by Jo Raven
And he’s everything to me.
The sentencing hearing is over. A year behind bars.
Jarett is getting transferred to prison today, and I swear, I’m getting an ulcer from all this. I haven’t been able to talk to him in days, not since the trial, and that time he’d sounded so defeated it broke my heart all over again.
I’m trying to see the positive in this, but it’s hard. He’s not in the gang anymore, sure, but won’t prison life destroy him? You hear all sorts of things, about drugs and rape and violence. He doesn’t have to keep his promise to his mom about taking care of Sebastian anymore, but does he feel he has something left to live, to fight for?
Does he think of me? Does he want to come back to me? Will he be okay?
Will he be the Jarett I know when he’s released?
Truth is, the only plus I can see is that I can visit him now. Prisoners get visiting hours.
And I’ll be there.
Small consolation, but every little good thing seems huge right now. Seeing him is all I can think about. I have filled out the inmate visitor application, I have been approved.
Soon, I’ll see him, maybe touch him, if they allow it.
I feel as if I’m not really alive without him. Every minute spent away from him hurts. Everything I want to share with him, every joke and every song, feels like a burden now.
At least, Sydney looks better. I’d ask her about Kash, but I can’t pretend to care right now, not when I feel like my whole world is caving in.
“Chin up,” Sydney tells me. “Didn’t you just tell me you’ll be seeing him tomorrow? I thought you’d be happy.”
“I am. But I’m also afraid. Of what he’ll say. Of how he’s changed. What he thinks. What he feels.”
Her mouth turns down at the corners. “Oh man. You really are in love.”
“I thought you said it was obvious.”
“It was.” She hums, hiding behind her coffee mug. “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen a person in love before. Like, really in love, the sort where you pine away and live for the next time you’ll see them.”
My hands fist in my lap. “I’m not pining away.”
“No?” She perks up. “Then maybe you’ll come with me tonight? There’s this—”
“No.”
She slumps back in her seat. “You need to start living again, Gigi.”
I flinch at her words. “I’m living, I’m—”
“No, you’re not. You flunked your last test. You’re not studying. Or partying. Or eating much. You never smile anymore.”
“I’m sad, okay? What do you want me to say? Plus, you told me you were done going to bars and parties, getting yourself into danger.”
“I never said that.” She looks away, mouth going tight. “I only said I haven’t found Kash yet. Not that I’ve given up.”
I swallow hard. “In any case… How could I party when Jarett is behind bars?”
“A year, girl. He’ll be away for a year.” She shrugs, turning back to me. “Think of it as a year abroad where he had to go for work. And you’re here. Still alive. Still studying, and living. Waiting for him, but living. See the difference?”
“I don’t… I don’t know.”
“He’d want you alive and well when he’d come back, right? From his trip. Or prison. And you’d do well to be strong, inside, for the months to come, and for when he’s out, free to be with you again. Get it?” She taps the side of her head, her eyes bright.
I nod and swear to myself I won’t cry again. I’ve done it way too much in the past days and weeks.
“He will be released. He will be with you. If you don’t run yourself to the ground, if you’re strong enough for both of you.” Sydney smiles at me. “And you can be. You are. I know you. You’re a supergirl, Augusta Watson. If you love him, if he’s worth waiting for, then you can do it. Show the world that you can.”
She’s right. If she can do this—waiting, searching, believing in someone she loves—then so can I. I will do this. For him. For myself.
I just hope he’ll keep fighting, too.
Inside the prison visitor center, it’s all white and blue, with a long table and chairs. It feels like a hospital, of sorts.
I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans. I’ve already passed through security control. I scan the room for Jarett, but can’t find any familiar face staring back at me.
I don’t know what I’d expected. A smaller room? Jarett waiting for me?
Unsure what to do next, I sink down in one of the chairs and fold my hands on top of the table. I’m in the right place.
Be strong, Sydney said. Okay.
Deep breaths.
Then he enters, and I shoot back up to my feet, my heart racing. It’s him. He’s in a gray prison uniform, and his dark hair is cut close to his scalp. He looks thinner, pale, but his eyes light up when he sees me.
He starts toward me and I run into his arms. “Gigi,” he whispers, his arms wrapping around me so hard I can’t breathe. “God, Gigi.”
I’m drowning. He’s my lifeline. He’s here. He’s okay.
How did I live in the past without him? I can’t remember. I don’t think I can part from him again.
“Gigi, we can’t,” Jarett says, gently prying me off him. “It’s not allowed.”
What?
A guard moves toward us, a frown on his face.
“We can’t hug.” Jarett leads me to the table, sits me down and sits across from me. “But we can hold hands.”
His long, strong fingers curl around mine.
Our hands, on the table between us, together.
A knot.
A bond.
“Are you all right?” I ask. So many things I want to ask him. “Are they treating you okay?”
“I’m okay.” He gives me a faint smile. “It’s good to see you.”
“I told you I’d be here.”
His chin dips, and his lashes brush low, over his cheekbones. “I wasn’t sure you meant it.”
I grip his hand more tightly, locking gazes with him. “I meant everything.”
He swallows hard. “Listen. I made many mistakes. Broke the law. Didn’t think of the consequences. It’s only fair that I’m here. But you… I can’t ask you to wait for me. A year in prison…”
“Jarett—”
“But I’ll ask you anyway,” he rushes on, and small flames seem to burn in the cores of his eyes. “I’ll ask you. Please.”
“You don’t need to ask. I’ll wait for you.” Tears burn my eyes, but I smile at him. “Don’t you see? I’ve waited for you all my life.”
I’d wait in this life, and in the next one, too.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jarett
Every day it is the same routine.
Get up at half past seven—I always woke up hours before that, and work starts an hour later. I have cleaning tasks, and then I work in the prison metal shop, making license plates.
Boring as hell, but it keeps my hands busy and my mind from going off the rails. Not that I get to choose what to do, anyway.
Then we collect lunch, some unidentifiable stew and pasta—thank fuck Connor trained me to eat whatever I’m given—and then we’re locked up in our cells until the staff have their own lunch. Then it’s back to work. Sometimes we’re allowed out in the walled yard.
Sometimes the inmates will corner me and steal the few cigarettes I manage to bum off a guard or other prisoner. Sometimes they rough me up just enough to remind me who’s in charge.
Just like Sebastian used to do.
I missed both funerals. His, and Mom’s. Didn’t get to say goodbye. The knowledge of that failure burns inside me, knots up my stomach so I can barely eat. My mind is hazy, my thoughts heavy.
The only thing that keeps me going is the phone calls I get with Gigi, and her weekly visit. If not for those things, I may have just given up. Gone off my fucking rocker. Sunk through the floor where it’s dark and quiet and nothing matters.
; But she won’t let me. Keeps calling. Keeps visiting. She takes my hand and talks to me about her brother, her sister, her baby nephew, the garage and the house and her studies. About the world outside.
Reminding me there’s hope.
She burns in my mind like a flame, keeping me warm. Otherwise, I don’t feel much. My thoughts are slow. Way too slow, trying to figure out what happened, to tease apart what was real from what was a dream.
Did Mrs. Lowe love me as a son?
Maybe. As much as she could. She barely knew me before she started losing the memory of who I was.
Was Sebastian a good guy?
No, he was an asshole. Sure, he wasn’t all bad. Who is? But trying to save him was a futile exercise, one that almost got me killed, too.
Was Connor a good father to me, training me to throw punches and shoot a gun instead of opting for a conversation? Teaching me that family is always right, a blind faith instead of seeing things and people for what they are?
Though my part in all this is undeniable. No matter what Connor taught me, it was me who joined the gang, who chose not to see the truth.
And as for my real parents, for those old, golden memories… I should finally let go. I should stop chasing after that feeling. There is no safety, no fucking innocence anymore. I need to embrace my shadow, my past, and move on.
If I join another family, create my own family—with Gigi—then it has to be something new, something real. For me, and not to recapture some faded picture.
For me, and her.
For us.
The landscape streaks outside the car window. Green gardens, green fields, trees. Blue sky and white clouds.
“How you doing back there, buddy?” my dad asks, turning to grin at me.
The car swerves, throwing me sideways on the seat.
My head slams into the window.
There’s a crash, the impact throwing me forward, against the seat belt, cutting off my breath. Blood. Burnt. Blackness. Pain.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t—
Fuck. I sit up, almost banging my head on the bunk above me. The air whistles in my lungs as I try to suck in oxygen.
I’m okay. I’m fine. Just a dream. Just a memory.
“Go back to sleep, Jarett,” my cell mate grumbles from the bunk above me. “Damn you and your damn nightmares.”
I drop back on my hard pillow, trying to swallow, my throat parched. “Yeah.”
“Think of something good,” he goes on. “Think, I dunno, about ice cream. And pies. And your girl. And let me go the hell back to sleep.”
Know what? He’s right.
In the stifling air of our cell, I close my eyes again and think of Gigi. She’s a candle I hold in the dark of my mind, its flame small but bright and sure, chasing away the shadows.
And I dream of her.
She’s laughing, lying in my bed, in my arms, her arms around my neck, her soft body pressed to mine. “Rett,” she whispers. “I’m here Rett. Waiting.”
Sleep closes over me like water, but I’m somehow smiling.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Gigi
Eight Months Later
I hang the last banner and climb down from the chair, stepping back to check my handiwork. “What do you think?”
“Passable,” Merc says, then grins when I glare at him. “Looks fine, sis. I’m sure your man will appreciate it.”
I give my banner another doubtful glance.
We rarely decorate, even for the kids, but today is a special occasion.
Jarett is getting out of prison.
He’s out early on good behavior. It’s been eight months, though it felt like frigging years. I’m so excited I can’t sit still for two seconds.
I go check the snacks and the cake. Check my messages.
Check the time.
“You’re driving me nuts, know that?” Merc mutters. “Sit down for a second, will you? Take deep breaths, do some yoga, I dunno. Take it easy.”
“You know I can’t sit still.”
But I can’t get mad at him. He’s going with me to pick Jarett up. His playlists and jokes are the main reason I stayed sane—well, mostly—these past eight months.
That, and phone calls with Jarett, and the visits they allowed us.
“Come on,” Merc says now. “Let’s go.”
“It’s still early.” But I’m already grabbing my purse and jacket.
“No use waiting if you can’t relax for two seconds. We can stop on the way for coffee. Yeah?”
“You’re the best brother ever,” I tell him honestly.
“And don’t you forget it.” He winks at me, and turns to his phone, to ask for an Uber.
It’s finally happening. Jarett is coming back.
My heart pounds with equal measures joy and nervousness. I love him, and he said he loves me. He said it once, long ago, but he asked me to wait for him.
I do love him, so much my heart bleeds love. I’ve never cared for someone like that before. But can we be together? Can we pick up where we left?
True to his word, Merc has the Uber stop to grab some coffee, and then he takes us to the correctional facility.
We wait inside the car, and I can’t take my eyes off the prison gates.
Merc rolls his eyes at me.
I don’t care. This feels like Christmas morning and every birthday I’ve ever had and end of the year test, all rolled into one.
Finally the gates open, and three guys walk out, holding plastic bags with what have to be their clothes and things.
Jarett. I know his body, his dark hair, the way he moves.
Throwing the door of the car open, I’m out and running toward him before the gates even close behind him.
I think I hear Merc laughing.
I don’t frigging care.
Jarett’s bag slips from his hand to the ground. His face twists, and then he opens his arms and smiles.
I launch myself at him, unable to stop. I’ve missed him so much, I missed holding him, smelling him. Missed everything about him.
He’s holding me like he’ll never let go. Fine by me. I feel his hard muscles through his thin sweater. He’s lost a lot of weight, and there’s a chemical smell about him.
Underneath it, though, he still smells like Jarett, my Jarett. It’s still him. And he’s whispering my name, kissing my hair, over and over.
I cling to him as if he’ll disappear, and he’s holding me with such desperation I think he feels the same way.
Eventually, I reluctantly pull back. “Ready to go home?”
“Home.” He says the word like it has no meaning for him.
Maybe it doesn’t.
I take his hand. “Home, with me.”
He nods, then, a slight dip of his chin, and his gaze clears. “I’d go anywhere with you.”
And I know, deep in my heart, that everything will be okay.
“Here we are,” Merc says, unlocking the front door, and entering then turning around with a grin. “You ready?”
Jarett grips my hand more tightly than ever, the lines of his gaunt face tightening. “What for?”
“Nothing bad, I swear.” I tug him up the porch steps, and he goes along, his steps hesitant.
Merc opens the door wider, and there’s laughter.
Mary, Matt’s daughter, peeks around the door, shoved aside by her brother. “Welcome!” they cry out.
And Jarett stops. “What’s this?” I glance at him. His green eyes are wide, his cheeks pale.
“Welcome home!” more voices shout, and I tug again on his hand to get him moving, smiling.
“Come on. We’re home.”
We walk into the living room and suddenly confetti is in the air, and hands patting Jarett’s back.
“Welcome home, man,” Merc says, giving him a half-hug. “Good to have you back.”
“My boy,” Mom says, stroking his cheek, her eyes too bright. “How are you?”
> “Jarett.” Matt and Kaden nod at him. My sister smiles, the baby asleep in her arms. Mom’s boyfriend waves. The kids wind about our legs like cats, laughing.
My whole family is here. A surprise party. A homecoming party.
I’m so grateful to them for trusting me on this, for trusting Jarett. So glad Matt promised not to roast him over hot coals for getting into such a mess and getting carted off to prison. As long as he stays out of trouble from now on.
But that’s up to Jarett to say. I can’t make any promises on his behalf. Whether he steers clear of gangs and violence has to be his decision.
That ulcer is still in the cards. I mean, he said he’s done with it all. He told me Connor, his adoptive father before the Lowes, was so set against crime and gang violence he’d felt sick with shame all this time he was following Sebastian around. That he’s relieved it’s over. That all he’s ever wanted was a quiet life.
I believe him. And I guess time will convince my family, too. Time. We’ll have that now. And although I have butterflies somersaulting in my stomach, I have to stop doubting and believe everything will turn out okay.
Matt already said he’ll offer Jarett his job at the garage back. Mom said Jarett can stay with us for as long as he likes. And Merc threatened to prepare playlists for him.
Jarett’s fingers clench convulsively around mine. He’s stopped in the middle of the room.
“Gigi.” His voice is choked. Just that. He says nothing else. His lashes are wet when he looks down at me.
“Welcome back,” I tell him, leaning into his side. “See, the thing is… I’ve waited for you all my life, and now you’re here. Please stay?”
“You’re my girl,” he whispers, and pulls me closer for a kiss. “I love you more than I can ever fucking say, and I’m right where I wanna be.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jarett
I sit on Gigi’s bed, my hands hanging between my knees, and let out a long breath. It’s quiet in here, the only light the small lamp on her nightstand.
