11. Wren
WREN
The amount of anger I feel is more of a wrath than anything. The air is crackling with rage, and although I’m in hardly any clothing, I’m sweating. My hands shake as I watch Stone skate toward center ice with my nerves in the palm of his hand.
I sigh, flicking my eyes to Evan for a quick second before my phone vibrates. I assume it’s Jasmin to make sure I haven’t flung myself off the side of the building, but when I see the number flashing on the screen, my entire world shifts.
NHCF — State Prison for Men .
Oh, fuck.
I’m suddenly sucked back into a world I want nothing to do with, but old habits die hard because before I know what I’m doing, my phone is pressed up against my ear, and I’m accepting a call.
“He—hello?” I clear my throat and rush down the row of seats and up the aisle to block out the cutting of ice from the skates. I know, from past experiences, that the only way I’m going to get through a phone call like this is if I tune out all distractions and stay sharp.
My father may be a felon, but he’s smart and the most conniving man I’ve ever known—even compared to Stone.
“Pumpkin.” His voice is like a hand around my throat.
Too many emotions pour through me, and I’m embarrassed to admit that one of them is longing.
“It’s been too long since I’ve heard that sweet voice.”
Approximately two years and forty-two days.
I keep count.
“Yeah, it has been.”
I rest my back against the cool, tiled wall in the hallway and stare at the locker room door. My legs are so wobbly that I eventually sink to the floor.
“You’re not going to ask how I’ve been?”
My eyes shut, and I remind myself that he is locked away in one of the most secure prisons in the New England area. He can’t hurt me, and he can’t use me, though I know he’ll still try. Otherwise, why the call?
“You’re in prison. I’m sure you’re just surviving at this point.”
“It’s not so bad here.” He chuckles, and it hasn’t changed over the years. It’s still the same raspy noise full of hidden cynicism. There is always a hint of pessimism in every blank space of his sentences unless he is getting his way.
“That’s good,” I whisper, unsure of what to say. Part of me wants to hang up, but that same jaded little girl who still lives and breathes inside me is scared to death of the repercussions that always follow after being in contact with Jessie Davis.
“I’m a little upset that I haven’t heard from you since I got locked up.” His tone goes from cheery to displeased in three seconds flat.
This time in prison is like all the rest. Every single time he goes away, I have the tiniest sliver of hope that he’ll recognize all the mistakes he’s made over the years and change.
It’s the same kind of yearning that I had when I was five years old, hoping for my mother to come home to save me, even though I knew, deep down, it was a far-fetched delusion. She was dead.
Jessie Davis may be my blood, but that’s as far as our loyalty goes.
“Wren, are you there?”
I rub my hand against my clammy face. “I’m here.”
“You know why I’m in prison, don’t ya, Pumpkin? That’s why you’ve been hiding from me.”
I’m hiding because you’re an unpredictable junkie.
“It’s your fault.”
It’s a slap against the face, but I’m able to muster up the strength that I’ve been molding since my first foster home and slap him back. “It was either you or me, Dad. I chose me.”
And I threw Stone Foster under the bus in the process.
It was funny how things circled back around.
I pinned the drugs I was supposed to deliver for my dad on Stone’s truck, potentially ruining Stone’s future whilst doing the same to my father, which landed him in prison.
Stone pays me back by posting that picture, giving my father and his little peddlers the perfect window to where I am. I hate my life.
“Well, now you owe me, Wren.”
I flinch at the sound of my name coming from his end of the phone. He rarely calls me by my first name, and the only time he’s done it in the past was when he was about to ask me something that I know I’ll say no to now.
“I need money.”
“Money?” I question. “For what? Your books?”
This isn’t my first rodeo. It’s a whole new world behind bars. Prisoners could buy things—snacks, attire, drugs. I eventually stopped putting money on my father’s books when I moved in with Evan because that was when I learned what normal was.
My father chuckles. “No. Not my books. You put me in a bad spot. You didn’t deliver when I needed you to, and that came with a price, and that price has been gaining interest since I’ve been here. If I don’t find a way to pay…well, let’s just say, I’m not safe.”
“And what about all the times I wasn’t safe while you were away?” My nerves tangle even further.
“You think you’ll be safe if I don’t pay up?”
I pull my knees up to my chin and rest it against them.
The longer I talk to Jessie Davis, the more numb I become.
I stare across the hallway, wondering when practice is over.
The last thing I need is for Evan to find me like this because he’ll know exactly why I’m in this catatonic state, and not to mention, it’ll give Stone more ammunition.
“What does that mean?” I continue to stare. My nerves have disappeared, and I feel myself slipping. The fight-or-flight reaction is nonexistent, and now I’m in my dissociative phase, which almost always ends badly.
“Do you want my death on your hands, Wren?”
I swallow. The words leave my mouth without a second thought to what I’m actually saying. “You’re already dead to me.”
I know I’m still mentally here somewhere, because after I hear what I say to him, there’s a sense of hurt somewhere in the back of my head. A tear slips down my cheek, but I’m too frozen to swipe it away.
There is a long pause on the other side of the phone, and more tears slide down my cheeks, but they’re not backed with hurt. Instead, they’re jammed full of unyielding fear. What did I just do?
“Remember this moment when the time comes, Pumpkin. Because I gave you an out, and you’re going to wish you took it.”
The phone call ends, but I keep my phone up to my ear for so long my fingers grow numb.
There is ringing in my ears, so I don’t hear the footsteps in front of me.
There’s movement, and the door is opening and closing, but I can’t move.
I focus on my breathing and the rising and lowering of my chest.
Archer’s mouth moves, and that’s when I see that he’s crouching low, head dripping with sweat and his gray shirt speckled with wetness. His bag is beside him, and his blue eyes are darkened with worry. “Are you crying?”
All I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears.
There’s a hand in front of my face and a snapping of fingers. I flick my eyes back to Archer and see that we’re the only ones in the hallway. I take another breath, and after Archer bellows my name again, everything comes rushing back in.
A sob scrapes up my throat, and my shoulders shake. No, no, no. I don’t cry, and it isn’t easy to break me. There aren’t many people who could even attempt to do so, but leave it to Jessie Davis to continue his main act and take me down with him every single time.
“Hey, hey. Shh .”
Archer’s hands are around my shoulders, and then I’m pulled to my feet and crushed into his body.
I shake my head against his warm chest. I refuse to say a word. It’s fine. Get it together right fucking now, Wren.
“Is it Stone? What did he do to make you storm out onto the ice like that? I can piss in his Cheerios tomorrow morning if you want me to.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out as another sob. Archer’s hand dips into my hair, tangling with the ends as he keeps my face pressed against his chest. His heart is steady, and I try to match the rapid beating with mine.
But it doesn’t work.
My father’s words are an echo in my head, taunting me with fear just like he’s been doing since I was young enough to know what fear was.