Chapter 58
Lily
Five months later…
The bus ride over the girder bridge had become part of my weekly routine. It was the only road in and out of the island, and I went over it every Wednesday like clockwork. Starting in the borough of Queens, with only a handful of other people making the same journey to Rikers Island.
I hadn’t missed a single visit.
After the bus ride, we were shuffled off to the visitor’s center at Robert N. Davoren Complex, or RNDC, where we signed in and had our belongings and bodies searched. It was an unpleasant process. I always zoned out and focused on the reason I was there in the first place.
Today was no different, and once everything came up clear, our belongings were signed in at the desk, and they checked everyone was wearing suitable clothing, an officer escorted us down a long grayish-green hallway to the visiting room.
I wore white sneakers and a white T-shirt tucked in at the waistband of my skinny jeans.
The rules were no clothes showing too much skin or cleavage, but also nothing so baggy it could conceal something.
I wore the same style of outfit every visit, just to guarantee I wasn’t turned away at the front desk.
I trailed along at the end of the single-file line, following the corridor to the next set of doors.
No matter how many times I did this walk, I couldn’t ever subdue the barrage of butterflies fluttering around my stomach.
Or get control of the excited shivers that spread goosebumps along my skin.
It felt like the anticipation before Christmas morning, only it was better than Christmas.
My heart felt like it was ready to lurch from my chest as we walked through the doors.
The visiting room wasn’t exactly something spectacular, or at all comforting. The paint on its walls was cracked and chipped in places, and the windows on the right-hand side of the room were fitted with bars. There were also cameras in every corner.
Three correctional officers slowly paced the room, weaving around the tables and chairs that were bolted to the floor.
Bleach was the first thing I smelled as I walked to an empty table.
I perched on the edge of my seat, anxiously looking around the room as I clasped my hands together. The waiting was the hardest part, but not the worst.
A distant but loud buzzing echoed from somewhere beyond the doors on the other side of the room, indicating a prison door opening. This was followed by another echo of the same door slamming shut, another buzzing alarm, and then the distinct sound of footsteps. Many of them.
We all watched those doors.
I crossed my legs and cradled my chin in my hand as I leaned on the table, trying to at least look composed.
It’s only been a week…
A long week.
My heart skipped a beat when those doors finally opened, and another officer walked in. Behind him was a line of inmates in orange jumpsuits.
The first inmate beelined to a waiting family, grinning eagerly. The second inmate was an older man who approached a younger man at another table — likely father and son based on how similar they looked. And the rest did more of the same, dispersing to the awaiting visitors.
The last inmate entered the room with his head cocked back and an arch in his brows that gave him a sort of nonchalant expression.
I couldn’t contain my smile any longer, and when he spotted me sitting alone, his own lopsided grin finally cracked through that facade.
Five months in Rikers hadn’t changed Dean much, but there were subtle differences. He was working out a lot more than he ever did on the outside; his face was only a fraction gaunter, and the back and sides of his black hair were kept short, giving him a much sharper look.
I wasn’t allowed to stand until he got to my table, so I sat on my hands with my legs bouncing as I watched him walk over.
There was a small, fading cut on his bottom lip.
Something he got last week after a brawl broke out in the prison cafeteria.
For the most part, Dean steered clear of fights — it helped with the trial — but that didn’t stop others from attempting to fight him.
The cut on his lip was from another inmate who had punched him for being a bystander.
The bruises on his knuckles, also from last week, were fading too.
“Hey, baby.” Love dripped from every syllable in his calm, deep, Brooklyn-accented voice.
I jumped from my seat the second he was beside the table and flung myself at him so hard, a small, surprised huff was knocked out of him, followed by a chuckle as he wrapped his arms around my middle, breathing in my scent while I melted against him.
He left a kiss on the side of my neck before an officer cleared his throat.
The rules were that we had to be seated for the visit, so we did just that. Another rule was that we had to sit across from each other instead of beside.
Hand holding was permitted, so long as it was done above the table.
Dean threaded his fingers through mine, drinking me in with his gray-blue eyes.
I noted the scar on the back of his right hand, a single raised line right through the middle of the crown tattooed on his hand. There was an almost identical scar on his palm from Gabriele’s blade.
We only had an hour. Don’t waste it thinking about Gabriele.
An hour a week, every week for five months — I had gotten good at summarizing life events into small portions for him to hear something good. He needed something to distract him from waiting for the trial to be over.
He had already missed so much because of it.
Seb’s 27th birthday, Christmas and New Year's, my 23rd birthday, Kira getting her bike license, and me starting my new job as a receptionist in an indie art gallery.
We rarely talked about the trial either, coming to an unspoken agreement not to discuss it much when he already would with his lawyer.
He also didn’t like talking about his daily life in prison.
The excuse was that it wasn’t interesting, but I think he was protecting me from hearing what went on behind those walls.
“Did you receive the books I sent?” I sent him six every two weeks.
He smoothed his thumb over my knuckles, following the motion with a smile in his eyes. “You’re turning me into a bookworm. Now I get why cliffhangers drive you nuts.”
“I promise not to send you an incomplete series next time,” I laughed softly, remembering the phone call I got from him a few weeks ago. “But maybe by the end of next week, you’ll be able to walk into a bookstore and buy as many books as you like.”
He hummed. “Maybe…”
Everything was riding on next week. The trial was wrapping up, and Dean would find out his fate. The possibility of him walking into a bookstore might’ve been extremely optimistic on my part, given what he was on trial for, but one of us had to stay positive.
“Five minutes.” The officer's voice cut through the room like a cold knife.
Already?
Dean’s hand squeezed mine as he searched for something more to say. Anything to make those five minutes last.
“Seb taught Bella to dance.” Random, yes, but I panicked.
His eyebrows shot up as he huffed a laugh. “Oh?”
“Well, it’s more hopping on her back legs with her paws up, but she only does it to Get Low.”
“By Lil Jon?”
“Yes.”
Dean chuckled as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Of course he would.”
The remaining minutes of the visit fell away too quickly. Soon, the inmates were being told to line up at the door again as friends and family waved from their tables.
Dean didn’t move right away. He leaned across the table, took my chin in his hand, and kissed me.
He kissed like how he made love, putting so much pressure, warmth and passion behind each clash of our mouths, that it left me breathless. He didn’t care if people watched as he cupped the back of my neck and angled his head.
“Move it, Moretto,” the officer nearby drawled.
We stood and met each other at the edge of the table for a hug. He was now the only inmate at a table as the others walked out of the room.
With his hands on the sides of my neck, he kissed me over and over again.
“I love you. I miss you. I’ll see you soon,” he said between each rushed kiss.
I could already feel that familiar ache beginning to burn in my chest.
I didn’t want to let go yet.
From the corner of my eye, I could see the officer coming over. “Visiting hours are finished, Romeo. Wrap it up.”
Dean planted one more lingering kiss on my forehead, holding the back of my head with a gentle strength, and then reluctantly backed away.
I took a seat again, wiping at my eyes as I watched him leave.
That was always the worst part.