Looking for feedback on this hypothetical first chapter of a fanfic that I have planned about writing

  Oscar Diaz had never intended this. He never intended for it to be this way. Originally, he had it all planned out: get jumped out, leave Freeridge, go to Bakersfield to see Ray, try to make Cesar come with him and build the life he desperately wanted; own a house, maybe have a wife, a child, become the chef he always wanted to be and not the new leader of the Santos, have normal adult problems instead of gang problems, worry about normal things like paying the bills, buying new furniture, instead of the homies getting sprayed by the Prophet$ out in the front lawn, or 19th Street holding a gun to the head asking for money…he had a plan and was going to stick with it, even if he didn’t know the next step after the first initial step, wasn’t sure if he would be able to survive the beating that he was going to take for himself- and secretly- for Cesar. 
  But one thought he had a week before, when he was planning on telling Cesar about it and getting jumped out after, one thought changed everything; just that one thought. 
  He realized that- in the moment sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee that he every ten seconds took a sip off as he sat there with the injuries still visibly there that had been given to him by 19th street after the whole Cuchillos ordeal- that he had never lived a normal life; or to simply put it, he had never lived a life of normalcy; their father, Ray, in and out of his life as a child, barely in Cesar’s childhood years, goes to prison for twelve years, no note, no call, comes back for a few days after his prison release, only to go to Bakersfield to start a new life there; their mother, Lydia, deadbeat junkie who was never there for neither of them, the reason why Oscar didn’t pursue the magnet school in Pasadena because he could never trust her with Cesar, overdosed on heroin many years ago, when Oscar was fifteen and Cesar was seven, her death the reason why he joined the gang in the first place; not just to provide and raise Cesar, but to protect him too. From the dangers of Freeridge. From the dangers of the gang life. 	
  From everything. 
He realized that he had not only never lived a life of normalcy but that he also didn’t know what normalcy looked like, and didn’t know how to achieve that even after getting jumped out, possibly going to Bakersfield for rehab, getting his dream job, leaving the gang life, and getting the wife and kid he desperately wanted; how could he find it? How could he understand normalcy? How could he leave and kill Spooky and become Oscar, the old, sweet, little boy Oscar, and the adult, chef Oscar with the stable family he dreamed of yet never had? 
And so, that one thought told him only one simple thing about the wars he was facing mentally: leave. Just leave. At least temporarily. Leave Freeridge for a bit, maybe leave California too, and see what the real world is like, at least for a few months, then come back, get jumped out, take Cesar, and build their new lives out of the gang and Freeridge, that way he’ll have a more solid plan, know what step he’ll take next. 
And yeah, maybe that was a ridiculous thought: to leave and go on a short-term vacation, but it started to make sense. Not just for himself, but for Cesar too. After that new thought came to him, he started to realize something he didn’t want to realize due to the new optimistic way of life he had gained for the future after Cuchillos’s death and the peace truce with 19th Street, ending gang conflicts in Freeridge temporarily: Cesar was turning into him. He was becoming more and more Lil Spooky, as the days passed; he was colder, harder, more calculated, less fearful; new traits Oscar was trying to be blinded to because he strongly believed Cesar would listen and come with him, but couldn’t anymore. He was losing his little brother; the one who dreamed to go to UCLA, become an architect, have a life outside of Freeridge, never dare enter the gang life that claimed Oscar, Ray, and the other men in their family, build that beach house he talked about with Oscar once at the beach, where downstairs would be Oscar’s restaurant, and upstairs would be their home, their home filled with the dreams they finally accomplished, was slowly losing himself and his humanity and becoming the mini-version of Oscar, that Oscar didn’t want to be anymore: Lil Spooky the gangster; the next Santo after Spooky, the one who would control the entire block and the gang: the new leader. 
So with Cesar added to the list, he decided it wasn’t a ridiculous thought at all. So, he ditched the original plan and began formulating the new, temporary plan: he’d go to Portland, Oregon for at least two or three months- three months at most- come back, get jumped, be able to convince Cesar to come with him, leave Freeridge, and build their new life together. All he needed was time to fully formulate, convince, and plan out his plan for the future. All he needed was to leave for a while. But he couldn’t do this by himself, he couldn’t leave with only himself and his thoughts on board: he needed someone to come with him. Someone who also wanted out but didn’t know where to start. 
But who could it be? 
It definitely wasn’t Joker or Sad Eyes, any of the other Santos members he saw daily, but maybe someone who wasn’t part of the everyday-circle, someone who worked afar and for the former gang leader before him, one of the many bodyguard of Cuchillos that he would see whenever he had a meeting with her, one of the many bald, tall men with diamond earrings just like him, except who wore their perfect suits and tie, and tattoos that proved their affiliation and loyalty to Cuchillos and the gang, a face he saw out of the many of them: Poste. The guy he remembered and had seen whenever he met with Cuchillos was Poste, one of her taller and muscular bodyguards that she always liked to keep by her side…Poste, that was his guy. But the thing is that he never talked to Poste; never had a legitimate conversation with him, not just for wanting out, but for anything; yet he knew whenever he caught glimpses of the guy and sometimes made eye contact with him that there was a sense of sadness in his eyes, a sign that he wanted out, but couldn’t- at least when Cuchillos was still alive. So, from gathering his information and whereabouts from others, he met with the guy, who was lost as the other bodyguards were after Cuchillos’s death, and whom treated Oscar, the new leader, as his new boss and stared at him with the full respect of a bodyguard, where Oscar talked to him straightforwardly about getting out, about leaving, about going to Portland for a bit, be not only his bodyguard but also figure out what he wanted too. Would he like that? Poste- or Eduardo Martinez, his real name Oscar had learned to be- agreed, and together they both scheduled the night they would leave Freeridge, South Central Los Angeles, and go to Portland, Oregon for the next two to three- at least three months, then return to Freeridge and go ahead with solving their problems of leaving the gang, but this time knowing what the future will hold; so at that same meeting, they planned their getaway plan: they would leave Freeridge in two weeks, Eddie would show up to the Diaz house at 12 A.M. when Cesar was definitely asleep in bed, and once Eddie had texted Oscar that he was outside, he’d get out, albeit quietly to not awake his little brother, and they would drive off in Oscar’s 1966 Red Chevy Impala. Yet before their scheduled escape plan happened, they needed to keep everything hush-hush. They could not tell anyone they were going to do this; to Sad Eyes, Joker, the other members, and especially Cesar. Oscar could not tell Cesar he was going to temporarily leave him. Furthermore, after they exchanged contacts and their meeting ended, both Oscar and Eddie pretended like everything was the same and nothing major like that was going to happen. For two weeks, Spooky sat on the couch with Lil Spooky outside in the front lawn of the Diaz house with the other Santos members, pretending like everything was the same; trying to spend as much time with Lil Spooky before he left. There were a few moments when he almost let it slip to Cesar, telling him to take care of the house, the gang, until he came back. But he never once opened his mouth, he completely zipped it up. He had to though, it was difficult, but he had to, the whole reason this plan came to be was because of Cesar, it was for Cesar, so that Oscar could give him the better life that the hood and Santos couldn’t give them. And two weeks later, on an early August Friday night, the escape plan came to be. Eddie walked up to the Diaz house from the apartment he shared with the other gangster bodyguards which was a few blocks down, waiting for Oscar next to the Impala with a few items of his in hand. Oscar didn’t pack much; he stuffed half his wardrobe into a small suitcase and grabbed most of the drug money he made as his source of currency. There was no RollerWorld money, or Cuchillos’s for that matter, as the drug money he had was enough to last him for three months. Along with the suitcase, he also took his memory box that he kept in his bedroom, the one that contained childhood memories and photos, and a few childhood favorites such as his Dodgers player bobblehead and toys. He passed Cesar’s bedroom quietly, who was knocked out, drooling, with his phone still in his hand. Oscar stood in the doorway, looking at him for a bit, despite having received Eddie’s message that he was here. Yet he stood in that doorway for five minutes, watching him, half of him telling him to leave him alone and go, the other telling him this was a stupid plan and to abandon it. And, for a minute, he thought about abandoning this plan. Because by leaving, he wasn’t just leaving Freeridge or the Santos, but Cesar, his kid brother, his whole world, his everything: he was abandoning Cesar. He wanted Cesar to wake up, to ask him what he was doing, to make him stay, but none of that ever happened. He couldn’t move a single muscle in his body. He wanted to wake Cesar up, tell him what he was doing, that he’d come back when he knows and understands the real world, that he was doing this for him, but again, none of that happened. He promised himself not to tell Cesar. That he’d be okay in those three months. Hopefully, he’d realize during the time Oscar was gone, that maybe the gang life was wrong, being Lil Spooky was wrong, and to rethink his future, go to UCLA, and become the architect he always wanted to be. Maybe he’d think that. He hopefully would. On the bright side, he had Ruby, Jamal, and Monse- who wasn’t in Freeridge anymore due to some academy on the East Coast, but still, he had people to support and help him out. He wasn’t going to be alone, he would never be alone. Oscar stood in that doorway for what felt like an eternity, and finally went outside and saw Poste, who was leaving in the Impala, arms crossed, waiting for him. 
“Kid’s asleep, Jefe?” Eddie asked him in Spanish. 
“Yeah,” Oscar replied, sort of dazed. “He doesn’t know anything.” 
They put their belongings into the trunk, Oscar thinking if he should at least leave a goodbye note before leaving, yet after doing so, they settled inside: Eddie at the wheel, and Oscar at the passenger’s seat. Usually, he would drive, given it was his car, but he wasn’t much in the mood to drive, so he let Eddie do it, who was already ready to drive instead of Oscar. 
As Eddie set his phone to give the directions to Portland, Oregon, a new thought came to Oscar again; however this time it wasn’t about Cesar, the gang, or the jump out: Maine. They should go to Portland, Maine instead of Portland, Oregon. 
“Poste,” Spooky said in Spanish, Oscar hidden. “Change of plan, we’re heading to Portland, Maine. Not Oregon.” 
“Sí, Jefe,” Poste replied, no questions asked. And, just like that, they headed out into the night, the WELCOME TO FREERIDGE sign past them a couple of minutes later, as Siri gave the directions to Portland, Maine; where they would be staying for the next three months, putting a pause on the present temporarily, as thoughts shifted dreams of the future: a normal, stable life outside of gangland; with his own house, Cesar, the wife, the kid, all there as he cooked dinner in his chef’s coat in the kitchen. That life.