Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
On Mondays, the prison mental health department held their weekly staff meetings. Everywhere Gin had worked, meetings were an unavoidable chore. Unfortunately, this place held Howard Slidell and his prisoner-bashing rants.
And today would be worse.
The last to arrive, Gin dropped into a seat at the end of the long table. She leaned back as the counselors gave updates on their caseloads.
A few minutes before, she’d spoken with Sawyer, needing his…well, his permission. His forgiveness in a way because she couldn’t continue as Sawyer’s counselor after she’d been intimate with his brother. She might have been able to justify the BDSM scenes, but…no, even those had been inappropriate.
To her surprise, Sawyer had been understanding and even willing to discuss his preference in counselors. They’d talked about each of the staff, and she was darned well going to see he got his first choice.
More worrying, he’d said he’d terminate therapy if assigned to Slidell. His declaration had crystalized Gin’s resolve. Tomorrow, she’d document her concerns about what her inmates had said about Slidell. She’d add what she’d observed. Then she and the administrator would have a chat.
Silence at the table brought her thoughts back, and she realized they were all looking at her.
“Gin,” the administrator said, obviously repeating himself. “Do you have anything of concern?”
“Yes.” She stood. “I’m dating the brother of one my cases, which means I need to turn the inmate over to someone else. His name is Sawyer Ware, and—”
“I saw him before.” Slidell folded his hands over his paunch. “I’ll take him back.”
“That won’t work,” she said in a flat voice.
When Penelope lifted her hand, Gin ignored her. The woman would mess with his head. Thank goodness, the mental health department had only a couple of bad apples. The rest were highly competent and professional.
Gin turned to Jacob Wheeler. Around fifty with dark graying hair, ex-military, lean and fit, possessing a sardonic sense of humor. He was first choice. Unfortunately, he was also always overloaded.
“Jacob, Sawyer came back from Afghanistan with PTSD. He didn’t get the treatment he needed—and he made a mess of his life. He’s turning it around, but I don’t want to let his progress stall. I do believe you’d be the best one to help him.”
Slidell’s face turned a dark red. “See here, you can’t—”
Channeling Atticus’s more intimidating mannerisms, Gin firmed her jaw and flattened her hands on the table surface, leaning into the opposition. “Yes. I can.”
“Did you talk with Ware, Gin?” Jacob rubbed his lips, concealing a smile and talking right past Slidell, as if he weren’t there.
“I did. He agreed to the change in counselors. And to you, if you’d have him.”
“You covered your bases.” Jacob tapped the screen of his tablet, checked the display, and looked up. His intent stare made her want to cringe. “Is this important enough to fuck up my entire schedule?”
“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “Yes, it is. He’s a good man.”
Jacob’s deep, focused gaze remained on her for a long moment before an approving smile softened his carved features. “Well fought, counselor. I’ll free up time for him.”
Gin resumed her seat, happiness filling her. Success. Sawyer would have someone who would truly understand him. Who’d speak his language.
And she could date Atticus with a guilt-free conscience.
Midweek, Atticus swung by the prison.
From a distance, he could see his brother in the concrete yard with the basketball court. He watched for a minute, his heart lightened. Sawyer hadn’t done anything active in the year he’d been imprisoned…not until the southern counselor had taken him in her soft little hand.
He felt damned guilty though, as though he’d stolen Gin from his brother. He wished she could remain as his therapist, but she’d assured him that the new social worker was an even better fit. God, he hoped so.
Sawyer sidestepped his opponent, made a basket—and laughed.
A bit later, after some extra rigmarole and calling in a favor, Atticus entered a reception room.
Sawyer was leaning against a wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Not visiting day, bro.”
Fuck, how long had it been since Sawyer’d looked…whole? Not since his second tour of duty overseas.
Atticus held his hand out and used the grip to pull his brother close enough to bump shoulders. He cleared his throat, ordered his thoughts to business. “I wanted a word.”
“Lookin’ serious.” Sawyer commented, positioning himself where he could see the door.
“We’ve got some increased crime in town—robberies, muggings. Any connection to the prison you know of?”
“Huh.” Sawyer considered. “Always possible, but if so, my crew isn’t in on the information.” Prison populations tended to divide along color and gang lines, so independent prisoners could get badly hurt. And, although a SEAL could hold his own, it was good he’d found a few buddies.
“I wish you weren’t in here.” And he had another year to go. Each visit turned Atticus’s muscles rigid as his instincts demanded he protect his little brother from danger. And he couldn’t.
Sawyer’s face darkened. “I screwed up.” His pain-filled gaze met Atticus’s. “Maybe my head wasn’t screwed on good after coming back, but…I still don’t feel like I deserve a free life.”
“Maybe you could—”
“Bro, love you, man, but you’re not raising me anymore.”
“What?”
When Sawyer straightened, Atticus was surprised to see his little brother was an inch taller. Was packing on the muscle. Was an adult.
Jesus.
Sawyer’s lips curved. “The light dawns.”
“This must be how a parent feels,” Atticus said ruefully. When their stepfather had gone to prison, Atticus had become the man of the house. And since their ill and overworked mother couldn’t, he’d essentially raised Sawyer and Hector.
But Sawyer wasn’t a child any longer. Not even close. “You were gone so long I forgot you grew up. Fuck, are you thirty-three?”
“Guess that makes you an old man, doesn’t it?” Sawyer grinned, and then turned a level stare on Atticus. “Cut the apron strings, Att. It’s my life, and I got this.”
Hell. A Dom’s temptation was to control everything, ensuring anyone more vulnerable or weaker was cared for. Letting go didn’t come naturally. But there were times a Dom—or big brother—needed to step back.
Pride swept over him. His brother had hit rock bottom and was fighting his way back up with all the determination and courage he’d shown throughout his decorated military career.
“I got this.” “Damn straight you got this, bro.”
Saldana appeared in the door. His marker had run out.
Atticus lifted his hand in acknowledgment.
“I’ll keep an ear out for trouble here,” Sawyer said. “And hey, congrats on the pretty new lady in your life.”
Atticus jerked his chin up in acknowledgment, bit back a “Be careful,” and headed for the door.
On the way out, he hesitated and kept going. No time to swing by and see how Gin was doing. And he was on call tonight, so he wouldn’t be able to take her out.
He snorted. She wouldn’t appreciate a visit anyway.
Although the “benefits” had been rewarding for both of them on Friday, she was striving to hold him at arm’s length.
He’d backed off on the weekend to give her the illusion of control but had talked her into a meal tomorrow by playing the “I’m starving” card. The woman lived to feed people.
He liked that. Liked her need to make people happy. Liked everything about her. Maybe she wanted to keep a distance, but he damn well didn’t. More and more, he was thinking he’d found the woman he wanted in his ropes, in his arms. In his life.