a picture of them with your phone when they're not looking?
I left my phone in my backpack."
”Sure. Hold these." Luke gives me a pile of papers. I turn toward him
so I won't be seen. Pretending to be texting, Luke zooms in and takes
their photo.
Letting out a pent-up breath, I stare at the image on Luke's phone.
”Yep. That is absolutely the guy. Thanks, bro. Send it to me, please?" I
hand the papers back. The columns of names and numbers don't make
sense at first glance. ”Hey, what are these?"
”Heat sheets. You buy them at the entrance. Two bucks. They detail
who's swimming, where and when, by the swim stroke, school, and the
athlete's name. See?" Luke points to his name in the maze of data. ”The
next time I swim is in five minutes, at 3:00, lane five, butterfly. Gotta go."
"Good luck, bro. Swim fast." I need my own heat sheet to track the
swimmer those guys are watching. Maybe then I can get a name.
As I walk over to the entrance, a roar rises from the Boca South
section. The scoreboard posts a 9.3 for Sara's dive. I need to be over
there whooping it up with the family. This is my life now. Biting my lip,
I try to rewind to ten minutes ago. To when I was living the dream. Safe,
secure, adopted. Jose needs the dream. I need the dream.
Nope. If that guy is walking free, this new life, this safe life, is now on
pause. I need to watch these two guys to see who they cheer for when
the Miami team, Callahan, swims. Is one of them a swim dad? Who else
but a parent would come out in this sweltering heat to watch a student
swim for a few seconds?
The blare of the horn pierces the air. Six swimmers enter the water.
There! They stand to cheer for the swimmer in lane three. Or was it lane
four? The heat sheet shakes as my trembling finger finds first the stroke,
the school, and then the swimmer's name. Callahan High in three and a
Boca swimmer in four. I let out a long breath. Lane three. Okay. I have
a name. Justin Espinoza. That's a start. This makes my job easy. Jose,
trust me, this running from Mommy and Poppy's killer is going to end
once and for all.
Stepping behind a pole, I sag against it. Sweat drips off my face and
neck. Pulling my Boca South t-shirt up, I mop my face, neck, and fore
head. When my heartrate returns to normal, I run my fingers through my
hair, tucking it tight behind my ears. Taking a deep breath, I put my hat
and sunglasses on and walk toward the bleachers. My adoptive family.
This is not good. I've been gone for too long. Mrs. Addison is glancing
my way again. Please don't ask questions. She's chill. Never too nosy
about my past. I sure can't explain it to her today. Cramming the heat
sheets into my back pocket, I put a smile on my face and start up the
steps.
Looking back, I notice the two dudes have disappeared. I look up at
the scoreboard. Justin Espinoza won the heat. Why didn't that guy,
if it is his dad, stick around to see his son claim his victory? Under my
breath, I repeat the name Espinoza over and over. Each time I do, my
jaw gets tighter and tighter. We will meet face-to-face, Espinoza. Count
on it. In my gut, I Know what you did.
How can I explain to my new mom that her adoptive son has just seen
his parents' murderer?