Ten

by Tia Fielding

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  More from Tia Fielding

  Readers love Tia Fielding

  About the Author

  By Tia Fielding

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Ten

  By Tia Fielding

  A Love by Numbers Story

  Can two broken men build one life?

  Ten years.

  That’s what Makai lost for a crime he didn’t commit. He’s been exonerated, but the abuse he suffered in prison isn’t so easy to leave behind. He heads to the one place he remembers being happy: Acker, Wisconsin, where he spent summers with his grandpa. Unfortunately, not everyone wants Makai there.

  Ten days.

  That’s how long Emil, now twenty-one, was held prisoner as a teenager. The mental and physical injuries he suffered at the hands of a drug-trafficking ring still haunt him.

  Nightmares, anxiety, and PTSD challenge the connection forming between Makai and Emil, though together, they might find a way to move beyond their pain and into a future—and a relationship—that both had thought impossible.

  Now they just have to convince Emil’s father, the town sheriff. It won’t be easy with danger closer than they know….

  To my sister, A.

  Chapter One

  MAKAI DROVE north, trying to stay awake. He’d taken breaks on the way, but only two of them within the eight-hour drive. He needed to take a leak and get something to eat, but he also had his appointment up at the Sheriff’s Station in thirty minutes. He couldn’t remember many details from his childhood visits to the little town, just the grocery store and maybe a post office, and of course, his grandpa’s house.

  Makai’s old-school Nokia phone didn’t have a GPS, but the route was pretty simple, and he’d figured out how long it would take to get to his final destination, even with possible roadwork and other surprises. He also knew he’d just about make it to Acker, Wisconsin, in time. If he didn’t, the reason wouldn’t probably matter to the sheriff who hadn’t sounded keen on having Makai in his town to begin with during the one phone call he’d made to the man.

  It had been Makai’s contact at the Innocence Project who had told him he might want to check in with the sheriff and give the man the option to ask for regular meetings if he wanted to.

  Logically, Makai knew it was a good idea. He had been wrongfully convicted, now exonerated, but to some people, that didn’t matter. A convict was a convict. Makai was pretty sure Sheriff Newman was conservative in his beliefs and it would only help to be on the man’s good side, but it still sucked.

  He was supposed to be free now. Freedom itself had enough challenges for him. He didn’t need law enforcement to make it more difficult. They’d done that enough in Makai’s opinion.

  He glanced at the clock on the dash when a sign said he was arriving in Acker, population 394. He had five minutes to find the Sheriff’s Station. At least he’d looked that up, too, and knew to drive through until he saw a large red brick building. He turned left to get to the station’s parking lot and tried not to freak out.

  Makai shut the engine off and rubbed his eyes. Then he pulled the rubber band from his hair and redid his ponytail. When he glanced at himself in the rearview mirror, he wondered what this particular sheriff and his deputies would see when they looked at him.

  Whatever the reception in Acker, it would probably be better than being called a “fucking wetback scum.” That was one of the many slurs the detective who had been the lead investigator in his case a decade ago had spat at him on several occasions. He’d experienced racism before the detective, but nothing like the vitriol the man had had for a brown kid. It had been better in prison, but not by much. A lot of the white guards had been racist as hell. It wasn’t something Makai liked to think about and hoped to leave behind when he moved to Acker.

  He knew there were Native American people around these parts, so maybe it would be easier here. Then again, life wasn’t fair, so he wouldn’t expect that to change suddenly, just because he was out and relocated.

  Sighing, Makai grabbed his wallet and cell phone from the passenger’s seat and gave himself one more look through the mirror. He could do this. He could go in there, keep his cool no matter what, and make a good first impression.

  Makai got out of the truck he’d bought a few days ago, and locked it out of habit. Instinctively, he checked on the couple of boxes of old stuff. You learn to keep count of your belongings in prison. There wasn’t much in there—he’d gotten them from his mom’s place. Some books, a couple of pieces of clothing that he’d bought and those he’d walked out of prison in, some CDs and even about a dozen VHS tapes and few DVDs.

  When his mom had moved from his childhood home, he’d packed some of his stuff and given away the rest, along with what his brother had left there when he’d moved out. Maybe she’d thrown it all away, he didn’t know or care. There hadn’t been many things, and for one, none of his old clothing fit him anymore. He’d been a kid going in and a man coming out. His family, what was left of it… they weren’t close. Hadn’t been since his dad died when he was fifteen.

  Sighing, he forced himself to move away from the truck and the sad boxes. An old man who walked past looked at him as if he were insane. It was clearly not something people here bothered to do, or maybe it wasn’t expected in front of the Sheriff’s Station? Either way, the old guy scoffed loudly and toddled away. Makai wondered if the man had known his grandpa. Probably, the town was small enough. The echo of a dozen summer days spent here as a little kid was enough to pull him to this town. Now he just needed to get settled. Carve his place here. If the town, and the sheriff, was willing.

  Makai walked up the few steps and went inside the surprisingly large station. A front desk sat at the back of the waiting room. Beyond seemed to be a regular old bull pen with desks and whatnot. There were enclosed spaces on both sides in the back, one of which had glass windows like in every cop show he’d ever seen.

  “Hi,” he told the uniformed young woman in the front. “I’m Makai Stone, here to see the sheriff.” He kept his tone even, tried not to look too big or too brown or, hell, too anything.

  The clock on a pillar next to the desk made an audible click in the quiet, empty station. It was exactly the time he had the appointment.

  “Of course,” she said and gave him a small but friendly smile. “I’m Deputy Peters, welcome to town.” She looked behind her, and as if called, the door to the sheriff’s office opened. “You can go through,” she said and smiled at him again.

  “Thanks.” Makai went through the small gate and walked to the sheriff who had stopped by his open door.

  The sheriff was in his fifties, Makai guessed. He looked like a tough guy; he carried himself exactly like every other law enforcement or military person Makai had ever seen, but he didn’t seem too intimidating. Yet.

  “Hi,” he said again, when he got to the man. He surreptitiously wiped his hands on his jeans, not wanting them sweaty for the shake he knew was coming. He felt uneasy, nervous even, but not that badly.

  “Mr. Stone. I’m Sheriff Newman.” They shook hands, the sheriff’s grip firm and strong, but he wasn’t trying to squish Makai’s fingers.

  Makai nodded, then followed him into his office, swallowing hard and doing his best to radiate calmness for both of thei
r sakes.

  “Close the door, please.”

  He did, then took a seat in the visitor’s chair. Making himself relax wasn’t easy, but he somehow managed.

  “So, you’re moving into the old Berg cottage? On Maple Hill Road?” The sheriff flipped open a folder he had. A folder on Makai. Shit. Already? Part of him understood, but another part felt oddly betrayed by the world.

  “Uh, yeah. I bought it two weeks ago from the Berg family’s agent. I’m meeting him there once I’m done here.” The settlement money was fine and dandy, allowed him to start over and even give some of it to his mom—he refused to think whether she deserved it or not. She was family, blood, and his father had taught him better—but it didn’t erase the years spent inside and everything that came with it.

  “Right. I have reviewed your case, what I’ve been able to get my hands on, anyway, and I’ve decided to suggest that we have biweekly meetings to start with.” The man peered at Makai, his blue eyes almost cold.

  Makai tried not to take it too personally. It seemed, so far, like Sheriff Newman was sticking with what he’d said on the phone.

  “Sure, that works for me.”

  “You’ve been out for how long now?”

  Makai was pretty sure the man knew to the hour but indulged him anyway. “About five weeks.”

  “Are you going to work or…?”

  “I have some carpentry skills, but I don’t really have any solid plans.” Then, because he knew the logical jump from that from the law’s point of view, he added, “Right now, though, I can pretty much renovate the cottage and live off the compensation for a while if I’m frugal.”

  Sheriff Newman nodded slowly. “You were a student when you were convicted?”

  “I was twenty. I’d decided to work for an extra year or two before going to college, but yeah. I had no actual job skills, other than helping out at a local diner sometimes and stocking the shelves at a grocery store.”

  “I guess you learned the carpentry in prison, then?” The sheriff leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers across his stomach that was flatter than Makai would’ve expected for a fiftysomething small-town sheriff.

  “Yeah, it was the skill that seemed useful for me at the time. Then I just kept doing it, I guess.” Makai shrugged. “My father was Native Hawai’ian, so I tried to incorporate some of that into what I learned. Carvings and stuff, I mean.” Ten years was a long time to learn how to make chairs. You needed to spice it up a little.

  “Well, I won’t comment on what I think about your conviction and exoneration. That’s not my business.” The weight of his opinion hung between them anyway, and Makai could feel the disapproval radiating from the man. “All I expect from you is the biweekly meetings and to keep your nose clean.”

  “Of course. I don’t want back inside more than you want me here,” Makai blurted out, then almost swallowed his tongue when he realized what he’d just said.

  The sheriff’s eyes widened, but a spark of humor entered his expression, and he just shook his head without a comment on Makai’s blunder. “Why don’t you get the next appointment time from Deputy Peters, and we’ll see you in two weeks?”

  “Yes, sir.” Makai got up, shook the man’s hand, and escaped the office before he could do more harm.

  A male deputy around Makai’s age sat at one of the desks he had to pass. The guy gave him a polite nod yet still managed to look suspicious. Great.

  Makai went out of the gate and rounded the column to talk to Deputy Peters.

  “I was told to reserve an appointment for two weeks from now,” he said, even though he guessed that she already knew this.

  “Right, okay… let’s see,” she murmured and started to flip through an appointment book. “Every two weeks, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s a good guy,” she said quietly, and Makai blinked at her. She never took her gaze off the book in front of her, but she continued to speak. “I think you’re here to live in peace. You went through something horrible, and I want to apologize.”

  “Nothing you did,” Makai managed to say, feeling almost choked up. This wasn’t what he’d expected to hear.

  “No, but I’m part of the system that wronged you. He’s trying to keep the town safe, so he gets to be suspicious. Okay, how’s Thursday around one in the afternoon?” Now she looked at him, her expression almost gentle.

  “Yeah, can you make a note for me?” He pointed at the multicolored Post-its next to a mug with some pens in it.

  “Sure.” She was young, twenty-five, if that. She seemed like a good woman, and Makai could use some goodness from law enforcement. “Here.”

  He picked the pink note from her fingers and smiled tightly. “Thank you.”

  “Do you need any directions for anything?” she asked, smiling back at him.

  “Uh….” He gave it some thought and finally sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know. When I get to the cottage, I’ll know what the situation there is. Food is probably what I need the most right now, stuff to hold me over.”

  Deputy Peters smiled. “Yeah, I can understand that. Here….” She grabbed a blank sheet of paper from the printer by her desk and started to sketch him a makeshift map, pointing out key spots.

  “So, we’re here. You’ll be living about five miles outside of town. Not that there’s much town here in Acker,” she said, grinning. “But if you take this road here and drive about thirty minutes, you come to Mercer. Now that’s where all the good places are. You can get a bunch of stuff from there. It’s better than you’d think.”

  “Is Acker part of Mercer?”

  “No, we’re a bit weirdly off the side of it. The Sheriff’s Station is here because we take care of the surrounding small communities in the county. Mercer has their own thing with their immediate neighbors.”

  “Oh, okay.” It made sense. “So, go there for groceries?” He pointed at a shop she’d emphasized on having the best deals in Mercer.

  “Yeah, I’d suggest that. Here in town, the Millers’ has pretty much everything you might need between trips to Mercer. If you talk to Mrs. Miller, she’ll order you anything you might want to have in town regularly. I mean they have a pretty good selection, but people have preferences.” She smiled in a way that told him she’d used that particular service herself.

  “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

  “Yeah, just don’t go asking Mr. Miller. Ask the Mrs. instead. He’s a grouchy old man. She’s a peach.”

  Makai snorted. “Opposites attract or something?”

  “Pretty much, yeah,” she agreed and grinned.

  “So what’s the closest town I should go for stocking up on stuff? Like, say, the closest Target?”

  “That’d be in Minocqua. There’s plenty of things in there. It’s about an hour drive.”

  “Okay. Thanks for this.” He folded the makeshift map and put it in his wallet. “Really appreciate it.”

  “No worries. If you need anything, call the station or ask at the Millers’—they’re some of the oldest residents and would know stuff.”

  “Will do.” Makai nodded at her. “Thanks again.”

  “See you in two weeks!”

  He walked to his truck and looked at the map when he was securely inside the vehicle. Suddenly he felt a bit out of breath and grasped the steering wheel with shaking hands. He rested his head down and closed his eyes. The mild nausea came next, and he swallowed against it, trying to will the panic attack away. He should’ve known this would happen. The relief of being out of the meeting hit him worse than the anxiety of going into the station ever would. He didn’t know if it was normal, having the aftermath, the being safe again, shake him so much worse. Then again, his body and mind rarely did easy things, or things that made sense to most people.

  Once his heartbeat slowed down, he started the truck, drove back to the so-called main street—it wasn’t a main street as much as it was a two-lane road going through an area and people had put a dozen or
so buildings alongside. There were no actual side streets, at least not in a grid formation like you’d normally see.

  As he continued through the collection of random buildings, he saw a place called Tripod. Across the road from it stood the Millers’ grocery store and a post office. There seemed to be a garage and a clinic of some sort, which had both a human and a dog in the logo. Weird.

  He glanced at the dashboard clock again. He had enough time to stop by the Millers’ for some groceries. He checked his mirrors and swung the truck into the parking lot at the last moment. He hoped nobody from the Sheriff’s Station had seen that. At least he hadn’t done it across the other lane.

  When he got out of the truck, he looked across the road. Tripod seemed to be a restaurant slash bar, diner, and café combo. He supposed it made sense. Makai doubted that there would be a lot of need for each one separately, so as far as a tiny town business idea, it seemed solid to combine as much as you could.

  All in all, he couldn’t really remember this town. Maybe the buildings had changed in the last almost thirty years. He just knew his grandpa had had a small house outside of Acker when he was little. Makai had been here before, and it felt right to be here again.

  He went into the log building and found himself in a traditional mom-and-pop grocery store. It took him a moment to figure out how large the space actually was. Not massive, but still three times bigger than it looked outside. He guessed that whomever had built it had used all sorts of tricks to expand it toward the back of the lot.

  A teenager stocked the shelves when Makai rolled by with his shopping cart. The kid looked up at him and blinked.

  “Hi,” Makai said, deciding that he should probably make an effort to get to know the townspeople.

  “Uh… hello,” the boy said, then gave him a hesitant smile.

  “I’m new in town. Name’s Makai.” He smiled, feeling like he towered over the poor kid. He couldn’t have been more than five eight, and Makai was six foot six and the world never let him forget that.

  “I’m Johnny.”