CHAPTER TEN #2
I had one shoe laced up by the time Sergeant Kinney walked down the hall again, this time accompanied by the big and powerful Soldier Mason. The guy who had chosen to legally adopt me six years ago.
Right now, he looked like he regretted that choice.
He stood on the other side of the bars, his arms crossed over his brawny chest. He frowned at me, and although I was a lot taller now than I had been when I met him, I still had to look up to meet his stony glare.
I wondered if Miles would be as tall as him one day. I wondered how much he’d look like him.
Things I’d never be.
Sergeant Kinney took the keys from his pocket and was about to unlock the cell when Dad held up his hand.
“Don’t,” he told him, and my lips fell open with a silent protest. “Can I have a moment alone with my son?”
Sergeant Kinney swallowed, his sympathetic eyes lingering on me for a moment before swinging upward as he nodded. “Sure, Soldier. Just give me a holler when you’re ready.”
Swiftly, he headed back down the hall, and when I figured he was out of hearing distance, I whispered, “Can we talk at—”
“You’re not coming home,” Dad cut me off harshly, speaking through a clenched jaw. “Not tonight. So, get that idea out of your head. Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it now.”
My face fell. “The hell do you mean, I’m not coming home tonight? What? Why?”
He took a step closer, as close as the bars between us would allow. “Because this right here shouldn’t be happening.”
Stupidly, I shrugged and lifted my hands, as if to say, I don’t know what you mean.
“Jesus Christ, Noah,” he muttered between gritted teeth, unwinding his arms to squeeze the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t be getting a call to tell me my son’s been arrested. I shouldn’t be standing here, talking to him through fucking bars.”
My gaze dropped to the dingy floor.
“Everything I’ve fucking been through … I hoped it would be enough to keep my kids from getting in trouble, but I guess I was wrong,” he said, his voice heavily laden with frustration.
The sting of his disapproval was swiftly wiped away with the strength of my anger, and I murmured, “Maybe that’s because I’m not your kid.”
Dad took half a step back with his bad leg. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah,” I went on, knowing I’d already pushed too hard, too far, but still, I nodded as I spoke. “Your kid … he’s at home, probably with my mom, who sent you here instead of facing me herself, like a fucking coward—”
“Watch your fucking mouth.” Dad thrust his finger through the bars, pointing directly at my face. “You will not say this shit about your mother. You will not think that shit about her. She is anything but a coward, and you, of all people, know it.”
I pressed my lips together in a tight, firm line. Because he was right. I did know it, and I regretted letting those words pass my lips.
But I was too proud to say that aloud.
“I’m going to forget you said anything,” Dad went on, “because I know you don’t mean any of it. You’re drunk, you’re pissed off, and you’re fucking embarrassed of your behavior … as you should be. And that’s exactly why I’m going to ask Patrick to keep you here—”
“For how long? A few hours?” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest and holding them there tight.
Dad was quiet for a moment, as if considering his options, before saying, “The weekend.”
I looked up then, shocked. “It’s Friday!”
“Yeah,” he replied, nodding. “I know. Hopefully, a weekend in here will give you some time to think about the shit you’ve been doing lately. Maybe you’ll reconsider taking the road you’ve been on.”
“What the hell am I going to do in here for two fucking nights?!” I cried, my heart racing and my mind spinning with every insult and hateful word I’d ever learned.
“You’ll think of something,” Dad said, reaching through the bars to lay a hand against my cheek, and although I wanted to punch him in the face, I also had to resist the urge to lean into his comforting touch. “If I could manage for nine years, I think you’ll survive a couple of days.”
***
Nine years.
Dad was locked up for nine years, I thought for the millionth time as I stared ahead at the blank cinder-block wall of the cell—my home for the weekend.
He had been sentenced to even more than that.
I had Googled his name a couple of times; I had read the articles and the reports.
He had been convicted of involuntary manslaughter and possession of an uncontrolled substance with the intent to sell, and he was sentenced to thirteen years but got out on good behavior.
Dad had been an upstanding citizen behind bars. He got his GED; he took college courses. He worked, he read, he exercised. He had always been a good guy—he’d never been bad—but his behavior in prison proved what had always been true, and he’d been rewarded for it.
He’d met Harry.
I sat up on the cot and held my head in my hands.
Harry.
Over the years, the old prison guard had become a second grandfather to me and my brother. Where would Dad be if it hadn’t been for Harry? He probably would’ve gotten out of prison, and … then what? Where would he have gone?
It was funny. I’d never thought to ask Dad any of that stuff because it never mattered.
That wasn’t how things had turned out. But it was Harry who had talked to his brother, Howard Fischer.
It was Harry who had gotten Dad set up at 1111 Daffodil Lane.
It was Harry who had secured him with a job at The Fisch Market.
It’d been two years since I had seen Harry. I stayed at home every chance I could. Partying and being lazy were more important than appreciating the people I cared about, and who knew how much time I had left to appreciate him? He was an older guy. Not old, old, but … still.
Maybe we can get together with him soon.
I sighed and threw myself back against the hard, flat cot. With a quick peek at my watch, I saw that it’d only been a half hour since I’d last checked the time.
“Holy fuck,” I groaned, laying my hands over my face.
Yeah, maybe Dad had managed for nine years, but he’d had shit to do. The only thing I could do in here was think and count the ceiling panels.
There were twelve, by the way.
Footsteps sounded from farther away, and I turned in their direction.
The hallway leading to the single holding cell in the River Canyon Police Department was a fairly long one, lined with doors concealing I didn’t know what.
In the hours since Sergeant Kinney had brought me in and locked me up, I’d heard plenty of people walking down that hall, never making it all the way to the end. But this time, they came closer.
A glimmer of hope was brought to life as I sat up and watched to see who might emerge from that hallway.
It could be Sergeant Kinney to tell me Dad had changed his mind. Fuck, it could be Dad himself, here to drag my ass back home.
But it wasn’t either of them.
A head of bouncy curls came into view, and in an instant, the blinding fluorescent lights were softer, warmer.
Meg’s blue gaze swept over the space with an air of newness, like she’d never before taken a good look at the bars, toilet and sink, cot, or cold, hard floor.
Then those eyes fell on me, and I couldn’t help the slow, sly smile that curved my lips.
“Like my new place?” I asked, turning to sit up with my feet on the floor. “Thought about getting a decorator in here. You think a chandelier would help give it some character?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes away from me and downward. I realized then she was holding a big tote bag, and with interest, I stood and wandered over to lean against the bars.
“Here,” she said, reaching into the bag and pulling out a plastic to-go container.
She slid the container through the slot in the door’s bars, and I accepted it, peering through the steam-covered lid.
“What’s this?”
“A cheeseburger and fries,” she answered as she dug into the bag again to produce a bottle of Coke.
“You didn’t have to—”
“A thank you would be fine.”
I accepted the bottle and said, “Thank you.”
She dug into the bag again and pulled out a blanket and stuffed it through the bars. “It might not be long enough,” she explained needlessly. “You’re pretty tall, and it’s just a little throw blanket from my couch, but I figured it’s—”
“Thank you,” I said again, accepting it and resisting the urge to put the soft material to my nose, to inhale the scent of her and her couch and commit it to memory.
She pressed her lips together, seeming to falter for a moment, before bringing her eyes to mine. She opened her mouth to say something, and my heart stuttered in my chest, tripping over beat after beat, as I waited impatiently to hear whatever she needed to say.
Then, to my disappointment, she gave her head a quick shake before turning her attention back on the bag.
“I, uh … I brought a few books. I didn’t know what you’d be into, so I just guessed …” Her voice trailed off as she pulled out a stack, leaving the bag limp and emptied.
One by one, she fed them through the bars, and after putting the blanket and food on the cot, I accepted them, reading each title aloud.
“Fairy Tale … Stephen King,” I said with a nod. “Solid.”
“Have you read it?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d never been a fan of reading, so I said, “No, but Dad likes his stuff, so it’s probably good. The Rook, Daniel O’Malley.”
I nodded at the cover before placing it on top of Fairy Tale.
The next book she handed over gave me pause, and I slid my gaze toward hers, raising a brow.
“Kiss and Don’t Tell?” I asked, holding up the book by someone named Meghan Quinn.
“Shut up. I didn’t know what you’d like, so I—”
“So, you thought I’d be into”—I turned the book over to read the back blurb—”hockey porn?”
“It’s not porn. It’s … funny.”
I turned it back over to look at the cover, my lips quirking into a smirk as I waggled my brows. “I’m sure it is.”
“Oh God, fine. If you’re going to be immature about this, give it back.”
I clutched the book to my chest and shook my head. “Nope, this is what I’m reading tonight. I’m sure it’ll be very stimulating.”
Her mouth formed a scowl, and what was it about pushing her buttons that I loved so much?
“Eat your dinner,” she muttered, turning on her heel to retreat from where she had come.
Panic coursed through my veins at the thought of watching her walk away, and I threw the book onto the cot and stepped up to the bars, gripping them in my hands.
“Wha-what are you doing tonight?”
Her shoulders lifted, then sagged with a sigh. “I have a date with this guy—”
“What guy?” I asked, my heart taking off at a gallop as my brow furrowed.
“You don’t know him. I’m supposed to meet him for dinner, and now I’m late.”
A date? Had I ever known Meg to go on a date?
God, of course she’d been on dates before. She’d probably been going on dates for years, unbeknownst to me. But now, I knew, and something in that knowledge erased every desire I’d had before to think about food, let alone eat it.
The thought of her kissing someone.
The thought of her lying in bed with them. Touching them.
I seethed with anger, aimed toward a man I didn’t know. She wasn’t his to touch. She wasn’t mine either, but I could guarantee with certainty he didn’t want her as much as I did or for as long. There was no possible way.
“Try to sleep,” she said, tightening her grip on the bag’s straps.
“‘Kay,” I muttered, turning from the bars to drop onto the cot beside the things she’d brought for me.
She took a step, then another, before stopping and glancing over her shoulder. “If you need something, there’s an officer sitting out here all night. Just … yell for him.”
“Nobody’s been back here since Dad left,” I muttered, grabbing the bottle of Coke and twisting off the cap. “Not until you came.”
She sighed again and waited for a moment to speak, as if considering her next words carefully. Then she said, “I can be back tomorrow.”
Something about her hesitation dug beneath my skin, and I looked into the open mouth of the bottle.
She pitied me. She felt obligated. That was all this was, I suddenly realized.
The food. The Coke. The blanket. The books.
She didn’t care about me. She felt sorry for me, the boy she had kept company as his bio dad stormed the home he shared with his mom and hero.
The boy she had, in some way, saved herself by simply answering the phone and being there.
I wrinkled my nose and screwed the cap back onto the Coke without taking a sip.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, my tone unmoving and cold. “Have a good time on your date.”
A good time. Some other guy was going to touch her. He was going to put his hands on her body. His lips. His tongue. He was going to kiss her, lick her, fuck her. And I was going to sit here and dwell on that until it drove me insane.
But, no, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t let this unsettling, uncalled-for possessiveness to take control. I laid no claim over her. She wasn’t mine. She never was, never would be, and I needed to stop. Holy fuck, I needed to knock it the fuck off before it really did drive me crazy.
Meg turned and watched as I put the soda bottle on the floor.
She watched as I crossed my arms, inhaled, and leaned back against the wall behind the cot.
I stared at her feet, not allowing my eyes to slide over her body until they met hers.
I kept my expression stoic, frozen with disinterest despite the turmoil rolling, hot and terrible, beneath my skin.
You don’t matter to her, and she can’t matter to you. She can’t.
What the fuck is she thinking? Why the hell is she just standing there? Why the fuck is she just staring at me?
We were in a standoff. A test of wills against one another.
Who would speak first? Who would break?
“I will be back tomorrow,” she said firmly, allowing me the victory. “Eat something. And, Noah, for the love of God, grow the hell up.”
My gaze flicked from her feet to her face, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fury in her eyes, but she turned too quickly. She’d beaten me to it. She hurried away from my cell and down the hall until I could no longer watch her curls bounce with every step.
“Grow the hell up.”
I exhaled and untangled my nerves as I pushed away from the wall, leaning over to grab the Coke from the floor. I opened it again, took a sip, and as I swallowed, I wondered if I could.
“Grow the hell up.”
And I wondered if maybe she’d want me then.