Chapter 14
Week One In Solitary
Dean knows how many cinder blocks form the walls of his tiny cell. How they divide, multiply, their sum total and he might lose his damn mind if he has to look at them for one more day. Only he has more than a day left, he has another month in here. It’s good news, though, because after that he’s free. He can leave this place behind and get back to his shitty life, which somehow seems far less shitty now, compared to when he got here.
He had three months left before the riot, but his lawyer, who isn’t as much of an asshole as he previously thought, fought for him to get a reduction in his sentence and succeeded.
Ava sticking up for him didn’t hurt, either.
He hasn’t seen her since that day when they were barricaded in the infirmary, terrified and wrapped up in each other, her lips soft against his chapped ones and her waist firm under his hands, but he knew she told the warden what happened. She left out the R-rated bits, of course, and the fact that they’ve been crossing every line in the book like it was their job.
Somehow, it had been enough, combined with evidence from the cameras and the discovery of the rookie guard’s involvement in the riot plans. His lawyer told him he deserved to get out now, maybe get a fucking medal for saving the nurse and stopping an escape, but to him two months less still feels like a gift.
Only thirty days left until he might get what he’s been afraid to hope for, time with Ava outside these walls.
He stares into the darkness of his holding cell that looks a lot like solitary confinement, trying to shove back the voice in his head that tells him he’s naive to assume she wouldn’t have moved on by then. A month is a long time, and she’s more than a catch. Kind and caring, with the prettiest face and best set of hips he’s ever seen in his life. She might find someone else, or come to her senses about him.
Seven days in this little square cell and he’s already letting self-doubt get the best of him.
Week 2 1/2 In Solitary
Dean’s never jerked off this much in his life. Not even as a teenager, when his dick was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen or felt.
This whole cell smells like sex now and he doesn’t even care.
There is nothing to do in here. He gets magazines, something from Cosmo, probably a joke at his expense, and Fisherman’s Weekly as if he fishes. That’s all the entertainment he’s allowed aside from the one hour a day of supervised exercise outside in the yard. He walks alone around a fenced-in box with barbed wire shining above his head. Sometimes he sits on the concrete and stares at those little purple flowers woven through the far fence, wondering if Ava is looking at them too.
It’s for his own protection that he’s not allowed back in the pod. Jaxson was transferred to a different prison several hours away, but he has men left behind. The moment Dean steps foot back in there he may as well submit for his daily beating, strip himself naked, and take up residence in that shower stall all by himself, and that would be getting off easy.
He’s had a lot of time to think, and Jaxson is a topic he can’t quite shake. He wonders if the original plan was to get him to break and then plan their escape during one of his infirmary visits, where he could somehow open the door for them or steal the window keys. Or, if they never expected him to break at all and he’d be offered that task as a way out of his torture. His only chance to be left alone again.
He can’t be certain if he’s even on the right track, but Jaxson didn’t develop such a hard-on for him until the rookie guard got sent off for more training, leaving a job opening that Dean could fill. The fact that he didn’t fill it and went on to thwart the entire thing has put a bullseye on his back for anyone still under Jaxson’s control.
He is safe here in the holding cell. Safe and bored, with only two magazines and his hand for company. Which is what he’s using right now because what the fuck else can he occupy his time with?
It’ll be easier to sleep afterward once he’s spent a few minutes thinking of her.
Shame tinted his face the first few times even though no one was there to see him. But now…now he only has room in his mind for an image of Ava, beautiful and soft while she straddles him.
She’s got one hand curled into the coils of the bed above them, bracing herself and keeping her balance while she rolls her hips in slow, back-and-forth motions. Tight and wet and wrapped around him so perfectly he can feel himself twitching inside of her, firm hands on the swell of her ass as she rides him.
Her eyes are lidded, her head thrown back while dark wisps of hair glint in the harsh light. When she leans forward, nuzzling her face into his neck and grinding herself against the base of his cock, there’s a whisper of his name on her lips, fluttering against his pulse point and he can’t hold out any longer. His hips thrust up into his palm, imagining that it’s her he’s pushing into. He comes hard with a groan, his body taught and suspended while he jerks his hand in quick strokes, warmth spreading out over his knuckles and onto his belly in a wet release instead of into her body where he wishes he could be.
“Fuck. Shit.” He curses into the quiet of his cell.
He shouldn’t be doing this and thinking of her. Not only does he feel like a creep, but he’s setting himself up for failure. Rejection. Heartbreak. Spending all this time with her in his head when in reality, he may never touch her again. He makes a mental note to only jerk off to images of faceless, nameless women from now on. It’s safer that way. Easier on his heart, less chance of reality letting him down.
The next time he wraps a hand around his dick he realizes pretty damn fast that his plan is shit and he can’t come at all unless it’s Ava’s face he sees behind closed lids.
Week 4 In Solitary
He’s getting out today and never felt such a weird combination of excitement and fear all wrapped up in one. Not about what he’ll do, or where he’ll go. How he’ll stay out or where he’ll work. None of that shit bothers him because he’s not a career criminal like his brother. Getting sent back here isn’t something that’ll ever happen again and if he’s lucky, Hank will give him his job back at the shop.
No, what terrifies him is the possibility that all the worries he’s had about him and Ava are about to come true. He will never see her again. They’ll never talk or touch or go on dates to that cafe she loves so much. He’ll never crawl under her car and fix that giant hole some ass left behind at the shop. Never see the cat he knows she took despite her insisting she wouldn’t.
He’ll never see her smile again, taste her lips again, get to feel her skin under his fingertips…
For all he knows she was nothing but a mirage in the first place. A figment of his imagination, something he conjured up to help himself cope, even though that can’t be true. He has convinced himself by now that what happened in this prison was only two people reacting to heightened circumstances, bonding over shared trauma.
It may not be real. It may not hold up. And if it doesn’t, he’ll be fine. He’ll go home, empty out his fridge full of rotten food, drink a beer or three, and watch TV. Slide back into his boring, sad life where the only other people he talks to are the checkout clerks at Walmart or the teller at his bank and he’ll be just fucking fine.
Can’t miss something he never had. She is better off without him anyway.
* * *
He’s got his street clothes back on, a pair of work pants and a gray sleeveless shirt. The plain cotton fabric feels amazing compared to the rough, bleach-soaked prison clothes. He’d swear he can still smell the Tide he washed them in before getting locked up the next day.
He gets a weird nod from Nick at the door as he passes through it. No words are exchanged, but it feels like acknowledged respect and that’s a moment he never saw coming.
The sun hits him hard when he walks out the door. Bright and warm on his face, so much better than he remembered it. The air smells crisp and fresh and the shoes he wears are so fucking comfortable it’s like walking on little clouds. A big step up from the flip-flops he’d been wearing for months.
Everything is better. Brighter. Different. It’ll wear off soon, once he’s settled in again and all of this is a distant memory, but right now he’s happy as shit, smiling like an idiot as he walks down the long driveway of the building and toward the parking lot. He needs to find a bus stop or a way to call an Uber, but his breath hitches in his throat and the papers in his hands threaten to flutter to the ground when he spots Ava a few feet away, leaning up against an SUV with crossed arms and sunglasses balanced on her head.
It takes him a moment to understand that she’s waiting for him. When they lock eyes, her smile lifts her cheeks and he kick-starts again to travel the rest of the way.
“Hey, stranger. Need a ride?” she asks.
Her voice is the best thing he’s heard in four weeks.
He may have been nervous about where they stand, but he can see now that she is too. The uncertainty on her face is clear under the smile she wears and he doesn’t hesitate to nod his agreement, both hands twitching at his sides, wanting so desperately to reach out and pull her close. Can he hug her here? Are people watching them from the prison?
“I can take you straight home? Or some food first? It’s up to you. How do you wanna spend your first day out?”
“With you. Wanna spend it with you,” he replies, blushing crimson, unable to keep from ducking his head a fraction. “I mean, food sounds good, too. I could eat.”
He should go home and get settled in, but his mouth waters at the mention of food after having nothing to eat but slop on a tray for months and anything that prolongs his ability to be with her is the option he’s going for. He isn’t sure she’d be up to spending time in his apartment yet.
Her smile only gets bigger and his heart stutters at the sight of her, backlit by the sun, golden and hazy.
“I wanna hug you so bad but we can’t here,” he says.
They haven’t gotten this far only to make a stupid mistake and get her fired now. He wonders if she left this job after the incident, but he’s still unwilling to risk it.
“It’s really good to see you again.” She gives his arm a squeeze and fireworks dance on his skin. “Come on, that cafe isn’t far. Wait until you see the menu.”
She steps away, rounding the car and getting into the driver’s seat while he slips in the other side. He’s spent a month convincing himself that this would never happen and now here she is, granting him the gift of her company, and taking him to a place with real food on what might be a legitimate date.
* * *
Ava doesn’t know what the hell she was thinking. The poor guy just got out of prison and she practically attacked him in the parking lot, luring him out for food when he wants to go home and sleep. He didn’t seem put off though. If anything, he was eager to go with her, a small smile lighting up his face when they got in the car and drove off. Like he couldn’t quite believe she was there, or that they were doing any of this.
Now, he sits across from her at a tiny table tucked away in a back corner of the cafe. They sneak glances at each other as if it’s still forbidden, waiting on their food and behaving like two teenagers on their very first date. They’ve both erupted into stilted, muffled laughter at least twice already. It’s all surreal and every time he catches her eyes, she can’t help but hold his gaze and grin back.
Silly. Ridiculous. Perfect.
“I should have pegged you for a dessert-first kind of guy.” She teases, referring to the peanut butter pie he ordered.
She expected him to want a burger and fries and all the fixings, but his eyes went wide at the vast array of choices on the menu and he immediately zeroed in on the sweet section.
He nods. “Need one of them shirts that says life is short, eat dessert first.”
She side-eyes him for a moment because somehow it sounds vaguely dirty when he says it in that low tone, but he could have told her the sky is blue, and that would have sounded dirty to her. She’s spent the last four weeks with her hand between her legs every night, wishing it was him, and that’s left her more than a little sexually frustrated.
The food arrives a second later, cutting off anything that might have come out of her mouth. A trio of fries placed before her draws his gaze, and he looks longingly at them.
She raises a brow. “I know how to share. Help yourself.”
He reaches out to pluck a sweet potato fry from its basket and dunk it into the orange glaze it’s paired with, nodding his approval. “It’s good. Sweet. What are the other ones?”
“Truffle and parmesan, and blue cheese and cheddar. A little bit of everything,” she says while eating a truffle fry dipped in dijon sauce.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.” He looks at the sweet potato fries with something that can only be described as lust, before moving in to start on his pie. “Nope, this is the best thing. This one. Want some?”
He turns the plate toward her and she has to admit she does. They serve oversized pieces here, rich and sweet, and despite the fact that she’s enjoying her own fries, she already wants a bite of that pie staring back at her. She hesitates, not wanting to eat his food when it’s the first thing he’s had since leaving prison, but it’s a giant slice and he did snag more than a few of her fries…she caves with a nod, a pleased sound leaving her lips as they close over the fork.
He pauses to watch her, his adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow when she licks her lips. She isn’t trying to tease him. It’s just a damn good bite of food, but his desire for her is written all over his face and he looks away, knowing he’d been caught.
‘Lets get out of here and go to your place?’is what she wishes she was brave enough to say, but she isn’t that brave and the question sticks in her throat.
“How are you? How have you been? I wanted to visit but…” She trails off, unsure of where to start after being separated for a month.
Dean licks the whipped cream off his lower lip with a quick tongue. “Been okay. Just bored, which I guess was a good problem all things considerin’. Coulda been worse. Know you couldn’t visit.” He pauses then, fork in mid-air. “Real good seeing’ ya now, though. Missed you. All this, it’s the best damn day.”
She almost didn’t show up at all. She spent the past four weeks battling what-ifs in her head. Playing out alternate realities where nothing they had on the inside could ever work out here. Almost ready to let him go for fear of risking the possible rejection that might follow, or worse, finding out that the spark they cultivated and nourished in prison would fade away in the light of day despite giving it a solid shot.
She is so glad she came.
It’s different being with him out here, but of course it is. It’s brand new all over again, the two of them only now having a chance to get to know each other without restrictions. There’s a flutter in her chest when she thinks of all the possibilities ahead of them and that spark she’d felt every time she’d see him in the infirmary only burns brighter now, tickling her nerves and making her giddy.
She hasn’t been on a date in decades. So long ago that she barely knows how this works anymore and one thing she is certain of is that this is a date. A woman doesn’t spring a man from prison and take him out for his first meal unless there’s something going on.
“Sweet talker,” she finally replies, her voice light and her lips pursed, prompting a huff from him.
“Stop.”
He’s amused and relaxed, but she makes her next words serious, wanting him to know she’s not dismissing what he’s telling her. “I missed you too. I’d gotten so used to seeing you every day and then you were gone. That month felt like forever.”
“I was counting the minutes. Ain’t never going back, that’s for sure. I’ll check my car before I get in it, even with Boone locked away. Taking no chances. Might Uber it everywhere from now on.”
“Not a bad idea. Can’t be too careful. Do you have plans now that you’re out?”
“Oh yeah, big plans.” He deadpans, followed by a self-conscious shrug. “Get my job back, try to get my life back. Wasn’t anything great to begin with, but it feels a hell of a lot better now with some perspective. What about you? Still working there?”
“Yep. Every day from now until forever,” she says, her tone flat and matter-of-fact. “I’ve been okay, though. It was difficult right after, but I’m fine now. To be honest, I’m surprised they haven’t let me go. I think I might be cursed when it comes to that place.”
“Nah, it’s that place that’s cursed.”
She thinks he wants to ask her why the hell she keeps going back, and it’s a valid question, just not one she wants to discuss at the moment.
“I ah, have been distracting myself…well….here look.” She grabs her phone and holds up a photo of a black and white kitten, tilting his head toward the camera like the cutest little skunk.
“I knew it, I knew it the whole time. Look at this little shit. He’s cute as hell.”
She throws her hands up in mock surrender, a roll in her eyes. “Okay, okay. You were right. I caved. I have no willpower, after all.”
“What did ya name it?”
“Cat. I call him Cat, or sometimes ‘hey you’ and on occasion ‘a pest’.”
He frowns, displeased with the fact that she hasn’t named her cat. “Ya gotta give him a name. Can’t just call it cat forever. You’ll give him an identity complex.”
“He’ll name himself when the time is right. We don’t know each other well enough for names yet.”
That gets her a thoughtful look while the last of the pie is devoured. “Fair enough. Seen so many pictures of that thing, it’s like I already met him.”
“You’ll have to come see him for real.” The words coming off her tongue as natural as breathing.
“Alright.”
It’s her turn to blush now. “Alright.”
They leave the cafe tired and full of good food and she has no doubt Dean is ready to go back to his own house, sleep in his own bed, and use his own shower.
Ava doesn’t get out of the car when they pull up to the average-looking house on a quiet, secluded street. It’s small and modest, but well maintained, with a clean coat of paint and a pretty front door made of cedar or oak, warm and inviting.
She wonders how much his neighbors must like him to mow his lawn and trim the edges while he’s been away. He doesn’t seem the type to socialize with them often, but his mailbox isn’t overstuffed and the sparse plants on the front porch look healthy and watered. Judging by the surprise on his face, he expected his house to look like it came out of a post-apocalyptic horror movie.
He makes a joke about needing to take over a thank-you gift to the neighbors across the street for all the work they’ve done here the past couple of months.
They exchange phone numbers when he sends himself a text from her phone, his own long dead from months without a charge.
She wants to lean over the console and kiss him until they have no choice but to stumble inside and not emerge again until morning. It’s too soon for that, though. Too much in one day, both for him and her. Her body may want him, but her mind is far less ready for that than the rest of her.
“Alright, I’ll see ya.” He makes no move to leave, battling his next move in his mind in a way that plays out in his eyes.
She waits. She is patient and he is worth it.
When he moves into her space she welcomes him for a brief, careful press to her lips. It’s over too quickly, only a hint of something more, but instead of leaning away, he drops another on her forehead in a warm gesture even sweeter than the one she felt on her mouth.
“Text me when you get home, so I know you made it safe,” he says, and then he’s gone, leaving her alone with the song of summer cicadas singing in time with her thumping pulse.
Twenty minutes later she tells him she’s back in her own house again, safe and sound. His reply comes in the form of a flower emoji lighting up her phone.
It’s only then that she realizes they didn’t make plans for their next date.
Twenty seconds after that, it occurs to her that they could be dating now and if they are, if this is actually going to happen, then she needs to tell him about her past.