25. Chapter 25 - Zachariah
After the parole hearing, I make a beeline for the cafeteria.
Judge Adeboye decided it was a good idea to see us all alphabetically by first name, which left me dead last. I was stuck waiting for two hours, stomach in knots, waiting to see if the dragon shifter would keep me trapped in here or let me be with Minnie and my boy.
At least the serving line’s empty. Everyone else is already halfway through whatever they’re calling food today, and the place is humming with noise—shouts, bursts of laughter, and underneath it all, whispered conversations the guards aren’t meant to overhear.
There’s shit that goes on in this place that I’ve learned to stay the hell away from.
I grab a plastic tray and grit my teeth as I accept the stuff on today’s menu. When Paul’s cooking, not pasta also means not edible. Makes me miss cooking for myself—hell, even burned food tasted better than this.
The memory hits me hard—rushing back into the kitchen after changing Natty’s diaper and washing off the pee he got on me…
again. Clearly, I didn’t learn the first time.
By the time I was done, my oatmeal was burned to a crisp, but I ate it anyway.
Money was already tight, and this was a few days after Tina dropped Natty off—a tiny little thing barely a few days old—and told me she never wanted to see either of us again.
From the moment I laid eyes on my son, I was willing to sacrifice everything for him.
Including food. I was already a skinny guy, and by the time I got locked up, I weighed just over a hundred pounds—which at six feet looked as bad as it felt.
With my credit cards maxed out, food was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
I was too busy keeping a roof over our heads.
Couldn’t risk the water or heat getting shut off, and the baby needed so many things—formula, diapers, a sitter while I worked.
The debt kept stacking up, and I got desperate.
Started turning old t-shirts into diapers and wipes—but even that wasn’t enough.
My job at the post office wasn’t cutting it, and in the end, I resorted to stealing. Used my shifter powers to break into shops at night, took whatever they had, and was still just scraping by.
In the end, prison was the best thing that ever happened to us—and the worst. I lost my boy, but he gained Minnie. I got locked up, but everything I needed was behind these walls. Therapy. Free education. A gym. Food. Disgusting food—the slop on my tray is proof enough—but food, nonetheless.
Now I’m close to two hundred pounds of pure muscle and at peace with who I am in a way I hadn’t been when I first walked in. And as for Natty—he has everything he needs with the woman I should have been there for all along.
I shove the thought aside, drop my tray across from Alyssa, and sink onto the bench with a low groan.
Her eyes snap up to mine, taking in my dejected face. “Did someone try to mess with you?” she demands, grip tightening around her plastic spoon until her knuckles turn white. “Because if they did, I’ll stick this sorry excuse for food up their nose.”
I give her a slow, grim nod.
Her eyes widen. “You didn’t get parole?” They narrow to angry slits as she leans across the table. “Oh man, I’m so sorry, Ri. That judge is a piece of shit. A complete fucking toilet brush with its bristles worn off. They should be fired… from a cannon, into the sun.”
I watch her rage build until I can’t hold back the slow, smug grin. “I’m messing with you, Alyssa.” I pause just long enough to enjoy the look on her face. “I got paroled. I’m leaving in the morning.”
Alyssa scowls. “If I wasn’t so happy for you, I’d punch you, you dickweed.”
“Fair enough.” I grin, then shake my head. “I don’t think it’s really sunk in.”
I’m free. I can finally make a life for myself and take care of Minnie and Natty the way I should have been all along. I’m going to marry her. I’m going to make us a family.
“You deserve it,” Alyssa says, and I can tell she really means it.
“Thanks.” I pick up the thing on my plate that vaguely resembles a sandwich and squint at it. “What in the soggy hell are you?”
Alyssa grimaces. “I think it’s a veggie patty melt.”
I wiggle it over the plate, raising my voice to a squeaky whimper. “Help! I used to be bread before they drowned me in the kitchen sink!”
“Natty’s going to love your food voices.” Alyssa gingerly pokes her own sandwich. “Maybe Paul mixed up the stove and dishwasher again.”
Which is just a rumor that spread through the prison halls last time he attempted to make lasagna. Still, I wouldn’t put it past him.
Apparently, neither would Alyssa because she pushes her own plate away in disgust. “This is why the only Paul food I’m willing to put in my mouth is pasta.”
She pulls a bag of chips out from under the table and shows me her snack stash—cheese crackers, plain crackers, and chocolate brownies. Not exactly gourmet, but better than Paul’s attempt at cooking.
Normally, I’d be all over it, but this time I shake my head. “Can’t risk contraband. Not today.”
“Wouldn’t risk eating Dishwasher Sandwich either, if I were you. Or you’ll end up bringing the toilet with you when you walk out of here.”
I raise the sandwich again. “I’m not that bad,” I say in a high-pitched voice.
As if on cue, some of the sandwich falls onto the plate in a soggy lump. “Ahhh, my innards!” it cries.
Alyssa snorts. “It’s not worth it, Ri. How would Minnie and Natty feel if they get told your release was postponed because you’re puking your guts out? Or worse, what if they kick you out and you barf all over them?”
“You’ve got a point.” I take her advice, and the crackers. I’ve eaten much worse than Sandwich Sogtacular, and lived to tell the tale—but I’ve also gotten sick a time or two. And I can’t risk anything going wrong when I’m so close to being with the people I love.
Love.
I let that sink in for several seconds. Feels strange… but right.
I’ve already admitted that I want Minnie. Crave her. Need her. She’s my fated mate. Made for me. Meant for me.
I already swore to myself that I’d do whatever it takes to make her mine. To convince her to marry me. To give her the kind of life she deserves.
So yeah—love fits.
Feels right.
“Wish I had cake or booze, so we could celebrate properly,” Alyssa says.
“This works just fine.” I hold up a cracker and grin. “You could have gotten out, too, you know.”
Alyssa shrugs.
“Is there… someone you’re afraid of on the outside?”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “What did you say?”
“I heard a rumor. That you refused parole because the moment you step out of this place, someone you double-crossed will be waiting.”
Her gaze slides to a dark-haired man holding court at another table—Ram, who’s just as dangerous behind bars as he was outside them.
Alyssa told me to stay the hell away from him, but now she watches him for several seconds before glancing away.
“No, I deserve to be here. I fucked up my best friend’s life and business. ”
“The fact that you’re even saying that means you’ve paid for your crimes. And parole is part of the process.”
“Not when the only reason it’s come up is because some idiots couldn’t even pull off a proper prison break.
” She gestures at the large group of witches squished into the two tables at the front, laughing and chatting happily.
“Who flies above a warded prison on a broom? They didn’t even cast an invisibility spell!
That’s just asking to have their asses hauled to jail. ”
“They should be reunited out there, not in here. That’s what’s wrong with our legal system.
When I got arrested, the troll they assigned me from legal aid couldn’t even remember my name.
And I get it. I committed the crime—I got what I deserved.
But their sister’s innocent. They shouldn’t have felt like breaking her out was their only choice. ”
Allyssa rolls her eyes. “Innocent? Half the people in here say they were set up.”
“Well, I believe them,” I tell her. “Don’t you?”
She shrugs. “No. A few might be innocent, but most are just lying.”
I shake my head. “When I get my degree, people like those witches won’t have to break the law to get justice. And people like you would listen to their lawyer and go up for parole.”
Alyssa rolls her eyes. “Look, Ri. You stole a bit of money to feed your kid. No weapon. No damaged property. No one was hurt. So, who cares? You’ve more than paid for your crimes already.
” And she’s right. Only reason my sentence was so long is because I accidentally took a necklace along with the cash, and it ended up being a family heirloom worth millions.
Didn’t even know it was there, mixed in with the cash, and gave it back the moment I realized my mistake. By then, it was too late.
“You don’t even know half the stuff I’ve done,” Alyssa adds. “I got off easy. And I’m serving out my senten—”
“Well, what do we have here?” A guard approaches our table. Prison’s got a few decent ones, but Darty sure as hell isn’t one of them. He grins like he hit the jackpot, eyes locked on the food in my hand. “Looks like I’ve caught you red-handed with contraband.”