Страница 2 из 55
A black, heavy-set security guard emerges first, his eyes squinting from the sunlight. Co
With a pat on the back, the guard sends him on his way and Co
He doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t grimace.
In fact, he does nothing.
He just . . . looks at me.
It occurs to me maybe he had no idea that I’d be here. Maybe he didn’t get my letter. But when the final gate is opened and he steps through, he heads straight for me and I realize that I seriously underestimated his size from a distance. He’s much bigger than I originally thought; the closer he gets, the smaller I feel.
I don’t move as he approaches. Instead, I battle with what to do once he reaches me. I’m not sure what the proper protocol is in this situation. I mean, we’re in-laws—sort of. The man he thought of as his brother was my husband. Should I hug him?
No.
Definitely not.
He doesn’t quite strike me as a hugger.
When he’s four feet in front of me, he stops, and I give him an awkward smile.
“Demi,” he says my name and I’m stu
“Those things will kill you, ya know?” I blurt out. Smooth. Real smooth, Demi.
His smile widens until I see his teeth and the little canine on the lower left of his mouth that’s a bit crooked. It’s an imperfection, yet it only amplifies his attractiveness. “That was my last one,” he replies, his voice husky. “Promised myself I’d quit the day I got out.”
“Oh,” I reply, not sure what to add.
Luckily Co
“You too,” I manage, finding my voice as I step forward.
Okay, I’m going to hug him. Just a friendly, nice-to-meet-you, hug. I only mean to do that loose hug, the one where your bodies don’t touch, but you somehow embrace, but that doesn’t happen. Co
When he releases me, we stand awkwardly for a moment, him in his tight black T-shirt and jeans, me in my frumpy, wrinkled, white cotton top and blue jeans, damp with sweat.
“Are you ready to get out of here?”
His mouth curves slightly. “Have been since day one.”
We climb in the car, and as I start it I explain apologetically, “Air conditioning went out on me halfway here. It’s going to be a hot ride.”
He chuckles lightly, “Haven’t had air conditioning in eight years. I think I’ll survive.”
I cringe. Tent City prison makes inmates work and sleep outside. Co
“Your compressor might just need a charge,” he continues. “I can check it out, and we can stop at an auto parts store if I can figure out what you need.”
“That’s right.” I nod as I put the car in reverse. “Blake said you were some kind of badass mechanic.”
Co
“I got us rooms at a hotel not too far from here. It’s a long drive back to Colorado, and it’s already late so I figured it would be best to stay the night and head out first thing tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he agrees.
“You wa
“Sounds good, Demi. I appreciate all of this. Blake said you were too good to be true.”
My heart sinks with his words. Blake always put me up on a pedestal. “What is family for?” I finally manage.
The ride to the hotel is filled with awkward small talk; the weather, sports, and Co
“I know, Mom. I gotta go.”
“Text me every hour. I want to know you’re safe.”
“Mom. Chill. Seriously,” I grumble. “I’ll call you when I get home. We’re headed out first thing tomorrow. Love you. Bye,” I hang up quickly before she has time to argue.
I toss my phone on the bed and stand, but when my cell rings again, I groan. I know it’s my over-bearing mother calling me back, so I flip it open and snap, “Mom! I can’t stay on the phone with you all night.”
“Well hello to you, too, sunshine,” my cousin and best friend Wendy snarks at me from the other end.
“Oh, hey,” I laugh embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”
“I take it Gladys has been calling?”
“You know it,” I gripe as I plop back down on the bed.
“Grayson, get out of my drawers!” Wendy yells to her three-year-old son before returning to me. “I swear he’s always getting into everything,” she complains. “So . . . how is Blake’s cousin?”
I roll my eyes. Married for going on sixteen years and saddled with five children, Wendy hangs on every detail of my life. I guess she likes to live vicariously through me. Not that I’ve offered much in the way of excitement lately. Me picking up Co
“Not much to report. He seems nice.”
“Come on, Demi,” she pleads. “Is he ugly or missing teeth? You know gang rape is prevalent in prisons, and some guys get their teeth knocked out so they can give better—”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that,” I interrupt her. “Sorry cuz. I’ve got nothing.”
“Well . . . I’ve been looking forward to this call all day,” she clucks, grumpily, clearly disappointed in my details . . . or lack thereof. Realizing begging is not producing the outcome she is desperately seeking, she moves on to a new tactic: manipulation. “You know, J.J. was tossing Mary-A
“Okay, Wendy,” I huff, rolling my eyes. “I’ll give you a play-by-play, but can I tell it in third person point of view? You know, like I’m narrating?”