Path of Destruction

by Cara Dee

  He tilted his head, leaning back with his fingers linked across his stomach. "You're a mom." His mouth twitched.

  I rolled my eyes, amused. "Another weird thing to add to the list?"

  He chuckled quietly. "At the top of it."

  I wasn’t even going to pretend to be offended. The person I was ten years ago, the person he used to know, was nothing like…whoever the hell I was today. He had every right to find it weird picturing me as a mother.

  I was pulling out the pot roast from the oven when Abel ran down the stairs. Rather than making a beeline for the TV in the living room, he joined us in the kitchen, and he came to an abrupt stop at the sight of Lincoln.

  "Who are you?" Abel asked.

  "Is that how we greet people?" I frowned.

  "Jesus fucking Christ, you look like your old man." Lincoln cleared his throat, noticing my cocked brow. Did no one know how to greet someone? Without cursing in front a twelve-year-old? "Uh, I'm Lincoln."

  Abel moved closer to me. "You knew my dad?"

  Lincoln inclined his head. "I'm guessing you're Abel."

  "Yeah." Abel was done with the conversation and turned to me. "Can I have a snack?"

  "What did I tell you, hon?" I smoothed down his hair, which he didn’t like. He promptly messed it up again. "Dinner will be here soon, so you can go take your meds."

  "Fine." He grumbled under his breath and left the kitchen.

  Lincoln watched him leave, then swung his gaze my way. "Seriously. The kid is a Morgan clone."

  I smirked and pulled out a paper bag for all the food, except the pot roast. He'd have to carry that separately. "Wait 'til you meet Jesse."

  "He's older, right? Seventeen, eighteen?"

  "Twenty." I packed the containers and the biscuits for him. "Abel turns thirteen in a couple months."

  "Damn." He stood up and rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks for this, by the way. And the shit you did next door." His smile was stiff, which confused me. "Pop's been bragging about you."

  "It's nothing. Um." I waved it off, ignoring the heat that rose in my face. "Want me to help you carry this over?"

  "Nah." He put on his jacket and accepted the heavy pot from me. "Smells good."

  Following to the hallway, I waited 'til he'd put on his boots. "This goes in the microwave." I extended the bag.

  "All right, thanks." He took it and opened the door.

  "Hey, Lincoln?" There was something I had to get off my chest.

  He paused in the doorway.

  "Can we—" Shit. Why was I so nervous? "Whatever happens, can we be brutally honest with each other? If I do anything wrong, please tell me. If you're having a rough day and see me as the enemy, let me know."

  He frowned, then nodded slowly. "I expect the same honesty from you."

  Damn. I wasn’t sure that was good. "Okay."

  Chapter 24

  Lincoln Hayes

  "Fuck." I threw off the blanket and hurried to the bathroom. Ten years of prison food had left its mark, and Ade must've cooked everything from fucking scratch. I'd inhaled three servings of meat so tender it melted in my mouth, vegetables soaked in beef juices and herbs, and buttery mashed potatoes with garlic. Then two or three biscuits, and now I was in agony. "Christ." I groaned, clutching my stomach.

  At least it distracted me from processing everything that'd happened today.

  The bed upstairs was too soft, there were no cracks in the ceiling, no structure, nothing familiar, no COs telling me where to go, no sounds of locks whirring. It was too quiet here, and when the wind whipped hard enough, the façade of the house creaked. I couldn’t predict shit.

  It wasn't Kid's snores I heard. It was Pop's. I'd told him to take my bedroom. I stayed on the couch where I could have the TV on.

  Then that fucking girl…

  Ade was everywhere.

  Pop had been staying here since Thanksgiving and talked a lot about Ade and her family. Add the fact that she'd prepared the house for me and that she was right next door, it was goddamn impossible to ignore her.

  Being in denial was even harder.

  *

  My first meeting with my parole officer was uneventful. Billy had been around the block and had no patience for bullshit. I was given a miles-long list of violations that could land my ass back in prison, a lecture on being on time for all my appointments, pamphlets, a schedule for therapy and anger management, and a scripted welcome back to society. There would be drug testing every week after my meetings with him, and basically, it was made clear that my ass still belonged to the state of Michigan.

  "Any questions?"

  I shook my head, holding back the sarcasm.

  Next time you come at me, at least bring lube.

  Lovin' the sweet talk, dick.

  "Nope," I said instead.

  "Then we're done. You have my number."

  I withheld my smirk and left his office. Pop was waiting outside, and at the sight of the stack of papers I dumped in the back seat, he asked if I'd received homework. Funny, funny.

  He'd already been interviewed by Billy, so Pop probably knew what I thought of the meeting.

  "Lunch before the bank?" he suggested.

  "Sure." I'd learned my lesson. No gorging. My stomach was still upset from yesterday. Crossing my t's and dotting my i's, I fastened the seat belt and gave all sorts of fucks about shit I normally wouldn’t. No jaywalking, no riding in the car without a seat belt. "I'm gonna have to order car service when you go home."

  "I think you'll live, son." He backed out of the parking lot, and we were off to the next place. Lunch, bank, dreadful shopping. "God forbid you take the bus like some normal schmuck."

  I flipped him off.

  *

  At the end of the day, I was strung tight and in serious need of a physical outlet. My head was killing me, and my stomach wouldn’t quit giving me grief. I'd been fucking careful with what I ate. No excessive amount of grease or big portions.

  Pop said it was the fiber.

  Padding to the kitchen, I grabbed a bottle of water and found him and Martha at the table having coffee.

  "So you come and go as you want, huh?" I asked her.

  She eyed me over her glasses.

  "Manners, for chrissakes," Pop chided. "She stopped by with brownies."

  "I'd check the ingredients if I were you." I wasn’t born yesterday. The old bird must've stayed clean in order to get the stamp of approval from the Parole Board, because I was pretty sure she was a stoner, otherwise. Weed wasn’t odorless.

  Martha let out a laugh. "Boy, like I'd give you my pot. For the first time in two years, I have a steady income thanks to you."

  I smirked and turned to Pop, 'cause it looked like he was going somewhere. "You got plans?"

  He inclined his head and smoothed two fingers over his mustache. "Abel's got hockey practice, and Madigan invited me along. One of the moms brings cinnamon rolls on Tuesdays."

  Jesus. Was he becoming part of their family or something? "Uh, all right."

  "It'd be good for you to get to know them, son," he told me. "Why don’t you come with us?"

  Maybe another time. "I wanna run." Facing Martha, I asked, "Is there a gym around here?"

  "Might be the only question I can't answer." She grinned, her dark skin crinkling at the corners of her eyes. "Can't you see my cane?"

  Yeah… It was full of stickers that sparkled in pinks and purples. "I think they can see it from the moon. Anyway—" I capped the water and returned it to the fridge "—I'm out. Have fun at the hockey thing."

  *

  I found structure in running. Even as I got lost and darkness fell, my mind was at ease, and I filled my head with the rapid rhythm of my breaths and my sneakers hitting the ground.

  Other than the occasional government-funded exercise program at the prison, there'd been no running allowed. Now my hoodie and sweats were getting soaked in snow and perspiration, and it was fucking liberating.

  Fuck buying a Walkman—or
whatever futuristic gadget they had going on now. I listened to the crunch against the pavement instead. My thighs burned—Hold up. I narrowed my eyes, sure I recognized that house. And so I wasn’t lost anymore. I took a turn at the next intersection and reached a familiar-looking street.

  No one was outside. It may have been a poor neighborhood, but I couldn’t call it unsafe or ghetto-like. Not enough people around for that. If it weren't for some windows being lit here and there, I'd call it a ghost town.

  Every other house stood abandoned in this part. Brick homes, ranch houses, duplexes—everyone was affected by the recession. Reaching my street, I passed an old man walking his dog; there was no other sign of life.

  I didn’t wanna stop, but I had a curfew and was unsure of just how late it was. I groaned at the ache in my body as I slowed down, and I ended up bent over while trying to catch my breath. Goddamn. Running was my new addiction.

  "Lincoln?"

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. No, not even Ade's presence could fuck with my mood. Hands on my thighs, chest heaving, I tilted my head toward her house and saw her standing in the doorway.

  "What's up?"

  "Nothing. You looked like you were dying, so…" She shrugged and disappeared inside again, though she didn’t close the door. She was on her way to…someplace. Rocking a tight-ass skirt, snug button-down, and high heels, one might wonder if she had a date.

  That messed with my mood a bit, but it was manageable.

  Was she even single?

  She stood in her illuminated hallway and put on what looked like earrings. Then she grabbed her coat, her bag, and walked outside to lock the door.

  "You're not at hockey practice, I take it?" I straightened and rested my forearms on the fence.

  She smiled, her hair all shiny and wavy. "I wish. I'm off to work."

  She's not going on a date.

  "I thought you worked at some clinic." It hadn't escaped my attention yesterday when she told her boy to take his meds, either. There was a lot to learn.

  "I do, during the day." She opened the gate, and I assumed the rusty truck parked outside their house was hers. "The two doctors running the clinic are making some changes, though. No work for two days, so I'm picking up extra shifts at the hotel."

  Right. I remembered she'd mentioned a hotel, too.

  "Any plans for the evening?" she asked.

  "Yeah. Big plans." I peered over at my place, then back to her. "I'm gonna learn how to use my cell phone. I might even venture out on to the internet. We bought a laptop today."

  "Ooh." She laughed. "You're gonna love the internet. All porn."

  "Seriously?" If that was the case, I might become a fan. I was a red-blooded male, and sex was never far from my mind. But the thought of spending time with strangers made my balls shrivel. I had no interest.

  Ade snickered and unlocked her truck. "Seriously. Knock yourself out."

  "I might." I lifted a brow, catching the fact that she blushed. You don't wanna go there, man. I cleared my throat. "Have fun at work."

  *

  Other than enjoying seeing naked women again, porn hadn't changed in the last decade. It was forced and fake, though it got the job done. I wasn’t starting work until January, so the nights that sleep evaded me, I watched TV or jerked off. Then I napped during the day unless I was running errands or attending therapy.

  I ran every day, too.

  I spoke to Kid, who was relieved that his new cellmate was a scrawny first-time offender his age.

  On Friday, I saw Madigan, too. He'd changed a lot. He had ink all over and worked as a tattoo artist these days, and he filled me in a bit on the other guys from the band. No surprise that Mikey and Tony were regulars in rehab. No surprise that Sam had managed to get away from Destruction unharmed, either. He was the ambitious one.

  It was talk of the band that made me think more about music.

  "You gonna get back to it?" Madigan had asked.

  I couldn’t picture it. I missed playing, though, so one night I picked up the guitar Pop had bought me, and I brought it downstairs.

  I had a whole collection of guitars and other equipment waiting for me in a storage unit back home. Pop had taken care of it after I got arrested. I reckoned it would be weird as fuck to see it again.

  "About damn time, son," he said. "I've missed hearing you play."

  Why was it different on the outside? I'd played a bit in prison, yet now I was cautious to even touch the instrument. Leaning it against a wall, I ignored it for now and muttered, "I'm not sure I'm ready," then went out back to have a smoke on the terrace.

  I dug this spot. Ironically, it was fenced and didn’t have any view whatsoever, but it was secluded. Two ripped-out car seats stood against the house wall, and a roof prevented snow and the worst of the winds from reaching me. If I bought a couple heaters, I could sit here even in December.

  Being outside whenever I wanted was a real fucking privilege.

  My head whipped to the right at the sound of some rustling. Dead bushes and shrubs kept me from seeing through the fence to Ade's backyard. Male voice. The silhouette of a head. I would've recognized Madigan's voice. So it had to be Jesse, right? We hadn't been introduced yet, though I'd seen him coming and going a couple times. Another Morgan clone.

  "I know, I miss you, too." He was on the phone, I guessed. "I can guarantee I won't be allowed to go."

  I took a drag. No wonder he wasn’t taking the call inside the house.

  "Yeah, but as long as I live at home, I don’t have much of a choice," he told his friend—or girlfriend, maybe. "Look, if she's working, I'll try to sneak out."

  I couldn’t help the full-blown grin. Christmas was only four days away. Perhaps he shouldn’t get his ass into trouble right before the holidays.

  "Right, we'll see tomorrow," he said. "I gotta head in." He ended the call a few seconds later, and I expected him to go inside. Instead, he called someone else. "Hey, it's me. Are you coming home soon? Ma's down in the dumps again."

  If I wasn’t already paying attention, that would've done the trick. I reckoned it was Madigan he was on the phone with, and not much was said. Jesse got his answer, after which they hung up.

  Was there something wrong?

  I frowned and finished my smoke, having been outside long enough that the shivers from the cold were constant. Pop's comment about it being good for me to get to know Ade and her family returned to me; I just didn’t know how to find a balance. With everything going on in my life, I didn’t need drama or complications.

  Pussy. You're hiding.

  I made a face and flicked away the cigarette, then headed back inside.

  Pop was watching a game.

  "I wanna buy heaters," I told him. "The stores are still open, and we could pick up pizza on the way back."

  *

  I'd be the first one to admit Ade could cook like a fucking goddess. Her meals had kept me fed and spoiled for days now, but pizza… Sweet mother of greasy glory, I'd missed it.

  "You know what's missing?" I spoke with my mouth full as I closed the door to the terrace. We'd left two newly purchased heaters out there to be installed.

  "Beer," Pop replied and sat down on the couch.

  I nodded, going with the chair. Having no interest in the game he put on, I focused on eating and getting into this texting thing. It wasn’t a new invention. I'd sent text messages before I was incarcerated, but back then, it was more of a last-resort deal. If I couldn’t get ahold of someone, I sent a message. Now it was a goddamn lifestyle.

  "Madigan told me earlier to go Google myself," I said. "Should I be offended?"

  Pop snorted and snatched up another slice. "No. It means you type your name into the search engine on your laptop."

  Ah, made sense. I had the Google page, and Madigan and I had been texting about the industry. Evidently, there was a "low buzz" about my release, though nothing to worry about. After that, he'd told me to…Google myself.

  Had everything chang
ed? It was irritating, and frankly, embarrassing.

  I had to ask, though. Whenever a term or whatever confused me, I had to ask someone what it meant. If I didn’t, I knew very well I'd get pissed. I'd alienate myself further, be angrier, and not make any progress.

  See? Personal motherfucking growth.

  "I'm gonna plug in the heaters." I crammed half a slice of pepperoni pizza into my mouth and stood up. I couldn’t sit still for long, it seemed. Did Ade need help with anything? And that was why I couldn’t sit still. She was on my mind, and she was the fucking reason I'd bought the heaters today instead of tomorrow. Pop, always meaning well, would make it a big deal if I told her to come over. More seclusion—that’s what I wanted. I could send her a message, and we could have a smoke outside. Without freezing our asses off, without Pop knowing.

  It was getting late, too. I gave it twenty minutes before Pop fell asleep on the couch. It was becoming a ritual. He'd fall asleep, I'd wake him up, he'd trudge upstairs, I'd take the couch.

  I needed a new mattress up there, one that was firmer.

  *

  Half an hour later, the two heaters glowed red where they stood on each side of the ratty car seats. I'd also seen too much of Martha when I'd knocked on her door to ask where I could find an outlet. Answer: the garage. Unsolicited advice I wanted to give Martha whose nightgown was…disturbing: show less cleavage when you pass seventy-five.

  I wiped my nose, frigid as fuck. I'd forgotten something. While holding my hands up near one of the heaters, I eyed the rotting floorboards, and there it was. The box of Christmas lights Pop had thrown in the cart.

  After yanking them out of the box, I dumped the bundle in a bucket and plugged it in. Good enough. Now there was light, too.

  Time to find my balls and text Ade.

  I kept it brief.

  You busy?

  While I waited for her reply, I headed inside to find some blankets to cover the car seats that probably weren't too dry. Maybe some plastic bags or newspapers, too…

  "Pop," I said as my phone buzzed. He was about to fall asleep. "You might as well head up."