33. Luke
33
LUKE
“Collins,” a gruff voice calls, jolting me awake. I’m shocked I actually fell asleep last night, but I think my body just eventually gave out. The man I’m sharing a cell with jostles and lifts his head up, having also been woken up by someone yelling my name.
“What the fuck, man,” he groans.
I toss the sandpaper blanket aside and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing my face in my hands. After questioning me at the Emberfield PD, they transferred me to the county jail in Rocky Falls, which is only about ten miles from home. Not that I expect to be going home anytime soon. Fuck.
My head throbs and my mouth feels like someone shoved multiple cotton balls down my throat. Yesterday was the most stressful day of my entire life. The questioning wasn’t so bad. I’ve seen enough crime shows to know you just keep repeating “I won’t say anything without my lawyer present” until they stop asking questions. So that’s what I did. A bluff if there ever was one. I don’t currently have a dentist, let alone a lawyer. But I’m confident Nate will be able to figure something out. That’s why I chose him for my one phone call. Even after everything that went down, I know none of it would keep him from finding a way to bail me out. I wanted to call Emory. God, I wanted to. I just kept replaying the look on her face when they hauled me away. She was heartbroken. I broke her heart. I told her I wouldn’t, and I did. I couldn’t even look at her. That’s what I regret the most. I didn’t even give her comfort when she needed it the most. I should have looked at her. I should have told her it was going to be okay. But it would have been another lie.
Then there was the rest of it. Being carted around in handcuffs like a criminal. Having my basic rights, like being able to take a piss in private, stripped from me. Being actually stripped and searched everywhere… I shudder at the memory.
“Lucas Collins,” the voice barks again, forcing me to stand up and walk to the edge of the cell.
“Yeah?” My voice is still thick with sleep.
“You have a visitor.”
My heart instantly skips a beat. Is Emory here? God, I want to see her, but I don’t want her to see me like this. I’m not sure I can even be in the same room as her and not touch her. I doubt they give you conjugal visits within the first twenty-four hours. Right?
“Who…” I clear my throat. “Who is it?”
The officer looks down at his clipboard. “Mr. Calvin Collins.”
Calvin Collins? As in…my father? How? I have so many questions right now. I didn’t even know he was out of the hospital. My mom must have told him I’m here. I asked Nate to call her when I spoke to him yesterday. Why would she send him here instead of coming herself?
“I don’t have all day,” the officer says, tapping his clipboard with his thumb impatiently. “Do you want to see him or not?”
Do I? I mean, I haven’t seen or spoken to the man in eight years. Do I really want the first time to be through a fucking glass wall? What would I even say to him? That it turns out I am as big a fuck-up as he always thought I would be. Is that why he’s here? To gloat. Say I told you so…
“Dude,” my cellmate whines. “Just make a fucking decision so I can get some sleep.”
“Okay,” I hesitate for one more second. “I’ll see him.”
The officer motions for me to put my hands up, and he snaps handcuffs on me before opening the door to the cell. He holds my left bicep firmly as he guides me through the hallway.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the visitation area is exactly like in the movies. There’s a long pane of glass that separates the inmates from the visitors, with old-school phones at each station. I see my father right away at one of the stations. He’s sitting in the chair, holding the phone in his hand. He looks…good. His chocolate hair is neatly combed to the side and he’s wearing his usual attire of jeans and a flannel. He has the same facial hair he’s always had, a short-trimmed beard that’s now lightly peppered with grays. When he hears the door close, his blue eyes flick up to meet mine. The pain behind them is instantly recognizable and I know in that moment that he’s not here to gloat.
It’s hurting him to see me this way.
I take the seat opposite him and pick up the gunmetal gray phone receiver with my right hand, my left pulling up next to it with the cuffs. He mimics my action, picking up the phone on his end.
“Hey kid,” he says as if no time has gone by at all. As if I just came home after a long weekend away with my friends. As if I’m not sitting in a beige jumpsuit, talking to him through glass.
“Hi Dad.” I give him a curt nod. I just don’t know what else to do or say.
“I always knew you’d get ink,” he says, gesturing to my arms. “I’m hoping you got that done professionally and not since you’ve been here.”
I breathe out a perfunctory laugh at his attempt to lighten the mood. He looks down for a moment, rubbing his thumb over his own tattoo on his arm. A heart with the initials A.C. inside of it. Annabelle Christensen. It’s the only one he has. He got it before he and my mom were married, but her initials remained the same after. Then I realize…Emory’s initials would stay the same too. Dad takes a breath and looks back up.
“Luke, I—” he puts the phone down for a second and inhales before he picks it back up. “I’m sorry about how things went down that night. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I shouldn’t have kicked you out.”
“You didn’t,” I say venomously because fuck him for thinking he kicked me out. “I left.”
“Yeah, well regardless, I was too hard on you. I wanted you to have a better life than I did, but I pushed you away instead. I should have supported you unconditionally, like your mother did. They don’t make angels as good as her.”
A hint of a smile creeps up my lips. No matter what came their way, my parents have always been head over heels for each other. As much as we didn’t see eye to eye, I can’t say my dad didn’t try to be the best husband he could be, given the circumstances. He looked at my mother the way I look at Emory.
“You’re right,” I agree. “They don’t.”
“I know I wasn’t the best father, Luke.” His gaze falls to the floor for a moment. “I let you down a lot.”
A pang of guilt throbs in my chest at his admission. He’s saying that because of the terrible things I hurled at him that night. Recounting all the ways he let me down. Back then, I didn’t know what I know now about mental illness. I’m still not an expert, but I’ve learned enough to know it takes a toll on a family. It’s not his fault for being sick, and it’s not my fault for being angry. It’s a shirty situation all around, but it doesn’t make me feel any less guilty for throwing all that on him.
“Dad.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry too. For what I said that night. For not being more understanding. I resented you. I blamed you for your illness. Life would have been so much easier…but it’s not your fault.”
“I appreciate that, kid. I really do. Trust me, I know it would have been easier, but I still made mistakes, illness or not. It didn’t give me the right to treat you the way I did that night.”
I nod.
“This have to do with a girl?” he asks, motioning to the handcuffs.
“Yes.”
He nods in understanding, not needing any further information. That’s when I realize there is no part of my dad that is judging me right now. He doesn’t even need the whole story because he knows whatever I did, he would have done ten times over if it had been mom who was hurt.
“Look, Luke, I came here to tell you that I’m selling Collins Construction. I did a lot of thinking when I was in the hospital. I’m doing much better. Got my meds straight. But running the business…I just can’t risk having another setback and letting it all fall on you and your mother. It’s not fair to either of you.”
“But…it’s your dream.”
“It was, and I enjoyed it for years, but I’m not getting any younger, and I need to make your mother my priority now. And…you. If you’re willing to let me be a part of your life, that is.”
His words play over and over in my head. He’s selling the company. He worked so hard to establish it. He built a reputation. A livelihood. Can they even survive on my mom’s salary alone? I guess they’ll have the money from the sale.
“I see the wheels turning, son. Stop worrying. We’ll be fine. But…”
“But what?”
“I’m posting your bail. These trials can take months before they even make it to court. I can’t have you rotting in here in the meantime. Even if I could, your mother would skin me alive if I didn’t get you out. We’ll get you the best lawyer we can find. Your mom put in a few calls yesterday.”
I stare at him, blinking, for several moments. He’s selling his company? To pay for my bail? I don’t even—I’m not sure what to say. No, I do know what to say.
“No, thank you. I’ll figure it out. Nate?—”
“It wasn’t a question, Luke. Nate is not paying for your bail. You are. Look, I called it Collins Construction for a reason. I always thought maybe someday you would take it over. After you went to college…”
I arch an eyebrow, and he realizes his mistake right away.
“I’ve made peace with you not going. It wasn’t the right path for you, and I get that now. I also understand that owning a construction company was my dream, not yours. So, I sold it. Half the money is yours. It was always meant to be.”
“Sold it? As in past tense?”
“James Anderson called me a while back to see if I was interested in selling. I said no at the time, but when I called him yesterday, he was still interested. He’s having papers drawn up, but we have a verbal agreement.”
Anderson owns several small businesses in town, and I guess now he wants to get into construction. But verbal agreement or not, I can’t let this happen.
“Break it,” I say firmly. “I’m not letting you throw away twelve years of hard work. And what about the guys? They’ve been loyal to you for years, and now you’re just going to leave them high and dry without jobs?”
“Of course not. One of my conditions is that Anderson keeps all of my employees. He was happy to agree to it, so he doesn’t have to find new skilled workers.”
“Still…this just…I’m not letting you pay for my fuck-up. I didn’t know what else?—”
“Not here,” Dad reminds me. “Luke, I was going to sell anyway. I told you, it’s just not in the cards for me anymore. Anderson is paying more than a fair price. Our client lists, all of the tools and equipment, and our reputation, he knows what it’s worth. It’s more than enough to pay for your bail, and I’ll have a little left over to help Mom with the bills.”
“What will you do, though?”
“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But I’m excited for the next phase. Whatever it is.”
“And Mom? She’s okay with this?”
“She’s more than okay. I think she likes being the breadwinner, anyway.”
I can’t help but smile at that. My mom has always liked flipping the script on what society expected. She hated being called a working mom. “Do people call men working dads?” she would ask. It was rhetorical. Of course, people never said that.
“Okay,” I finally relent.
“Lucas Collins,” a voice calls, and I see an officer walking toward me. I guess the visit is over. I give my dad another nod and put the phone down, standing up with my cuffed hands held out in front of me so the officer can lead me back to my cell. He leads me past the hallway where the cells are and up toward the prisoner intake area. I turn my head back and look over at the officer. Officer Patel, according to his badge.
“Sir?” I ask hesitantly. “Where are we going?”
I swear to God if they are putting me in solitary confinement or some shit…
We stop at the holding area where they put me when I was first transferred here. It’s where they gave me the jumpsuit I’m currently wearing after they took my street clothes and performed the strip search.
“You’re being released, Mr. Collins,” Officer Patel says.
Released? Did my dad already take care of the bail before he sat down with me? Why not wait to talk until after I got out, though?
“On bail?” I ask for clarification.
“No,” he answers flatly. “All charges have been dropped. We just need to process you for release. It should take about half an hour, and then you’ll be free to go. We can call you a ride, or you can use your phone when we return it to you.”
All charges have been dropped. What. The. Fuck. But I’m too grateful to ask any more questions right now. I’ll find out what happened later. Right now, I need to get my shit and get the fuck home to my girl.