by Cara Dee
"What's wrong?"
"You—" There was no other way; I kept running options in my head, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out who else would send Lincoln those chapters. "Remember I lost the chapters I printed out?" The seething grew when his eyes widened. My feet carried me down the path of their own volition, and I jabbed a finger at his chest. "Look me in the eye and swear you didn’t send them to Lincoln."
He couldn’t do that, could he? No. His expression shuttered, his jaw tensing. And it was fucking painful because I understood his position. Jesse saw us, nobody else. He was fiercely protective of his little brother—and me—and for some reason, he felt Lincoln owed me, which was bizarre. It was the other way around.
"Did you read them?" I gritted out.
"No," he said quickly. "Not a word, I promise. I just hoped…he'd feel bad and send us money."
That didn’t alleviate much of my anger. Despite good intentions and protective instincts, he went behind my back and lied to my face. At the thought of Lincoln reading what I'd written, I cringed and wanted to cry. Mortification washed over me like never before.
"I'm so mad at you right now," I whispered furiously. "Now, we're gonna sit down as a family and celebrate my birthday, but know this, Jesse: you're so fucking grounded, it's not even funny."
Chapter 15
Lincoln Hayes
2008
"Did you call Adeline?"
Yeah, which I was probably gonna regret. I nodded, keeping my gaze fixed on my fingers that drummed along the armrest of the chair. "She'll be here tomorrow." I'd checked the clock on the wall less than a minute ago, so I was trying to distract myself. Time. Everything was about time in the end. I couldn’t remember a day where time wasn’t moving either too fast or too slow.
Right now, I was getting both. A lot was going on, making me wish time would slow down so I could process. Meanwhile, with shit up in the air, the wait for my parole hearing was a drag that made me wanna throw up.
My case was officially with the Parole Board now, but I wouldn’t know the date of the hearing more than a few weeks in advance. This summer was gonna suck balls.
We'd decided that Pop wasn’t gonna visit for the hearing since he wouldn’t actually be allowed to attend. If I got paroled, he would be here to pick me up.
"Would you say you're still as jittery and antsy?" the counselor asked.
What was her name, again? Connie something.
"Yup."
It was an understatement, wasn’t it?
Counseling was voluntary, and Pop had guilt-tripped me into going for weekly sessions since I'd been a douchebag toward him. They weren't working. The woman harped on about tying up loose ends and letting go of the past. And in order for me to let go of the past, I had to confront it and get my questions answered. Naturally, she'd been quick to recommend I call Ade.
"Have you thought more about your father's suggestion?"
"Which one?" I responded dryly. "They're coming outta his ass every day."
She tilted her head and set down her pen, and I looked away again. I didn’t like her. In fact, I thought she was stupid to work in a place like this. Her face was expressionless and forgettable, her clothes didn’t fit well, and she was wasting our time—most of all, her own time. She could be outside these walls living a good life.
"He found you a place to live, didn’t he?" she asked.
My brows rose, only for me to frown and stare a bit harder at my fingers. "Yeah, some duplex in a shitty area." I could blame Ade for that one.
Was I forgotten in the music industry? If I was…all right. If I wasn’t, maybe I should find a condo, not a house with zero security.
"How does it feel that Adeline and your father are talking?" she wondered.
"I wouldn’t go that far." I scratched an eyebrow, glancing at the clock. Seventeen minutes to go. "They've talked twice, I think." It wasn’t like they were establishing a friendship. According to Pop, Ade had gotten the idiotic idea to help me. Her neighbor happened to have experience with new parolees, and she also happened to have the adjacent apartment in her duplex for rent since her kid moved out or something.
"It's temporary, son," Pop kept reminding me. "You'll be home in no time."
There we go again. We came back to time.
"You didn’t answer my question," Connie pointed out with a quirk of her lips.
I sighed impatiently and ran a hand through my hair. "I don’t know, am I supposed to feel anything about it?" I was frustrated, though I'd already made that clear several times. "I guess I should've read her letters. It's a bitch to live in limbo and not know what's gonna happen—or what I've missed. At the same time, I needed to shut everyone out when I got locked up." The only exception being my dad. "I can't live in both places—here and out there—and stay sane. Trust, I've tried."
We'd see tomorrow if contacting Ade was worth it. I'd get some answers, sure, but I would also see her. Without a bullshit front this time.
"It pisses me off to be the unreachable star of the show," I said. "What Pop and Ade are doing right now is about me, and I get to be the last person who knows anything."
I almost lashed out at Pop, again, the other day when we talked. It got to be too many "and according to Adeline," "she said," and "Adeline thinks…"
It was about something so simple as the original intent Ade had when she was gonna talk to her neighbor. She'd wanted some advice on how to make it easier for parolees to rejoin society, and then…fuck if I knew, somehow, they ended up discussing living arrangements. In turn, she called Pop, who called me. It was the circle jerk from hell, with my father and my ex.
"Then perhaps some concrete answers tomorrow will help." Connie seemed to believe that.
I wasn’t so sure.
Another peek at the clock told me I had eleven minutes left. I hesitated, wanting to ask something… In the end, fuck it, I went for it. "One of my biggest issues with Ade is that I can't make up my mind about what I feel toward her. In the span of a minute, I can go from loathing her, blaming her for all my fuck-ups, to missing her and being jealous. I'm losing my goddamn marbles."
She hummed. "It's interesting to me that you call them your fuck-ups even when saying you blame her."
"Yeah, that’s fascinating." I gave her a flat stare.
She tried to stifle a smile. "I think things will change once you have your answers, Lincoln. How about we book the next session tomorrow? We can discuss your visit with Adeline."
I rapped my fingers along her desk and stood up, thankful this hour was coming to an end. "You know, I think I can be held in suspense for a week."
*
When lights went out that night, I struggled to picture myself living on my own. Away from schedules and rigid routines, away from gun towers and COs. Would I sleep in? I'd always been a somewhat early riser. If anything, I could imagine getting up even early to catch a sunrise.
"Lincoln?" Kid whispered from his bunk.
"Yeah." I drew my pen along the tiny cracks in the ceiling.
"Are you starting to believe you're getting out?"
I swallowed, faltering with the pen. "Yeah."
Shit.
"Scary, huh?"
"Terrifying," I admitted quietly. If I was denied parole, I didn’t know what I'd do with myself. Pop's talk was getting to me, and my case becoming the Board's jurisdiction set everything in motion.
"I think you're getting out," he murmured. "I can feel it."
Stop talking.
Turning on to my side, I doodled some mindless pattern on the wall. There were no more words. I'd tried, which was kind of masochistic of me, but nothing came. There was nothing left to write about.
"Is that your biggest fear?" Kid wondered. "If the Parole Board says no?"
If it wasn’t, it sure ranked high up there.
"I don’t know." I closed my eyes and thought of everyone I used to have in my life…versus those who remained. It was my pop.
Ade toed the fr
inges, I guess. She was there as much as she wasn’t. And I kinda knew being denied wasn’t my greatest fear at all, 'cause I'd get out at some point, and then I'd know if the world had forgotten me or not.
If it had, it was my own damn fault.
"No." I changed my answer. "The biggest fear is not knowing if there's anything left for me out there." As time went by, so did people. I was a decade behind.
"I think you'll be surprised," Kid said quietly. "You have people who care for you."
I'd argue his use of plural for people, but now it was about him. His parents really had disowned him or whatever, and no one had visited him since the beginning of his bid.
"So do you," I told him. "Now get some sleep. You have some shitty breakfast to serve me in a few hours."
*
At the sight of the pasty oatmeal the next morning, my stomach decided I didn’t want breakfast, after all. I pocketed an apple and snuck past the guards, and then I spent the next couple hours dry heaving and pacing in my cell.
It was May now. May, June, July, August, September, October…
Heave.
Six months left, maybe.
What used to be trivial and taken for granted was becoming huge, life-altering decisions. I thought of the stupidest things, like my first meal, what brand of smokes I'd have Pop pick up on the way…
Then bam, back to thinking about Ade. I got legit jealous when I learned she might be married, and I couldn’t fucking stand it. It proved how little life I'd lived in the past ten years. Because…ten fucking years, man… I could be a blip on the radar for anyone. I had to get that into my skull. People had moved on. I would spend the rest of my life playing catch-up.
My stomach was a knotted mess by the time visiting hours started, and I made my way toward the visitation area like a zombie. All while there was a war raging inside my head.
"Arms out."
I widened my stance so the CO could check me for contraband, and I'd forgotten to leave my pen in the cell. He grunted in disapproval and tossed it in a bucket.
Dammit, I should've written down my questions and rehearsed them or whatever. With my luck, I'd see Ade and get tongue-tied. She used to have that effect on me, albeit under different circumstances. Her beauty had once struck me stupid.
"Next!" The CO waved me along, and I entered the visitation area with apprehension causing my chest to seize up.
There. I coughed and swallowed my nausea. Ade sat in the corner, where we'd sat last time, and she was looking around while fidgeting nervously with her hands.
Her hair's growing.
Another few inches and it'd reach her shoulders. I didn’t like it when it was short. It was supposed to be crazy long. Silky, dark, and soft. I couldn’t remember the feel of it, just that I knew I used to enjoy it.
It was almost a relief to find something physical about her I didn’t like, because fuck me over repeatedly, she was still stunning. My approach was reluctant, simply 'cause I had jack shit to hide behind this time. And when she spotted me, her sea-green eyes widening slightly, I wanted to run back to my cell.
"Hey." I did my best to keep a blank face and sat down across from her.
"Hi." Her cheeks colored, and I narrowed my eyes before composing my expression once more. Was she a blusher? I couldn’t recall at the minute. "Can I start by apologizing for the letters?"
I frowned. "Take your pick. Which ones?"
"From the book." Her eyes flicked, as if she was embarrassed. I did remember her saying she hadn't sent them, which begged the question: who had? "I can't tell you how mortified I am. You weren't supposed to read them."
"You asked me to," I said.
She wrung her hands, finding a thin silver bracelet interesting to stare at. A gift from someone?
I'd never given her jewelry.
"Initially, I thought I'd ask for your opinion," she conceded. "I printed out five chapters and decided to start with the first one. Then I changed my mind. I deleted it all."
"All right." I leaned back and folded my arms over my chest, hoping I came off as casual. "So who sent them?"
"Jesse."
"Morgan's kid," I stated, staring. Registering changes, cataloguing them. Comparing them to the fuzzy memory of her from last October. Ironically, my memory of her from ten years ago was clearer and much more vivid.
I reckoned her new curves appealed the most to me. She was a stacked little thing now. My eyes traced the soft-looking indentions of her collarbone. She wore a white top underneath a partly unbuttoned flannel shirt that was snug on her. Back in the day, that cleavage sure as fuck wasn’t there.
Hopefully, that meant she wasn’t doing any more drugs.
"Lincoln?"
"Huh?" I dragged my gaze back to her face.
She shifted in her seat and twisted the bracelet nervously. "I asked if you really didn’t read any of my earlier letters."
"No, I threw them out."
"Oh." She bobbed her head, hesitating. "Why?"
I smiled faintly. "'Cause I needed you outta my life, Ade." She'd never understand that. "Staying in touch with people fucked me up."
Not that many had tried. Sam and I exchanged a couple letters several years ago. He told me the band had split up after one failed attempt at finding a new guitar player. Tony had been in rehab then, too. Morgan had written me once after my sentencing, a quick note saying he was there if I wanted to talk. I wrote back, telling him to forget about me. He sent another letter that I threw out.
"Oh," she repeated. Her expression showed sadness. "I take care of Jesse and his brother now."
"Why?" That made no sense.
She swallowed, and for a second, her eyes looked glassy. "Because we lost Morgan six years ago. He's dead."
Something got lodged in my throat, and I felt myself go pale. "What?" I didn’t recognize my voice. What the fuck? How—why would he—what happened? He was fucking young!
Six years.
Ade sniffled and managed a wobbly little smile. It was the saddest thing. I could tell she wanted to cry. "Leukemia," she murmured thickly. "It happened pretty fast."
"Jesus Christ." I pushed back my chair a bit so I could lean forward, elbows on my knees, and a hand scrubbing roughly over my mouth and jaw. Emotions I barely knew existed threatened to choke me up, and I kept seeing his face. Such a fucking dork. Tall and lean, always wearing a shirt and tie, hair too messy, the kindest grin… I thought he was uptight and dull before Ade turned us into friends. Or almost friends.
I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t process it.
I should've known this. If I hadn't thrown out the letters, I would've known about Morgan.
I cleared my throat and blinked past the sting in my eyes. "How—" That didn’t work, so I tried again. "How did you end up with the boys?"
Ade blew out a breath and collected herself. "I can give you the short version for now…?" She paused until I nodded. "The year after the trial, I was basically trying to find ways to end my life." She looked anywhere but at me, and I pushed down the white-hot fury for the time being. "I was a coward, I'm sure you remember that. I couldn’t…kill myself. I needed—you know." Drugs. "I was in New York, kind of drifting…and I could've called my cousin in Baltimore…" She backtracked, having moved too fast. "I was arrested for possession."
I rolled my eyes at the irony. Morgan had once suggested we get her arrested in order to force her ass into mandatory rehab.
"I called Morgan instead," she went on. "I got off easy—rehab and probation—and then he brought me to Detroit. He took me in."
So that’s why she was here in Michigan. "Why did he leave LA?"
"Because his ex-wife bailed. Like, she dumped the boys at his doorstep and disappeared." She was upset by that, I could tell. "He had an aunt here who was willing to help."
It was a shitload to take in. I didn’t know what to say. Finding out Morgan was dead… I swallowed hard and looked down.
That pained me. Filled me with regret.
>
So Ade was alone with his sons. Or was she? Pop had mentioned some other guy.
"You got sole custody?" I asked, clearing my throat. I resented the part of me that itched to know if anything ever happened between her and Morgan. It was irrational of me to give a fuck, and despite that, I couldn’t help but do the math. He passed away six years ago…? That gave them three or four years to grow close enough for him to appoint her legal guardian.
Ade nodded. "I'm doing my best." She was visibly embarrassed, presumably 'cause of the money situation. "I have…I have help now. Madigan's living with us."
That was a surprise. I didn’t know they'd stayed in touch. Then again, everything was a goddamn surprise to me. At least I knew Madigan was gay, so I didn’t have to worry about anything there. Christ. I'd lost my mind. I was so far away that I was clinging possessively to anything tangible.
I didn’t even know why. The woman in front of me was a stranger. What we once shared was a chapter forgotten or torn out. She sure as fuck wasn’t tangible for me.
"I'm always looking for more work," she added.
"You don’t have to explain yourself to me." I was sure she did what she could. "What is it you do? I'm guessing you're not an author."
She flushed and averted her eyes. "I wish I could forget that whole thing." She bit her lip, hesitating. "It was that bad, huh?"
No. I shook my head. I hadn't really thought of it before, but no, she wasn’t bad. I'd been there, so maybe it made it easier for me to picture everything she wrote, though I doubted that. The details were vivid.
"Just saying authors tend to publish what they write," I pointed out.
"Oh. Right." Something flustered her. "Anyway, no. Definitely not an author. I'm a receptionist at a private clinic, and I work nights and weekends at a hotel downtown."
What a fucking waste. The girl I knew was destined to do more, regardless of how much she thought her life was over. To be honest, I was disappointed. Maybe her beauty knocked the air out of my lungs, but I wasn’t sure I dug this new Adeline. She was fidgety, nervous, and insecure.
"Can we discuss your parole?" she asked cautiously.
