“Ally, what do you know about this guy? I mean, he’s in prison for goodness sake. I know we joked when your asshole cat started this mess but really, I don’t think this a good idea. Hot as fuck body or not.”
I don’t respond immediately, and instead shift in my seat to face her. I’m a little offended on behalf of D. That is likely the wrong response to her words but, regardless, it’s how I feel.
“As a matter of fact, I know a lot about him.” Her raised brow as a response confirms my tone is less than friendly. “Look, I’m not marrying the guy, we’re just chatting. You know, in the old days people were pen pals with people all across the world that they never met. Soldiers, students, and probably prisoners. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Whoa there, sister. Relax. No need to get worked up. So tell me about Fight Club. Does he have a name?”
“He goes by ‘D’ in our e-mails which I am sure is short for something. Maybe David or Dennis. I haven’t asked, I guess I could. It just never came up.”
“Okay,” she says, dragging out the word like she’s testing it out for the first time.
With a deep breath, I raise a finger and begin ticking off the things I know about D. “One, he did something stupid at twenty years old and since he didn’t, as he says, “look like a Boy Scout or respect authority,” he got the maximum time for his charges. It wasn’t a violent crime and he’s getting out a few years early. Next week, actually. Two, he was raised by a single mom and has no siblings. His favorite color is yellow but he hates mustard. Oh, and he would rather live in a world without electricity than a world without books.”
“Who likes the color yellow?”
“Umm, me?”
“Oh right. Sorry. Continue.” Her body language has relaxed as I continue listing off the things I know about D. She only rolls her eyes a few times, which makes me happy.
As my list of information about my soon-to-be-released friend grows, I realize how much we’ve gotten to know one another. Our conversations aren’t just surface getting to know one another like they would be in regular day to day life.
“You guys have talked a lot. Hell, I think you know more random shit about him than I do about Joey. I’m going to need to ask him about his stance on condiments. I can’t imagine a world without ketchup. Who would choose that life?”
“I know, right? So weird. Anyway, I know our time talking through the site is ending, and I don’t know if I should ask about exchanging real life e-mails.”
“Has he sent you a picture yet? Not there’s anything wrong with the hot as hell ones we’ve already seen. But, of his face?”
Scrunching my nose I shake my head. “Honestly, who cares? It’s friends, right? I don’t care what he looks like.”
She doesn’t respond right away, mulling around her words before she says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I think you should do it. E-mailing doesn’t mean you ever have to meet in person, right?”
I nod.
“There you have it.”
“But, what if—”
“Nope, do not ‘what if’ this to death. It’s a freaking e-mail to a pen pal you’ll never meet.”
I suppose she’s right. Opening my computer, I start a new message and quickly type out the proposal to swap real life e-mails before I can talk myself out of it. The ball is officially in his court.
Chapter 6
Drew
I’ve never looked forward to a Friday more than this one. I woke up hours before normal. Freedom is within my grasp. It’s been a shitty three years, but I’ve learned a lot. Mostly, I’ve learned that these walls hold many secrets of men who have made poor decisions and are living with the consequences.
I won’t put up a front and say this was all something it wasn’t. Life changing and brutal are the words that come to mind when I think of the years I’ve lost here. One night and a very poor choice, arrogance my biggest enemy, landed me behind bars. As much as I have regrets for what this has done to my life, to my future, I am also grateful. I was on a downward spiral and needed a wake-up call.
At my exit interview with my counselor, she asked me what I’ve learned during my time served and I jokingly said, “how to build a business from the ground up.” She didn’t find that humorous but regardless of my joke falling a little flat, it’s the truth.
Six months after I walked through the gates of the prison, I found a corner in the small library and put my efforts into something positive instead of wallowing. My choices had put me in a position that I would likely never be hired by a company that would set me up for life. A corner office was never in my future anyway. Now after the years I’ve spent here, it never would be an option either. Once I had a handle on my education, I needed to focus. I put my energy into learning everything I could about business. How to start one, how to grow one, and how to make a life for myself without having to rely on anyone.
The only problem with that plan is in order to be released, I needed a place to stay and a job. My first call was to my mom. Instead of welcoming me home, she disowned me for “disgracing her reputation.” I never met my biological father and the only man I ever called “Dad” hadn’t been in my life in over a dozen years. But, without any other options, I took a gamble and dialed the telephone number from my childhood. Surprised that the landline still existed, I held my breath as I asked my former step-father if I could come for a visit. End date to be determined.
That conversation led to many more and ultimately with me not being homeless. Gary Nelson is a standup guy, and I know when I walk through those gates today, he’ll be waiting for me like a parent. The only one I have.
“Yo, D you pissin’ yourself about today?” my bunkmate Kenny asks as he kicks the mattress from his spot on the bottom bunk.
“Don’t kick me, asshole. And nah, I’ve seen too many guys get to this point to only have something happen and it all turn to shit. I’m not countin’ those chickens till they hatch.”
“Man, you can’t put that negative mojo out into the world. Be positive. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me? Speaking of, who’s gonna give me the motivational speeches now?”
Laughing, I hop down from the top bunk and stretch my arms over my head. “Take your ass to meet with your counselor more than the required sessions, and she’ll tell you all kinds of positive shit.”
“No thanks. Speaking of the female persuasion, what’s up with the honey you’ve been talking to on the outside? I still can’t believe you took that dare.”
“I never let a dare go untaken, you know that. Her name is Ally. She’s cool but it’s nothing major. We exchanged e-mails to keep talking when I get out.”
“You gonna tell her she already knows you?”
Before I can reply, the buzzer sounds and our door opens, signaling the day has started.
The air inside isn’t different than that outside the gates but something about it feels special. Less suffocating. More . . . everything.
As I take the final steps through the gate, my stomach flips in three different directions. Apprehension and anxiety I’ve never felt before slams into me like a train. It’s only been three years but, in many ways, more like a lifetime since I was bussed here. That day I was alone, just a number among the rest of the new residents. My “don’t give a fuck” attitude and arrogance oozed from every part of my body. I thought I was the shit and was pissed at the world for taking my freedom from me. I didn’t realize I was the only one to blame for the choices I made and the man I had become.
It isn’t a long walk to the parking lot, but it’s far enough that I contemplate returning to the guard and asking to be let back in. It’s ridiculous and makes no sense at all, but it’s my instinct. I know how to handle myself, how to survive, inside those walls. Out here is another story. Who am I now?
I went inside as a kid with no drive or ambition, and I’m walking out as a man with dreams. I only hope I don’t screw it up completely. My thoughts fly to Ally, and I can’t help but
smile. The most random surprise, she is the highlight of my days, and I’m sure to ruin our friendship completely. But, for now, I’ll hold on to the way she lets me be me without question.
When I took the dare to join the online “friendship” site for inmates, I never expected to see Ally’s face on the screen. Her huge brown eyes, the color of melted chocolate, I hadn’t thought of in years, were the first thing I noticed about the beautiful woman who whispered to me. I didn’t believe it was possible for the universe to put her in my path twice in one lifetime, but then I saw the small scar on her left eyebrow.
When we were eight years old, we were walking to our favorite pond to search for tadpoles as she rambled on and on about a fish she had caught earlier that day. I tried to warn her but, in true Ally fashion, she ignored me. And proceeded to walk straight into a rogue tree limb. She cried, I laughed, she kicked me in the shins. Just like a best friend should.
I don’t even bother to ignore the lightness thinking of Ally brings. I should have told her the first time we chatted that I knew who she was. Who I am.
“That’s a good look on you, kid,” Gary shouts as I walk into the parking lot.
“What’s that? A prison provided white T-shirt and jeans?” I joke, taking his extended hand before letting him pull me into a hug.
“Good to see you, son.”
With two slaps to the back, he releases me, and for the first time today, tears form in my eyes.
“Don’t start that now. Let’s get out of here, and when we get home you can start that feelings shit.”
Laughing, I follow him to his truck. A full-size Chevy, this is a far cry from the piece of junk he and I would tinker with in the garage most nights. “The other woman” is what my mom called it and who, or what, she blames for us leaving Gary and the town of Pickerton Grove.
The reality was, my mom requires a lot of attention, and the minute she thinks that is being taken from her she moves on. New town. New husband. I was just dragged along for the ride. The seven years we were with Gary were the longest relationship she had, and it was the only time I cried and begged her to let me stay. He was the only father I had known, and it killed me to leave. Plus, Ally was in Pickerton Grove.
“Sweet ride. A far cry from that mess you had when I was a kid.”
“Do not speak of Martha like that. She’s still around and has been waiting for you to come home.”
Shocked, I bark out a laugh. “Well, lucky for you I’ve learned a few things since the last time I held a wrench in your garage.”
“Looking forward to seeing you in action. Seriously though, I thought you could drive Martha at least for a while.”
Shocked, I look at him wide-eyed. He’s handing me a truck without a second thought. Opening my mouth to question his gift, he cuts me off before I can speak.
“I was thinking we’d stay in tonight. Grill up some food and relax. That is, unless there’s something else you’d rather do.”
Shaking my head, I turn my gaze out the window before I tap back into those feelings he told me to hold off having. Watching the prison get smaller and smaller in the mirror, I feel tension leave my muscles and settle back into the plush leather seat and close my eyes.
Chapter 7
Ally
If anyone saw my collection of facial masks, they would immediately call my friends and family for an immediate intervention. But what they don’t know is that each one serves a purpose. Plus, I like having options. I mean, what if my skin is just dehydrated? I can’t use the apricot peel mask for that. Nope, that is the ultra-hydration clay mask like I’m wearing right now. It’s also my favorite because it makes me feel like I’m at a day spa getting pampered.
My hair is also getting the royal treatment with a hair mask and is tied up in a knot inside my shower cap. Swaying my hips as I paint my toenails fire engine red, I sing along to the very delicious Brantley Gilbert as his deep voice sends shivers up my spine. I glance to the timer on my phone and see I still have ten minutes left for my masks, so I prop my feet up on the table. Wrapping my lips around the straw I’m dependent on since I can’t drink from the glass with the mask on, my phone rings.
Glancing at the screen, I see it’s my mom. She’s probably calling to tell me about the Grand Canyon for the third time today. Since I can’t really talk well with this mask on, I take another sip from my wine and settle into the cushions while I wait for the timer to go off. Instead, my phone rings again with my mom calling. She’s pretty desperate so instead of answering, I shoot her a text.
Me: I have a face mask on and can’t move my mouth. I’ll call you back in 30.
The phone rings yet again. This time it’s my dad. He never uses the phone, usually relying on my mom to make the calls and then shouts in the background what he wants to say to me. Dread hits me hard and I answer the call on speaker.
“Hehroh?”
“Oh thank goodness, Allyson. I knew if you saw your daddy’s call you’d answer.”
Rolling my eyes, I grit out, “Mama, I can’t talk.”
“Honey, it’s Granny. She’s fallen and is at the hospital. Your dad and I are clear across this godforsaken country, why I let him convince me to do this trip and leave that old woman alone I’ll never understand. Can you imagine what a pain in the ass she’s going to be? I mean—”
“Mama,” I say loudly, cracking my mask and cutting off her rant. “What’s wrong with Granny?”
“She fell, that’s all I know. It’s her leg or, oh heaven’s Ally, you don’t think it’s her hip? At her age, she could die! Oh that woman, she lives to kill me slowly.”
Completely breaking my mask, I shout into the phone every version of the word “mom” until I finally use her first name, “Kay!”
“Well, there’s no reason to shout, honey. And what’s this Kay business?”
Lord give me strength.
“Mama, I need you to stop rambling and tell me what to do.”
“Can you go home, honey? Daddy and I will cut the trip short, but it’ll still take us at least a week to get home.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say as she begins talking to my dad in the background.
While they talk among themselves, I pull up my favorite airfare app and scroll for an early morning flight. Quickly I find an outbound flight just ten hours from now and book it. During a break in my parents’ conversation, I tell her I’ll be at the hospital by lunchtime and promise to update her as soon as I’m able.
Ending the call, I shoot a text to Didi that I have to leave town and don’t know when I’ll be home and head to the shower to wash off what was supposed to be my own personal spa treatment. So much for keeping it Zen.
The flight is quick, and I manage to secure a ride share quickly. Myson is less than thrilled to be in his carrier, but it’s a small price to pay for him to be with me for an undetermined time. I could have left him home with Didi, but I fear if the two of them are left alone together for more than a few days, only one would come out alive.
By the time I’m dropped at the front of the hospital, I’ve spoken to the nurse and confirmed Granny slept soundly through the night. She said everything was good and she was a model patient. That statement alone has me worrying. My granny is obstinate on a good day. A model patient means she’s either up to something or really injured. Just the thought of her in pain brings a flood of tears to my eyes. Sniffling and wiping my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I realize it’s about thirty degrees warmer standing here than it was on the plane.
Unzipping my hoodie, I tie it around my waist and adjust the straps of my tank top before picking up Myson’s carrier and pulling my suitcase through the sliding door. By the time I make it to the fourth floor, I’ve worked up a sweat and realize how much warmer it is in Pickerton Grove. When I reach the nurses station, I’m filled with dread of how bad my granny’s injuries are and concern that my grumpy feline will have to wait outside the building.
Thankfully, the nurse on duty is a
cat lover and agrees to take Myson and put him and my luggage in a nearby break room before offering me directions to Granny’s room. As soon as I hear the roar of laughs from an open door, I know I’ve found my destination.
Poking my head around the corner, I see Granny sitting up in the bed, her leg elevated in some weird sling type contraption, with an audience of four standing around her bed laughing. Clearing my throat, all the ruckus comes to a stop and all heads turn my direction.
“Ally Cat!! Y’all this is my granddaughter, Ally. Come here and give me a kiss.”
Shedding my purse on the bedside chair, I walk to her side and lean down for a hug. “That one in the blue is single.” The unmistakable snicker from behind me lets me know I wasn’t the only one to hear her.
Rolling my eyes, I feel the heat creep up my neck and turn my head to the object of her matchmaking. Tall and clean cut, he’s cute enough but not my type. I offer him a small smile and turn my attention back to the patient.
“What in the world happened? You’ve got Mama all a flutter. She’s driving Daddy and me crazy.”
“Oh your mother. I swear that woman is determined to drive me to an early grave.”
The similarities between what my mom and my granny both said about the other isn’t lost on me, and I can’t help but laugh.
A deep clearing of a throat breaks our little reunion bubble and I turn my attention toward its owner. Older than the four people huddled on the opposite side of the bed, this man is what my mom always called “movie star handsome.” Dark hair with sprinkles of silver at the temples set off his dark brown eyes. His skin is tan like he spends a lot of free time on the golf course or on a boat. Obviously fit, his button-up shirt leaves little to the imagination. If I was into older guys, this man would so be my type.
“How are you feeling, Betty?”
“Right as rain. Doc, this is my granddaughter, Allyson. Ally, this is who the ladies around here call Doctor Hotpants.”
It Was Always You Page 4
