25. Paxton
25
PAXTON
W ith a sigh, I shift on the cold plastic seat and wait for them to bring Rafe in.
I’ve been putting this off. I shouldn’t. But I couldn’t help myself. Seeing your best friend incarcerated has a way of messing with your head, and time has a way of dulling memories and relationships, especially ones like this. He was my brother in every sense of the term except blood. Now, he’s barely more than a stranger.
I wasn’t lying when I told Roman I’ve written Rafe a lot over the years. I have. He’s written to me, too. But seeing him face-to-face? It’s been years, and I’m more anxious than I’d like to admit. I could really go for a cigarette right now, but I ignore the craving the same way I have since the night I met Tatum, chewing on the inside of my cheek instead.
When Rafe appears through the door on the right, an officer points in my direction, and my adrenaline spikes. A grin spreads across his face as he moves closer, sitting down on the empty chair across from mine leaving nothing but glass separating us as I bounce my knee up and down.
Reaching for the telephone, I pick it up, and Rafe does the same.
“What’s with the hair?” he laughs.
Surprised, I scrub my hand over the dull, yellow-green color and shake my head. “It’s a long story.”
“I got time,” he returns. “Obviously.”
Obviously.
The weight in my chest lifts just like that. Memories of our late nights in his basement. Smoking weed, sharing a bottle of Jack. Talking shit about anything and everything because…we got time. Hell, it’s all we had. And in a way, it’s all we have now, too.
Dropping my hand, I lean closer to the glass and dive right in, catching him up on everything going on with Tatum Taylor, the bane of my existence and the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
Once he’s all filled in, Rafe laughs even more. “Glad she’s giving you a run for your money while I’m locked up.”
“Yeah, she’s something else,” I mutter. “How’ve you been?”
He shrugs. “Not bad. Roman said he ran into you.”
“Yeah.” I glance at the officer standing a few feet away and drop my voice an octave lower. “Seems he’s following in your footsteps.”
With a low laugh, Rafe argues, “Nah. They’re not doing anything we wouldn’t have at their age. Let him have some fun. He had to grow up way too soon, you know?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, man. I know.”
“I appreciate you keepin’ an eye on him, though.” He pauses. “How’s the band?”
“Taking a hiatus for now.”
“That’s good.”
“Is it?” I ask, cocking my head.
“Yeah. Maybe you’ll still be around when I get out of here.”
“You got an update?” We don’t usually talk about it. When Rafe’s getting out. There are too many politics behind weighted questions like timelines in prison to broach the subject very often, but now that Rafe brought it up? Yeah, I’m all ears.
“It’s still early, but they’re talking about next year.”
“Seriously?” My mouth lifts. “Fuck, man. That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, I hope so.” He hesitates. “Which is dangerous. Hope. But, uh, you know, I’m keeping my head down, doing my own thing, trying not to cause trouble, and the warden says he’s been noticing my effort, so…”
“Well, damn.” My grin stretches. “I’d hug you, but—” I tap my knuckle against the glass, pulling another laugh from Rafe.
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“Glad I can be of service.”
And just like that, I’m brought back to before. Before Rafe was arrested. Before my life went to shit. Before I got my head out of my ass and cleaned up my life.
When it was just me and my neighbor, Rafe. Playing outside from sunup to sundown. With no expectations. No chips on our shoulders. Just me and him.
The good ol’ days.
I’m not sure how much time passes as we continue catching up before the officer walks up and taps his hand on his watch. Rafe looks up and nods. “Looks like my time’s up.”
“All right.” I clear my throat, unsurprised by the lump forming in it or how hard it is to choke down. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Yeah, for sure.” He taps his knuckles against the small counter. “And thanks for visiting, Pax. I know it’s kind of a bitch seeing me like this, but I’ve missed talking face-to-face, you know?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Yeah, I agree.”
“All right, I’ll see you later.” Hanging up the phone, Rafe stands, wipes his palms on his gray scrubs, and lifts his hands. The officer snaps the cuffs into place, leading him back through the door he originally stepped through, leaving me as hollow as before.
This sucks.