1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Luke
PRESENT DAY
Half my life spent behind bars.
Six-thousand, two-hundred and five days.
Seventeen years.
If I knew what this feeling was inside my gut, I’d bottle it up and save it for a rainy day. Fuck. I don’t even know what rainy days feel like anymore, not properly. I can bet this twisting sensation causing my skin to break out in goosebumps is meant to be happiness, though.
Am I happy that I’m out? Honestly, I don’t know yet.
The Aussie guy responsible for my release is now standing next to me. He holds out my bag of belongings, giving me a solemn nod. “That’s all of it.”
I look at the small bin bag, then up at him. His eyes are hollow, just like his voice. “You can chuck it.”
His arm drops by his side. “You haven’t even looked inside.”
Giving him a small shake of my head, I tuck my hands in the pockets of my grey, prison-issued, tracksuit bottoms, still unsure of what’s going on. “Unless the clothes in there suddenly enlarged ten sizes, there’s nothing I need.” I don’t remember coming in with much, just the jeans and t-shirt I had on the day I was arrested, seventeen years ago.
He looks around the open space which resembles a giant, gaping hole in front of me. My freedom. It’s too big. Too open. My eyes linger on it, the hairs on my neck standing tall. “Your lift comin’?”
I was allowed to make a call before I left. Seeing as he’s the only person who ever visited me inside, I rang my brother. “No. I’m meeting him soon.”
He nods. “Need a lift?”
“I’m good.” I’ll walk. Stretch my legs this side of the wall.
The man seems satisfied with my response and turns, looking eager to leave.
My life feels like it’s been one big storm and I’ve patiently sat around, waiting for it to pass. Now that it appears to be doing just that, I don’t know what to do.
When a car with blacked-out windows pulls up, the man in front of me pats me on the shoulder. “Enjoy your new life,” he says lacklustre, dropping the bag of my things to the ground before opening the door and leaving.
His words make me laugh under my breath as the late afternoon sun shines so brightly on my face, it makes me close my eyes a fraction. I watch the red lights of the car getting smaller, recalling the times I’ve enjoyed myself. It’s sad, but I can count them all on one hand; the day my twin brother and sister were born. The first Christmas I was allowed to spend with them. And the day all of the physical trauma ended. Who knows what the fucking future will hold for me, but now—for the first time in my life, it’s at my fingertips to decide.
Taking a small step forward, I bend at the waist and retrieve my bag. Once I find the nearest bin, I’ll get rid of it. I take one final look back to the place that has been my home for as long as I can remember, thanking my lucky stars that my time’s done.
My legs carry me for what feels like miles, mentally following the directions Adam gave me over the phone. He clearly sent me on the scenic route. I’ve seen no one. Not one other soul as I walk along the river’s edge towards the outskirts of town. It’s unnerving.
With every step I take, I’m increasingly aware of my heart picking up speed. It’s not yard time. I’m not having to fight anyone. There’s no reason for a sweat to start breaking out on my forehead. And yet, that’s exactly what’s fucking happening .
Scrubbing my hand down my stubbly face, palpitations begin thrumming in my chest and my mind scatters. For years I kept myself busy—which is no mean feat inside, but I read, educated myself, worked—fuck, I did anything to cancel out the noise that in the beginning, plagued me.
Out here, there’s nothing for me to do. No place I know I can go to and find that distraction. These steps I’m taking are in a world I don’t know how to navigate yet.
I take a desperate breath of air, feeling my vision begin to narrow at that realisation. Fuck. My right eye then begins to twitch viciously and I swipe at it, unsure of what’s happening.
Without any real reason, I pick up my pace, clearly panicking. I’m running, but from what? Freedom? I’m a knob. I’m unprepared for this world, but that still makes me a knob. I should be grateful. And up until fifteen minutes ago, I think I was.
Now, I’m running like a scared dog, my tail caught between my legs. I’m still heading where I want to go, but I need noise. Distraction. When I stop, my hands flat on my knees, I realise I’m still carrying the bag in my hand.
A door opens on my left, making me jump, and the lady who steps out looks horrified by my sweaty, unstable self. I hate how I feel but more than anything, I hate the way her eyes scan me, clearly concluding I’m not worth her time. She locks the door behind her, and it’s then I read the sign in the window.
Children’s Charity .
“Uh,” I breathe, wanting to get rid of the bag in my grasp. I hold it up, and she looks at me. “Can you take this?”
Her eyes dash to my trembling hand. “Sorry, you’ll have to come back later.”
I look between her fingers on the key and her crinkled eyes. “Seriously?”
Her eyebrows lift at my tone.
“Fine. I’ll leave it on the doorstep for when you return.” Dropping the bag, I stand straight, taking a breath. I need to gain some fucking composure before I meet my brother.
Eye rolling me, I watch as she pops open her handbag, only to stop with the keys dangling from her fingers as she catches sight of the scruffy shoes on my feet. Her wandering eyes really take in my clothes, raking over the dire state of me. She eventually finds my gaze. I hear her sigh, eyes jumping between mine before looking up to the clouds. “Actually, I think it’s going to rain.”
I cast my eyes to the sky. The sun’s still out. There isn’t a cloud up there. When I look down at her, a confused look etches on my face, and she shrugs, swiftly unlocking the door again.
I’m hesitant, but I eventually grab the bag and step inside.
Moving past a few rails with women’s clothing on, the lady angles her chin over one shoulder. “You look like you escaped from prison, poor boy.”
My eyes drop, skimming over my clothes. “Just a rough night,” I reply, almost knocking into a small display of kids’ toys.
She hums. “I need you to sign something before I can accept your donation.”
I’m not sure how this works, but I deflate, following her to the till.
She drops her cream handbag onto the desk before holding out her hand, waiting for my bag. She’s trying to show kindness but also losing her patience.
I place it on the counter, and the lady opens it, peering inside. “You didn’t wash them?” Her lips purse and her nose curls as she pulls out my old clothes, one item at a time, inspecting them front and back.
“Sorry,” I say flatly, my eyes scanning the blood staining the bottom edge of the blue shirt.
I see red. Endless rivers of red.
“Is that blood?”
“What are you going to do, Luke? Shoot me?” Mum laughs, her cackle like that of a witch. Her eyes blaze, the cocktail of drugs mixed with her hatred for me, clearly colliding.
“Don’t move,” I yell, my hand shaking, burning tears flooding my eyes.
“We’ve been here before, you trying to get me into trouble. You won’t do it. All I have ever done is love you. And now, once I get custody of the other two, I’ll get to love them the same way I did you, but you know, I might just love them more than—”
Bang.
Images of my mum’s lifeless body laid on the floor, eyes wide and staring at me, hit me hard .
I blink.
My eye twitches.
“Paint,” I manage to say quietly.
“I don’t think I can take these.” She carries on pulling apart my things, tutting and hissing at the state of them. “Oh, this is okay.”
I don’t acknowledge her. In my mind’s eye, my hand’s lifting the gun, pointing it at Mum’s head.
“You’ll never do it.”
I couldn’t let her hurt Adam and Sammie the way she did me. Me, I hated every second of what happened, but I learned to block it all out. Stress? Trauma? Call it what you want. I haven’t thought about it like this since it happened. Not until this very moment. I need to get the fuck out of here.
When I turn to run, my feet suddenly turn into lead with what I see.
“Son?”
My breathing is shallow. With every pathetic pull of air I take in, my vision hones in on the item in the lady’s hand. Then, like an explosion in my chest, my heart goes into overdrive. It’s the one thing I relied on when I faced some of my darkest days. And there were a lot.
“Pretty little thing,” the lady coos. “The children down at the youth complex might like something like this.” She leans forward, and I lift an unsteady hand, taking it. As soon as I have it, it’s like every one of my senses come to life. I can smell my mother’s cheap perfume. Can taste the same Friday night dinner she used to make of eggs and ham.
I can hear my own sobs from under the covers on my bed.
Dormant memories are suddenly provoked. They stir from where I buried them seventeen years ago, clouding my vision.
Learning to live without familiar vices, didn’t come easily. I grew to fight the bad with fire, rather than hiding away. I don’t need this like I once did, but given how shaky and nervous I feel all of a sudden, I twirl one of the beads between my fingers like I used to. It brings me the sense of calm I knew it would.
“What about the clothes? Do you wish to take them back, too?”
I shake my head impassively. This is all I need. “No.”
“What should I do with them? ”
No one ever found out what happened to me. The men I was inside with knew I had killed my mother, but they never understood why. Nobody ever will. “Burn them.”
“Burn them?” she asks, surprised.
“Burn. Bin. Whatever’s easiest for you.” I turn to leave, slipping the bracelet into my pocket. “Thank you.” I smile back at her then I’m out the door, not looking back.
When I make it to the bar where I’m meeting Adam, I’m mentally exhausted. I don’t think a simple walk is supposed to be difficult.
Pushing open the door, the scene before my eyes makes my heart jump to my throat. The place is packed tight. Filled with men and women talking and drinking, it’s all so casual. Twisting the beads in my pocket, I feel overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of it all.
There’s a football game being played on a giant television. When a few people start shouting at the screen, I walk past everyone, not interested, spotting an empty stool by the bar.
When I sit, I look around, seeing no signs of my brother anywhere. “Do you have the time?” I ask the bartender approaching me.
He looks down at his watch. “Just coming up to six.”
I nod, scanning my eyes over the crowd one more time. Adam said six. I’m not late. He’s not early. Still, I thought he’d be here first.
“You looking to order?”
When I turn to him, I realise I haven’t done this before. I’ve never sat at a bar and ordered a drink. I don’t even think I know what I like. Prior to life inside, I only ever went to one pub. I don’t think sneaking in as an underage teenager the night before I started college and being immediately kicked out counts, though. It’s a fucking miracle in itself I ever made it to college. In hindsight, I didn’t make the most of it.
Wasn’t focused on education at the time.
“Water,” I say, hoping he doesn’t question it .
There’s a slight widening of his eyes, but he does his job, placing the filled glass on the beer mat.
I lift it to my lips, taking a welcomed sip, wondering whether it should taste this good. I know I was in prison, but water’s water. Except this tastes like nothing I’ve tried before. I take a larger gulp, suddenly thirsty.
When I look up, the bartender’s watching me. I swipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I’m going to hazard a guess that this isn’t a normal reaction to fucking water. “Not had this kind before.”
His confused smile quickly fades before he walks away, seeing to a lady stood further down.
That dumbfounded look he just gave me, coupled with the pity I saw in the lady from the charity shop’s eyes, make it blindingly obvious I have some fitting in to do.
There’s so much I’ve missed out on, so much that I now have to figure out. For starters, where the fuck am I going to live? I know Adam is doing well for himself. Nobody shows up to a prison visit dressed in a three-piece suit. Still, that doesn’t mean he’ll want me staying with him. Even if he does, it won’t ever be long term. I’ll need my own space.
And what about money? No way I’ll survive without it. The skills I have could certainly be put to use somewhere, but where and how I get there seems fucking impossible.
One thing’s for sure, nobody’s going to hand a new life to me.
Picking up my glass of water, I take another sip, jolting when the crowd let out a raucous shout when someone scores. I curse under my breath, wiping my bottom lip, watching as the spilled water begins showing up in dark circles on my grey clothes. Bollocks.
“Need a towel?”
My hand pauses in mid-air. The soft voice of the female bartender is like nothing I’ve heard before. It’s sweet. Light. Ridiculously hot. Although, given she’s the first woman I’ve properly met who wasn’t trying to prod and poke at me, or be old enough to be a nan, I’d say I was bound to be taken aback.
“Or a bib?”
Nope. It really is that fucking perfect .
Hearing her again, I double take, shaking my head, a little fucking shocked I haven’t said anything yet. I place the glass back down on the bar, swiping at my still slightly damp chin. My eyes catch sight of some napkins in a little tray, so I snatch one, holding it up before drying myself off.
She smiles with a gentle giggle, and that tops any sound or sight I’ve witnessed in recent years. “Not much of a talker, huh?”
I freeze as her words manage to slowly slice right through me. Talk you fucking bellend. Say something. Anything! Why am I clamming up? I know I have a way with the ladies, but I’m not sure it counts if in some odd way you consider them your family. Seeing them and doing the same thing every day, the female prison officers and guards I’m used to talking to, don’t count as ‘normal women’.
The normal woman in front of me, however, still waiting for me to speak actual English words, shifts her weight onto one foot, popping her hip, both hands now resting on her side of the bar. “Let me get you another.” She leans forward, gracing me with a good look at her face while she picks up the glass. Auburn hair. Almond skin. Pink lips. Eyes glowing green and free from makeup. Her gentle features are spellbinding.
I’m so fucking grateful when she walks a little further down the bar, giving me room to breathe as she lifts the nozzle to fill the glass. She walks back a few seconds later, placing it down. “Now, you go steady with this one.”
“Thanks.”
She acts surprised, looking at me, her oval face lighting up. “Ah! He speaks.”
I sag. Not that she’d see. “Rough day,” I tell her, wondering how long I can get away with that excuse for.
“In that case.” She turns her back to me, and my eyes naturally drop to the curve of her arse. That was a mistake. What’s even more of a mistake is, I don’t look away when she goes and stands on her tiptoes, reaching up for a bottle off the top shelf, her muscles clenching, a small bit of skin exposing itself.
God almighty. I feel sweat beginning to form on the back of my neck. Before I know it, the woman who’s managing to cripple me is looking straight into my eyes. “Get this in you.” She lands a small glass filled with brown liquid on the wood .
I look at it. Then back to her. Am I supposed to know what the fuck that is? Because I don’t. I know I’m meant to throw it back, but I can’t pay for it. So I ask, “That on the house?”
One of her eyebrows lifts. She begins stepping back, readjusting the way her hair’s tied, before grabbing hold of a small rope. “Oh,” she recoils with a playful grin, “you shouldn’t have asked that question.” Stepping back, she rings a bell, and the entire bar cheers out loud.
“What was that?” I ask, my body beginning to vibrate, my muscles instantly tightening. I get the feeling I’ve been landed in the shit. I don’t like how the atmosphere heightens and the general hum around me cranks up a notch.
Catching me off guard, a hand slaps me on the shoulder, and I instinctively spin around, grabbing it. The man whose wrist I’m now crushing looks like he’s about to shit himself. I’ve stunned him by my reaction.
“What the fuck?” he yells, his eyes jumping between me and the lady behind the bar.
I stand off my stool towering over him, twisting his wrist, causing him to cry out. Pussy.
“Hey!” I hear that voice again, the one that makes me stop. “Let him go or you’re out.”
I turn to look at her, and she lowers her head a fraction, her emerald eyes remaining on mine. I don’t even know her, but I can see she’s serious. Reluctantly, I do as I’m told, making sure the guy knows he was wrong to touch me like that by pushing him away. You don’t creep up on someone the way he did, unless you’re looking for trouble. Or maybe you do? Who fucking knows. Judging by the looks I’m getting, I’m the one who fucked up.
If I could leave, I would. But I have nowhere to go.
Where the fuck is Adam?
The space by the bar is suddenly filling up. Other staff are also appearing, presumably having heard the bell ring. They begin taking a mass rush of orders, and I look at the woman whose cheeks are now flushed.
“Eva!” a bald-headed guy shouts from his place by another till, making both of us turn to look at him. “If you’re going to ring that bell, your arse best be working, girl. ”
Eva.
She gives me a look, and I’m not sure what it is. Her eyes are softer than they were only moments ago, but when some guy taps the bar top with his hand, she looks away, jumping into action.
“Thanks for the round, mate,” he says cheerily, and I feel my face drop.
What?
I sit myself back down, watching the hustle and bustle of people ordering until it’s less busy and things begin to settle. Not once does Eva come to my end of the bar. I’m guessing each server has their own section. Typically, hers is the furthest away.
I’m not sure why it irks me. Perhaps it’s because I’ve watched half an hour drift by, drink after drink be ordered, and I get the feeling I’m paying for it all.
Behind bars, it’s wise to never be in anyone’s favour. I hustled a few people, passed on messages and certainly let men know when they had wronged someone or owed something. There was only one occasion where I found myself on the receiving end, but I made sure to never make the same mistake twice.
The lessons I learned were simple; never get wrapped up in anything that’s not your business, never snitch, and for the love of God, do not borrow or get into debt. Being in debt inside carries additional weight. I’ve seen too many men die for it.
Knowing I’ve only been a free man for less than two hours and could already owe money is making me feel uneasy. There’s still no sign of Adam anywhere. I’m now at the point where I’m beginning to question whether I’m in the right place. I have to be. I followed what he said to a T. Never faltered.
But I panicked when I found myself alone. Maybe I took a wrong turn then?
A cup of coffee is placed in my line of vision, and I slowly look up, wondering what’s going on. Eva’s back. She grabs a towel and begins to clear the bar top, wiping it clean as she goes.
At the risk of exposing myself, I ask her, “What was that about?”
“House rule,” she says, without looking up. “You ask for a free drink, you buy everyone a drink.”
That’s actually fucking funny. And ironic that the man without a single fucking penny to his name should rack up such a large bill. “Can I open a tab? ”
Frowning as her frantic hands then throw down the towel, she looks up. “I’m sorry.” Her thunderous face doesn’t match her words.
My eyes narrow, my face tightens, confused. Why’s she apologising? Fuck, I have a lot to learn. “You are?”
Her pink lips roll in on each other. “I shouldn’t have put that one on you. It’s obvious you’re not in a position to pay it.” Then I see the same look the old lady gave me when her eyes meet mine.
It’s pity.
Dropping my head, I never want to see that look again from anyone. “What gave it away?” I try to smile. My voice is flatter, hating that I’m here.
Rather than scan my clothes, her eyes take in my face, skimming over my dark hair and matching eyes. I hear her take a small breath and wonder what’s got her all caught up. “You look a little…”
“A little, what?” I push, after some awkward silence.
Her button nose wrinkles. “Like you’re in need of some TLC.” She shrugs.
I’m not sure why, but I laugh. She has no idea. “What’s that for?” My eyes flick to the steaming mug.
“ That is on me. Enjoy.”
I pick it up, blowing at the froth, recoiling when I take a sip. Tastes like I just licked copper. No way I’m drinking this shit. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick with water.” I place the mug down, catching her looking at me like she’s offended.
“Suit yourself.” When someone calls her, she swings around giving them a nod.
“So, can I stay?” I blurt out, not entirely sure why. “I’m meeting someone.”
Her face falls, straightening out. “Sure. Just don’t ask for any more free drinks.”
“Got it.”
With that, she nods, and I’m left on my own, watching her walk away until she’s out of sight.
Eva.