by Cara Dee
"Don't be so upset," I chuckled. "I'm kinda smart."
"I was on the chess team in high school!"
"Oh." I cracked up as he huffed and shoved the pieces back into the box and returned the game. "What else did you do in high school that I can beat you in?"
He slumped again and yanked his beanie down to cover his eyes, arms folded, jaw set. "For your information, I'm awesome at computers."
He could keep that one. I had a Compaq at one point, and if I wasn’t writing songs on it, I was trying to beat my old score at Pinball. To be honest, I preferred writing by hand.
"So you were a nerd in school," I stated, admittedly curious about him. Like, where the fuck did he go wrong? "Rich kid, chess player, computer geek… Now you're in prison."
He slanted a crooked grin and pushed up his beanie again. He really didn’t look like a typical nerd. Not even before he began building some muscles. Sure, he was pale and scrawny, but he was a good-looking kid with an edge.
"I was bullied." His smile faded, though he remained casual about it. The wounds must've healed. I didn’t know.
"Figures." I remembered he'd mentioned ending up in the wrong crowd, which implied whatever crowd he'd been in before hadn't worked out. "Why were you bullied?"
Despite his smirk, the heat that rose on his cheeks told me he wasn’t too comfortable. "I used to have a horrible stutter. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I knocked out two front teeth once and walked around for weeks with a lisp."
"Aw," I laughed quietly. "Basically, you were asking for it."
"I know, right?" He smiled. Next, he shook his head and sighed. "That crap followed me for years, even after I stopped talking like a freak."
I lifted a shoulder. "Kids are nasty. I wasn’t very popular, either."
"Really?" That surprised him. "Was it 'cause you couldn’t write or read?"
I shot him a look, wondering if he was fucking dumb. "You gotta let that shit go, punk. Words trip me up—I mix 'em together and have trouble spelling. I'm not illiterate."
"Fine," he groaned. "Tell me what it was, then."
It wasn’t a very grand story. Pop busted his ass and got me into a private school because they had a better music program. I was an average schmuck roaming the halls with kids who came from money. Pretentious little dicks.
"I can tell you in the yard while we lift some weights." I stood up and jerked my chin at the door. "Let's go."
*
"Damn good to see ya, son."
"You too, Pop." I hugged him back hard, noticing he was in a better mood than usual. I'd really missed him lately.
After talking to Kid about childhoods and backgrounds, I'd asked my father to make his spring visit early.
I clapped him on the back and then eased away to figure out the grin on his old mug. "Did you win the lottery?" It was the beginning of February, so who knew. "Maybe got a hot valentine waiting at home?"
He chuckled and sat down across from me, all flannel and jeans and unkempt facial hair. "I reckon we have a reason to celebrate, don’t you? Next time I'll come here, it'll be at your parole hearing. Have you heard from the Board yet?"
Like that, my smile was wiped off my face. He was one of those who thought the release was granted once I'd done my minimum of ten years. In many cases, it was—if you had no misconducts. I had a few. You could get them if a CO was in a shitty mood, if you were late to work, if you raised your fucking voice, and whatever else they dug up. Additionally, I had a judge who hated my guts 'cause I used to be famous. When the prosecution wanted to nail me with first-degree murder, I swore that old hag creamed her panties.
Funny how I'd hated my fans for lifting me to the skies for no reason at all. Then there was the other end of the spectrum, where people couldn't stand me based on my fame.
I hated that my pop brought this up now.
He was oblivious to my inner turmoil as he retrieved a rolled-up stack of documents from the inside of his jacket pocket. "I did some digging… I'll never understand most of the crap on the web. No concrete answers anywhere." He huffed and gave me a can-you-believe-it look. "It looks like every damn prison has their own rules. Thank Christ your lawyer helped me." Holy shit, my head spun, and he hadn't been here two minutes yet. "We're gonna want to present a good case to the Examiner—if the review ain't enough. I mean, there's a good chance you'll just get released on parole after the review. I spoke to your lawyer, and he thinks that if you're willing to stay in Michigan the first hundred and eighty days, it might help. Then we can apply for whatever permission is needed so you can come home." He paused and went through the papers, legal forms… There was an application for something. I wanted to throw up. "We're gonna find you employment, too. That apparently increases your chances."
"Pop—" I shook my head, finding my voice.
He went on as if I hadn't uttered a sound. "So, about the Board, have you heard from them yet? I was told you'd get notified about eight months before your earliest release date. That’s any day now."
"Holy shit," I blurted out in a panted breath. My heart started hammering, and I wiped my hands on my thighs. They got clammy and cold. My forehead felt damp. Eight months. Eight months. It hit me with a force I couldn’t even describe. How was this even possible? Was it possible? Was there a chance I'd get out in less than a goddamn year?
I was gonna be sick.
I'd known my date for parole eligibility since the day I was sentenced to prison. I knew it. I thought of it often enough when I couldn’t stop myself. It was always there, yet…it hit me now.
Unless. I swallowed my nausea and reached across the table to stop Pop's hands from fucking with the papers. "Gimme a minute." I blew out another breath and dropped my chin to my chest. Deep fucking breaths.
There was the risk I'd be denied. It happened all the time.
"For the sake of my mind," I said quietly, "please don't treat this like it's a granted release."
"Lincoln—son." He squeezed my hands, his voice softening. "There's no reason for the Board to deny you parole. You've served your minimum, and you got sent here on good behavior. With no priors and barely any records of substance abuse—"
"But they wanted to pin me with first-degree murder," I argued. Which…probably would've been fair, in truth. "The Board will see everything, and they can act like a fucking jury and decide I haven't been here long enough. I'm putting my foot down. I'll do anything necessary for me to get released, but right now, can we change the subject before I lose my motherfucking mind?"
He opened his mouth, then closed it shut and nodded firmly. "Of course. I reckon it's overwhelming."
Understatement of the decade I'd spent here.
"So. Topic change." He sat back, and I did the same. "I have some time later before my flight. Want me to check in on Adeline?"
Not the topic I preferred, though I guessed anything was better than the one about my parole. "Why would you check in on her?" I asked tiredly.
"She stopped cashing the checks." He rubbed his jaw, then lifted a shoulder. "Maybe the kid's doing better."
Hold up, what? "What kid?" Did Ade have a child?
"Her son," Pop clarified. "The youngest's been sick, I guess. I didn’t really ask for details. I saw the state of her home and the medical bills, and she showed me some pamphlet for a medication she couldn’t afford."
The youngest. What in the actual fuck was going on? "She's got more than one," I stated. I scowled, wondering how much I'd missed by throwing out her earlier letters. How quickly did she move on? I couldn’t blame her, but that didn’t stop bitterness and jealousy from rearing their ugly heads.
"Yeah, two boys." He nodded. "The kids weren't there—or her husband—I just saw a photo."
"Oh, this is awesome," I chuckled darkly. Well done for Ade. She got herself a nice little family. Perfect. Fucking marvelous. I was thrilled for her, though one might wonder why the hell she needed my money. Couldn’t hubby take care of her? Useless piece of shit.
&nb
sp; Pop gave me a pointed look, seeing through me. "You made your choices, son. Don't get cute."
I glared and gnashed my teeth together, knee bouncing under the table. Getting chastised at almost forty wasn’t the sweetest feeling.
"Get your head outta your ass and think about her for a minute, Lincoln." He didn’t have a single clue how many minutes I thought of her. "You know what? I'll drive over to see her later. I wanna know how she's doing."
That’s what I got for introducing them that summer. He came to one of our shows in the South, and I didn’t think it was a big deal. It was just one weekend, yet by the end of the visit, Pop wanted to adopt the girl. She always knew how to charm people, didn’t she?
They saw each other at the trial, too. I kept out of it. Too embarrassed and chock-full of rage and grief. As if being sentenced to prison didn’t alienate me enough, I had to ignore everyone who gave a damn.
* * *
1998
I lifted my head, groggy as fuck, and rubbed at my eyes.
Where are we?
Another hotel suite. Memories came back, and I remembered. Nashville.
My head hit the pillow again, and I gravitated toward Ade.
The sun shone through the bay windows, creating a dusty light beam that hit her exposed shoulder. I kissed her soft skin and shifted her hair aside. After another wild night, her long tresses were all over the fucking place, and it took a beat to find her gorgeous face.
Checking the time, I saw I had to split soon. My pop was in the area, so we were meeting up for lunch. I dug seeing him since it happened too rarely, yet Ade was making it difficult for me to even leave the bed.
What the fuck was she doing to me? The first twenty minutes after waking up that I got to spend with her under the covers were slowly becoming the highlight of my day.
I shook my head to myself and then forced myself to go to the bathroom. I took a piss and brushed my teeth, then showered while hoping she was awake by the time I reemerged.
She wasn’t.
"Ade." I toweled off my junk and eyed her sleeping form. "Hey, sweetheart?"
I winced. I wasn’t a sweetheart type.
Dropping the towel on the floor, I returned to bed and jostled her enough to stir.
"Mmmph…?" She cracked one eye open.
"I didn’t mean to wake you." I leaned over her, brushing my lips to hers, and I smiled when she did. "Morning."
"Hi," she whispered. "I like waking up with your hands on me."
"That’s good." Seeing as I was unable to quit touching her. "Hungover?"
She shook her head and bit her lip, and I ghosted a couple fingers over her pussy. A soft sigh escaped her, though it was followed by a slight grimace.
"I think I've got cramps."
I smirked and crawled on top of her, coaxing her into a deep kiss. "You know what that means?" I caught her bottom lip between my teeth and slid one digit along the slit of her pussy. "We can repeat our New Orleans fuck."
With the exception that others weren't fucking allowed to join. It'd been a weird night, and as hot as it had been, it'd blindsided me with jealousy. A one-time thing. I guess I hadn't really considered it before, but I knew now I couldn’t share her, and I had no interest in fucking others, either.
What this meant for the future, I had no idea.
Capturing her mouth with mine again, I pressed my cock against her. "I wanna come inside you." 'Cause, hell, I'd been missing out in all my years of being sexually active and having only protected sex. I'd lost my head in New Orleans, not thinking clearly when I filled her like that. I blamed her. She was too delicious.
Ade smiled shakily, turned on and conflicted. "It's not safe."
"Of course it is." I grabbed my dick and teased her opening. "I can't knock you up if you're on the rag. I read that somewhere."
"Really?" She scrunched her nose. "Are you sure?"
Well…kinda. The risk wasn’t very big, anyway. "I'm sure." I pushed inside in one smooth thrust and groaned under my breath. "Fucking hell, baby."
She whimpered and clutched at my arms. There was something shifting between us, and it was uncomfortable and exhilarating at once. Ade's eyes flashed with vulnerability, which she must've known 'cause she tried to hide.
"Don’t look away from me." I wrapped my fingers loosely around her throat and drove into her hard enough to elicit a gasp from her. "You're so beautiful." I covered her mouth with mine and swept my tongue over hers. "You wanna come with me today?"
She moaned, struggling to keep her eyes open. "What, to meet your dad?"
I nodded.
Fuck me if she didn’t get shy.
I grinned, finding her too cute. "That better be a yes."
She was about to answer when I rolled us over so she could ride me. A drawn-out moan left her, and she grabbed my shoulders and rolled her hips over my stiff cock.
"What if…oh, shit." She shuddered violently as I sucked one of her nipples into my mouth. "What if he doesn’t like me?"
Then I'd need his perspective, 'cause I was fucking losing it over this girl.
Chapter 12
Adeline Ivey
1998
After splashing water on my face, I gripped the sink tightly. That initial rush never failed to make me lose my footing.
"Whew." I shook my head quickly and grinned at my reflection. Pushing back my hair, I checked my nose and made sure there was no residue. It was kind of a silent agreement that the hard-core partying didn’t start until later, like when the band went on stage or at the after party.
Sometimes I needed a little pick-me-up before then, and these days I always had something on me.
Feeling much better, I tugged down my denim skirt a bit and adjusted my top. Then I fixed my makeup before leaving the bathroom. Bluesy rock played in the steakhouse, and I found Lincoln and his dad scanning their menus at a table near the jukebox in the back.
I'd learned pretty quickly that the band avoided tables that were anywhere near windows, and the standard outfits that gave them at least a semblance of anonymity included hoodies and shades.
Lincoln had lost the hoodie and shades for now, and he gave me a smirk as I rejoined them. Arm draped across the back of my chair, he kept me close and told me he'd ordered a soda for me.
"Thank you." I smiled. "So what did I miss?"
Now that I'd been to the bathroom, it was easier to look Mr. Hayes in the eye. Meeting adults, for lack of a better word, was otherwise hard for me. Father types squicked me out, and I wanted to give Lincoln's dad the benefit of the doubt. I'd heard the mother bailed, like, ages ago, so that must've been rough.
Plus, Mr. Hayes had a funny mustache. He didn’t look evil at all.
"Not much." Lincoln handed me a menu, seemingly amused by something. "Pop gave me a stern lecture on how to treat young ladies and how to—for the sake of his sanity—keep out of the tabloids."
I couldn’t help but smile, but a furious blush crept up, too. "Are we…?"
He inclined his head and chuckled, then jerked his chin at his dad. "Where did you put it?"
Mr. Hayes sighed heavily and stuck his hand into a paper bag on the chair next to him. God, please, don't let it be anything risqué. The truth, which absolutely terrified me, was that I was beginning to really like Lincoln. Whatever we had now would end sooner or later, and until then, I wanted everything to be perfect. He clearly looked up to his dad a lot, so I wanted him to like me, too.
"This ain't appropriate, kid," Mr. Hayes told him and put the magazine on the table. "Adeline deserves better treatment, and dammit, half the town is talking about you."
Lincoln snorted. "Adeline wasn’t exactly complaining."
I covered my mouth at the sight of Lincoln and me together on the cover. On the cover! Thankfully, it was very dark and pretty grainy. Someone must've taken it in New Orleans at that club. Lincoln and I were dancing, and he had his hands all over my butt, and my head was tipped back while he kissed my neck.
Th
e headline was cheesy. Lincoln Hayes Falls for Groupie.
Jeez.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hayes," I said, shifting in my seat. "I'm sorry you had to see that—"
"It's Keith, hon, and it ain't your fault." He shot his son a pointed look. "You know better, son."
"Jesus Christ." Lincoln rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat. "Why are you even buying that shit?"
"I was buying gum," Mr. Hayes defended. "I walk into a service station, mindin' my own business, and there's my boy on the cover of a gossip magazine with his—"
"I get it, I get it. Hell." Lincoln huffed and concentrated too much on the menu. "Where're the goddamn sliders?"
I stifled a giggle, suddenly tickled by their exchange. Were they father and son or brothers?
Our drinks arrived, along with a plate of sliders and wings, and once we'd ordered our entrees, Mr. Hayes asked the inevitable question that still shook me to my core.
"So, tell me about yourself, Adeline?" He offered a curious grin and bit into a slider. "Lincoln's never introduced me to any girls before."
I mustered a forced smile, and not even that last heartwarming tidbit could make me feel better. What would I have done if I hadn't taken anything in the bathroom? My stomach tightened, and I rubbed my hands anxiously along my thighs.
"I'm afraid there's not much to tell," I managed to say, causing Lincoln to smirk wryly. Yes, yes, I knew he'd heard that before. Shut it. "I'm from LA. After high school, I was kind of exhausted, so I wanted to travel a bit before college." Parents always wanted to hear plans about education. It was a safe card to play. "I met Lincoln at a party, and I suppose I had a brazen moment when I asked him if I could come with him."
Was that—I mean, did that sound plausible? I grabbed a wing, not hungry at all, but I needed a distraction. I nibbled on it.
"You just graduated from high school, huh?" Mr. Hayes sent Lincoln a brief look, this one no doubt related to my age. "All right. And I take it your parents are okay with this?"
I wouldn’t call them parents.
"Yes." I gulped down some soda and side-eyed the path toward the bathrooms. Should I take some more…? My skin itched.
