Chapter 3
LAUREN
The traffic heading toward the high school is heavier than usual, and we crawl along the main street. It looks like there’s a burst pipe ahead, but I don’t know the town well enough yet to find a detour.
I glance over at Kieran, and he’s slouched in the passenger seat. His headphones are in, and he’s staring intently at something on his phone. His hair falls into his face, framing his square jaw and the downy hair on his upper lip.
For a moment I’m taken back to holding him as a baby, his wide eyes peering up at me as he clung onto me.
How did that little baby grow into the gangly teenager sitting in the passenger seat next to me?
It feels like only a moment ago he was holding my hand as we toddled to the park.
Now he hasn’t spoken to me since I hauled him home from the boxing gym last night.
I cringe at the memory of marching him off in front of everyone, and especially the hot shirtless man. My cheeks heat thinking about Dean. I think that’s what he introduced himself as, but I was too transfixed on his muscles to remember his name.
All night I turned in my bed, thinking about his muscles rippling on his back and what it would feel like to be pinned down by his strong arms.
I shake my head to clear the thought. I shouldn’t be fantasizing about a muscular thug when there’s clearly something going on with my son.
He’s not the child who used to tell his momma everything. He’s closed off and doesn’t tell me where he’s going, which is why I followed him last night. At least it wasn’t as bad as I thought. He’s not caught up in some gang or drug deal. To anyone else, it might seem overprotective.
But when his father is doing time, it’s hard not to be on edge, worried Kieren will go down the same road.
I should have been relieved that it was only a boxing gym, but my encounter with Dean had me fired up. Kieren’s right to be angry. I should have backed off, but if he’d told me where he was going in the first place, I wouldn’t have feared the worst.
“What you watching?” I lean over in my seat, and Kieren angles his phone away.
A new fear stabs my heart. I hate to think what the algorithm serves up to a fifteen-year-old boy. Probably all that manosphere misogynistic bullshit. I just hope I’ve brought Kieren up well enough to see it for what it is.
It would have been laughable ten years ago, sad little men who can only get their self-worth by putting women down.
But women’s rights in this country have gone backward lately, and their message of toxic masculinity is gaining popularity.
And most of the men who spout this bullshit grew up in single-parent homes, brought up by single mothers with no strong male role model to teach them all the different ways there are to be a man.
Just like Kieren.
Mother’s guilt overwhelms me as I pull into the drop zone outside Hope High School. I remind myself that Kieren is a good boy and my love and guidance are enough.
Then why doesn’t he want me to see what’s on his screen?
Before I can ask, Kieren’s out of the car and pulling his school bag behind him.
“Hey,” I call after him. “I’m on double shift tonight. You’ll need to get the bus home. There are leftovers in the fridge. Do your homework and don’t game all night.”
He pulls out an earbud and leans back into the car. “Stop worrying so much, Mom. I’ll be fine.”
He gives me a rare smile, and my heart stutters. The boy is still in there, and he may be his father’s son, but he’s also mine. And I’m doing the best I can.
He slams the car door, and I take a long, steadying breath.
A car beeps, and I glance in the rearview mirror.
“Sorry.” I raise my hand to the driver as I pull out of the drop zone.
The traffic through town hasn’t eased, and I’m late as I pull into the Hope Medical Center staff parking lot.
I grab my purse and pull my name tag out of the pocket. I clip it to my chest as I hurry through the parking lot and into the medical center. I’m heading toward the elevators when my phone rings.
It’s the Charlotte Corrections Office, which can’t be good news. I think about letting it go to voicemail because I’m already late, but then I’ll be wondering about the call all day.
“Lauren speaking.” I sidestep the elevator and jog up the stairs to the nurses’ station so I can take the call.
“Is this Mrs. Doyle?” a male voice asks.
“I haven’t gone by that name in over ten years.” I try to keep the irritation out of my voice. “Call me Lauren.”
I hate that I’m still linked to Mark, even though we’ve been divorced for years.
“I’m sorry, Lauren. We have some news about your husband.”
“Ex-husband,” I reiterate, irritated that I’m still on file somewhere as Mark’s wife, especially after everything I’ve been through.
“Yes of course. Sorry. Your ex-husband, Mark Doyle.”
I reach the nurses’ station, and with my phone pressed to my ear, I open my locker and shove my purse in.
“What’s the news?”
“He’s been paroled early.”
My stomach drops, and I sink into a chair in the corner of the nurses’ break room.
“How? He wasn’t up for parole for another year.”
“The thing is, we have a capacity problem. We’ve had to re-examine all cases, and it’s led to the early release of some prisoners.”
I try to decipher what he’s saying. “The prison’s too full. So you’re letting criminals out.”
“Well, ah, we believe he has reformed.”
I snort. There is no way my ex has been reformed.
He knows how to play nice when he needs to, and he’s managed to convince them he’s safe for release.
It’s my own fault for not reporting the threats and abusive behavior.
I was young and naive and worried they wouldn’t listen to a young single mom and would try to take my son from me.
It’s what Mark threatened to do last time he was out. I close my eyes, trying to block out the memory of metal scraping against metal and Kieren screaming in the back seat as Mark tried to run us off the road.
He told me he’d send someone to take Kieren off me if I reported him.
When he was arrested on a minor drug charge, I thought we were safe for a while.
“We believe Mr. Doyle has been reformed,” the man repeats, as if saying it enough times makes it true.
I know my ex-husband. There is no way he’s been reformed.
“The parole conditions are strict. He has to check in with the parole officer every afternoon.”
“And who’s the parole officer?”
“I am. And I’ll call you if we have any concerns. But like I say, we believe he has been reformed and will integrate into the community given the chance.”
This guy is either naive or stupid. The only community Mark will be integrating with is his thugs in the underworld. And if he has his way, he’ll take Kieren with him. He always boasted about building an empire and getting his son back to run it with him.
“When will he be released? I’d like to appeal.”
I don’t know if you can appeal a decision to parole, but I want to make damn sure Mark stays locked up as long as he can.
“He, ah, he left yesterday.”
My blood goes cold.
He’s already out. Which means he’s already looking for us.