Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she countered, making me laugh. She couldn’t have spoken words that were more her. “It feels good to see you out of that place.”
I’d never wanted her to see me in that place. I’d told her she didn’t have to come, but she’d made the drive several times a year during the six years I’d been inside. “Let’s get out of here.” The muscles in my body were stiff, and I didn’t know if they would relax until I was gone. Hell, maybe they’d never relax again.
She squeezed my hand and smiled, and I grabbed my bag and threw it into the back seat of her old Honda.
“I still have your truck,” she said as she pulled away. It was about a three-and-a-half-hour drive from Salem to Clayton, the town I wished I never had to see again. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a whole lot of options. I’d gotten a high school diploma, but barely, then hadn’t held down a job for long between eighteen and twenty-five, when I’d gotten locked up. Employment would be hard, money would be hard, and I needed someone in my corner, so here I was.
“Thanks. You didn’t have to keep it all this time.” It wasn’t nice then, and it would be in even worse shape now, but I didn’t care about shit like that. I just didn’t want it to be more of a hassle for her.
“It didn’t do much but sit there. I drove it sometimes, had a tune-up done. It’ll be good enough to get you back and forth to work and to your appointments with your parole officer.”
“Thanks,” I said again, not sure what else to say.
“You hungry? We should stop and get you something to eat. What do you want? Your choice.”
Jesus, she was great. I was going to do everything in my power to deserve her. “I’m good. Right now I just want to go home.”
She nodded, glancing my way with those knowing, soulful brown eyes that matched my own.
“Your apartment is still all set up too, of course. I got a window-unit AC and put it in for you.”
I’d remodeled the detached garage into a studio for myself when I’d been seventeen. Working with my hands was the only thing I’d ever really been good at. The place wasn’t anything special, but it even had a small bathroom and kitchen. It was mine, and that was all that mattered to me. “I wish you wouldn’t put out that kind of money on me. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”
“I got it at Walmart, Riven. It didn’t break the bank. Plus, I’ll make you work it off.”
I laughed because I had no doubt about that. She was good at finding things for me to do.
I could tell by the set of her jaw that she had something else to say, something she’d likely been holding in for a while now. The hairs on my arms stood on end, but I did my best to ignore it. A lot of bad shit had happened in my life, and I’d lived through it all. Whatever she had to say couldn’t be worse than that. “Just tell me. I can take it.” I didn’t much care about anything other than her anyway.
“Becca…she’s with Rex now. Has been, well, since not long after you went inside. They have two little ones.”
I waited to feel something at hearing my ex-girlfriend was officially with my ex-best friend, but then, it wasn’t as if I was surprised. She hadn’t come to visit me once. In the beginning we’d talked on the phone the few times I called her, and she’d always make promises, but they never happened. Eventually, she stopped taking my calls, and I stopped trying.
And now she was with Rex, the man who had really been the one who killed Jerry Wilson, the one who should have spent the last six years of his life in prison instead of me. The guy I’d taken the fall for was boning my ex-girlfriend, and the truth was, I didn’t give a shit. Not anymore.
“Good for them.”
“You need to stay away from Rex and Frank Hunt, Riven. No good will come from spending time with them. They’re trouble and always will be.”
No one knew that more than me.
It had been Frank who used to let us drink when we were kids, who’d gotten Rex and me into selling drugs—first weed, then heroin. Every time I’d gotten into trouble in my life, Rex had been egging me on. But I couldn’t blame Rex or even Frank for my choices. That shit was on me, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I was letting myself get tangled up with them again. I never expected to have shit in my life, but I didn’t plan to spend another second of it behind bars.