Chapter 239: Honesty
"Ian, go move that box of beer in the back into the cooler," a woman called out as she stepped out of the stockroom. She wore a simple headscarf and plain clothes. Though she was quite beautiful, there was a stern, almost fierce presence about her. She looked down at the clipboard in her hand as she spoke.
Then she looked up and caught sight of Frank. Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Frank?"
"Kash is gone. Linda runs the store now," Ian said casually as he headed into the back to move the crates.
Linda was Kash's wife—and also a devout ***.
"I know you were the one who hit Kash," she said flatly.
"I came to apologize about what happened with your husband," Frank said. "I'll cover his medical bills and anything else. That's on me."
Frank had originally come to see Ian, to talk. But since Kash wasn't around, he figured he'd extend the apology to Linda instead.
"Wait here," Linda said, heading back inside.
She came out a few minutes later with a handful of receipts.
"These are the bills. Just pay what's on them," she said, not trying to milk the situation for more than what was fair.
Frank handed her the cash and apologized again.
"No need to apologize," Linda said with a snort. "He deserved that beating."
Then, as she turned to head back in, she added, "The store has cameras now. Don't even think about taking anything without paying."
In a place like the South Side, little acts of theft were commonplace. Frank, especially, had that reputation. Linda's words weren't just a warning—they were a threat.
With no real conversation to be had, Frank left the store and waited in his car for Ian to get off work.
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Later, as Ian got into the car, he asked, "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere quiet. I want to talk," Frank replied.
They drove to an empty athletic field. Frank pulled out a few beers and handed one to Ian.
For a while, neither spoke. The empty field stretched out around them, and they both just sat there drinking in silence, unsure how to start.
"…I'm sorry," Frank said at last.
Ian blinked in surprise.
"I shouldn't have hit Kash. And there's more—I knew about things earlier. I saw those books you were hiding. That's why I…" Frank trailed off.
"No, I should be the one apologizing," Ian said. "I was way too emotional that night."
Sometimes, all it takes is a little communication. Misunderstandings fester when no one wants to speak first. But once both had apologized, the awkward tension between them eased noticeably.
"How are things with Kash now?" Frank asked.
He sounded genuinely relieved. For all his faults, Frank respected his kids' choices.
But still—there was the age gap. And Kash had a family. Two kids already in elementary school.
"So… are you seeing anyone now?" Frank asked, trying to keep it casual.
"No one," Ian replied, trying to dodge the question.
Frank didn't press. He didn't want to ruin the moment.
"I heard you're thinking about applying to West Point?" Frank asked, shifting the subject.
"Yeah," Ian nodded.
"You just finished tenth grade," Frank said, a little surprised.
In the U.S., tenth grade is basically the first year of high school. Ian was still young to be thinking about military academies.
"I've been in the JROTC program for two years. Joining the army has always been my dream," Ian said, though his tone was a bit subdued.
"You don't sound very excited about it," Frank noted.
"To get into West Point, I need a GPA of 4.2," Ian explained. "And I'd have to score extremely high on the SATs. I even need a letter of recommendation from a senator or someone important. Right now, the only thing I'm confident in is the physical fitness test."
Ian was in great shape. He'd been training since middle school with the military in mind.
But academically, he wasn't strong—just an average student. Not like Lip, who was naturally gifted.
After researching West Point's requirements and testing himself, Ian realized his chances were slim. His results had been disappointing, and it felt like a dream slipping away.
"If getting into West Point is your dream," Frank said firmly, "then your old man's got your back."
"…Huh?" Ian looked at him, caught off guard.
"If your grades are the problem, then study. Don't work part-time—focus on your classes. I'll cover tutoring, materials, anything you need," Frank said with unusual seriousness.
"But my job—"
"The family's not short on money anymore," Frank interrupted. "I'll have Fiona give you all some allowance each month. Actually, forget that—I'll just get each of you your own card and deposit the money directly."
Things had changed. They didn't need to scrape by anymore. The kids could finally live like normal kids—not hustling every day just to get by.
"…We'll see," Ian said softly, not sure how to respond to this version of Frank.
"You went to see Grandma the other day, right?" Ian asked, changing the subject.
"Yeah. Took Debbie and Carl with me. You and the others were all busy."
"Grandma really misses you guys. She asked about you specifically. When you get a chance, go visit her. I've pulled a few strings—she might be getting out soon. She's too old to be locked up forever."
After a short pause, Ian asked, "You've been going to the Milkovich house a lot lately, haven't you?"
"…Huh? Oh, yeah. I know old man Milkovich," Frank said, a bit surprised Ian brought it up.
Ian didn't press.
"Oh, by the way," Frank said, "you might be meeting your eldest sister soon."
"Eldest sister? Fiona's been home this whole time," Ian said, confused.
"Not Fiona," Frank said. "Fiona's your second eldest sister."
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