“Do you think Sasha’s going to let me see her?”
“I really don’t know. Emerson asked me the exact same thing.”
“Emerson? The solicitor? You spoke to her?”
“We met up for a coffee near her office.”
The slightest pang of jealousy washes through me at his ability to have access to her freely.
“Relax, I’m not gonna try and hit on your girl,” he teases, reminding me that all the time in the world could pass and he still knows me better than anyone else.
“Please, someone like her is never gonna want to be my girl.”
“Don’t kid yourself bro, her face lit up every time I said your name.”
“Nice, but irrelevant. That’s not my priority when I get out of here.”
“Of course, because twelve years wasn’t enough, a life of celibacy outside of jail will be necessary too.”
“Shut up, fuckwit. Just tell me what you asked her and what she said.”
“Do you want me to tell you what she was wearing too?” The smirk on his face makes it impossible to be annoyed by him. We’re catching up on years of brotherly love, even if it is at the expense of an unrequited crush.
“She asked me if I thought Sasha would stop you from seeing Dakota.”
“Fuck. Would she?”
He shrugs, “It’s been a rough few years.”
“She lets you see Dakota though, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, of course. Every weekend. All that other noise is just bullshit between me and her. You don’t need to worry.” Sasha and Hendrix were always close, but as we all grew older they became like gasoline and fire. Together they would burn from every angle till there was nothing but ashes and pain left over.
“I’ve got a shit way of showing it, but I’m always going to worry about you.”
“Let’s not do the whole guilt trip thing, yeah?” His tone changes, and I anticipate it being the first of many times we’ll clash once I get out of here. It’s one thing to have others forgive you, but it’s almost impossible to forgive yourself. “We were talking about Dakota. She’s ready to meet her dad.”
The anticipation that consumes me every time I think of seeing Dakota is indescribable. I know what it’s like to be a pissed-off teenager wondering where the fuck your dad is and why he didn’t just stick around.
My mother drilled it into me time and time again, how I would be a fuck up just like him if I wasn’t careful. And as much as I hate to admit it, she was right. The only difference between me and him, is I’m going to right my wrongs. Every day for the rest of my life, I’ll prove to my daughter that she’s the only important thing in my life. The only thing I’m proud of, and the only thing I’ll never regret.
Walking from the kitchen through to where the party is, my eyes search for someone familiar. Furniture has been pushed to the edges of the room, and every surface is filled with more bodies than the space allows. Girls on boys, boys on girls; it’s a typical Saturday night out in the suburbs. Parents are away, and the teenagers come out to play.
Looking around I catch sight of Sasha swaying in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Her long, straight, dark blonde hair following a second behind each movement. Her eyes are closed and her skin glistens with tears. Hands in the air, she clutches a Vodka Cruiser in each hand, dancing to the beat of her own song. She’s wearing a white ribbed singlet, that reminds me my best friend is becoming a woman. Drifting up the length of her stomach with every move she makes, her hip bones peek out, as her jeans hang loosely off her waist. She’s rocking that skater girl look.
Sasha Allman was our welcomed third wheel. Living next door to Hendrix and me, we all became attached at the hip after we rescued her Cabbage Patch Doll from the neighbours dog. Wherever she was, her two bodyguards followed close behind.
We spent our summers playing on the slip and side, laughing till we cried and waiting till the familiar sound of the ice cream van made its way through every street onroute to ours. But staring at Sasha now, wilted and broken, I realise that’s not us anymore.
Unable to pick the precise moment everything changed, I know it’s the reason she stands there all alone. Messy. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Walking straight to her, I pull on her arm and haphazardly drag her into the nearest bathroom. I close and lock the door behind us, ensuring we have privacy. Turning I unexpectedly find Sasha sitting in the deep ceramic bathtub, head in between her legs and arms wrapped around her knees.
“Sasha,” I call out cautiously. “What happened?”
She raises her head slowly, only allowing me to see her wet, bloodshot amber eyes. My blood begins to simmer, seconds away from boiling when I see how hurt and sad she is. In two large strides my legs meet the edge of the tub before dropping to my knees beside her.
“Tell me,” I urge.
“Please,” she hiccups. “Don’t be mad.”
“Sasha, you’re scaring me. What is it?”
“You have to promise,” she insists.
“Okay, I promise.”
Wiping her eyes with the heel of her palms, black streaks mar her skin. Her gaze meets mine, and we both unknowingly take a deep breath, desperate for courage.
“I was dating Jay,” she blurts out.
“Wait? What?” My thoughts run forward and leave her confession behind, imagining him hurting her in every way a dickhead like him is capable of. “I’m going to punch his fucking face.”
“No! You don’t even know what happened,” she cries.
“You’re sitting in a fucking bath crying, that’s all the proof I need.” Her hand grips my shoulder in an attempt to calm me down. “Jagger you promised. I’m not telling you this so it ends up in a fight. I just need my best friend to hear me out.”
I choose to stay quiet, I give her the silence she needs to tell me what went down. Her reluctance is obvious, and our history with Jay has been anything but pleasant.
“You’re going to have to turn around so I’m talking to your back.”
My eyes narrow with confusion. “Why?”
“I hate to break it to you Jagger, but you’ve never been able to hide your feelings well. And I don’t want to see the disappointment on your face when I tell you what went down.”
“Get up, “ I order. The tone in my voice is urgent and demanding. Lacing her fingers with mine, I motion for her to step out of the bath. The minute her feet touch the floor, I haul her body to mine and squeeze her delicate frame tightly.
“There’s nothing you could tell me that would ever have me disappointed in you, you got that? Nothing.” Her body trembles with sadness and my hold on her gets tighter. “Maybe, I should get Hendrix, so you don’t have to tell this story twice, huh?”
Squeezing my ribs, she shouts an inaudible “no,” into my chest. The hairs on the back of my neck rise at her request. We’ve never had any reason to hide anything from one another. Stepping back she lowers her head and talks to the floor, “Hendrix can’t know. Promise me, Jagger.”
Tipping her chin up with two fingers, I wait till her eyes meet mine. Her tears resurface, but I choose to not let them discourage my warning, “I don’t like keeping secrets from my brother, Sash.”
“Let’s just get drunk,” she whispers. “I thought he really liked me, but he just used me to get to you and Drix.” Her lip quivers. “I just want to forget I ever laid eyes on him. and I ever let him lay his hands on me.”
“I’m sorry, Sash.”
“I know. But just this once. Please.”
Just this once, turned into so much more. Just this once became the beginning of the end. Just this once became the catalyst for my downfall, and I didn’t even see it coming. I wasn’t just at risk of losing my best friend, I was at risk of losing it all.
5
Emerson
“You’re driving up to Goulburn again?” His voice startles me, stopping me from opening the car door.
I close my eyes, and tilt my head up to the sky in frustration. “
Is something wrong with that?” I ask sarcastically.
“I just wondered what you were going to tell the boss about the kilometres on the car?”
Spinning around on my heels, I let Joe feel the weight of my glare. “I told them exactly what I was doing. Jagger’s parole officer has set his final plan and we’re going over it before he gets out in two weeks.” I open my laptop bag and pull out the vehicle log book with our supervisor’s signature of approval next to today’s date and shove it in his chest. “I don’t know why you’re a bigger arsehole than usual Joe, but you need to back off.”
“I told you. I’m just watching out for you.”
“Honestly, I’d rather you didn’t.” Gripping the door handle, I pull it open and turn to face the inside of the car. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got to go so I’m not stuck in traffic.” Stepping in, I stick the key in the ignition and put my seatbelt on, all while he stands there awkwardly watching me. “Whatever it is, Joe, please fix it, because it’s becoming impossible to work with you.”
“It will go back to normal when you’re officially done with this guy,” he advises me arrogantly.
I shake my head in disbelief, his smugness making it impossible to be objective about his attitude. Reversing out of the parking spot, I leave Joe and his pettiness behind. Instead I hook up my phone to the bluetooth system in the car, blare the music, and let the butterflies run rampant in my stomach at the thought of seeing Jagger again.
“Hey, I’m Emerson.” I put my hand out a little too enthusiastically, the two takeaway cappuccinos I had on the way here giving me a caffeine overload. “We’ve spoken on the phone.”
“Yes, it’s great to meet you in person.” Monica is Jagger’s parole officer. She’s been keeping me updated on all the things they’ve agreed to, letting me know all the official conditions he’s required to adhere to on release so I can write an official legal report--a binding document between him and the state of New South Wales. Any breaches and his case and release will be reviewed.
We go through the detectors in silence and are led to the nearest table and chairs.
“Do you get nervous coming to prisons?” Monica asks me as we wait for him to arrive.
“No, I’ve been here a few times actually.”
“Oh, your leg has been shaking since we sat down.”
“Huh?” As soon as she mentions it, my mind and my body sync stopping the movement immediately. “Sorry about that, I didn’t even realise I was doing it.”
“It’s okay, I just figured it was a tick. My sister does it all the time.” She dismisses the whole thing as quickly as she brought it up. Instead, rambling about different types of neurological responses to stress and anxiety, making it easier for me to hide the fact I’m nervous about seeing Jagger the man and not Jagger the prisoner.
“Not a problem, so how have you liked working with Jagger so far?” I query. “You’ve been one of the easiest parole officers I’ve ever worked with.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you’re passionate. You see them as people and not just inmates.”
“Everyone else just calls me green.”
I laugh at her admission. “It’s fine. I’ve heard green is good.”
The guard escorts Jagger over, Monica noticing before I do as her chatter comes to an abrupt stop. Turning my head, I find him candidly meeting my stare. It’s been three weeks, and the change in him is unmistakable. There’s a flicker of hope in his eyes, the reality of release finally giving him permission to think past these four walls. He was like a vault, and the date was the key, unlocking everything he’s kept dormant for so long. Wants. Needs. Desires.
Flustered by his presence, and our audience, my head drops, my hair covering my flushed face. Busying myself, I remove pens and papers out of my leather laptop bag.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long for Monica to break the silence, and the telling flush slowly leaves my face.
“Mr Michaels, how are you doing?” I wait for him to correct her, reminding her to call him by his name, but it never comes. “This is probably the last time Miss Lane and I will see you before release. Everything discussed here will be written up into a detailed report, which you will sign upon leaving Goulburn.”
“Mr Michaels,” I start.
“Jagger.” I subtly roll my eyes at his correction, while biting the inside of my cheek to stop a smirk from gracing my face.
“Jagger, I’m just going to be listening and writing everything down. I’ll ask questions to you or Miss Dare if I need any clarification. What I write goes in the final version of the paperwork. Do you have any questions?”
I look at Monica, and then back at Jagger.
“Dickhead, didn’t feel like keeping you company today?” he asks.
“Mr Michaels.” Monica’s tone chastises him, but his gaze remains firm and focused on nothing else but me. Curious and possessive, I know he isn’t going to let it go until I answer.
I knock her knee under the table with my own, letting her know it’s okay. It’s unnecessary to answer him, but like everything surrounding Jagger, I’m compelled to bend over backwards to his requests. “No, Jagger. Joe and I are currently working on different things.”
“Good.” The word is simple, but the way he spits it out is definitive and controlling. The time and place irrelevant to his need to know.
“Can we start now?”
With a smug look on his face, he responds, “yeah, whenever you’re ready.”
We comb through every single detail for the next two hours. Confirming he’ll live with Hendrix, he’s to have no contact from anyone associated with his prior crime. He’ll be required to report to the local police station daily.
He has a ten pm curfew which, like all of his other restrictions, will be reviewed every six months for the length of his sentence.
“Any news on the Dakota situation?” Monica asks.
“Sasha won’t talk to Hendrix about it, and she refuses to answer my calls. I’ll just wait till I can go and talk to her face to face.”
“No. What if she calls the police on you?” Relieved Monica’s thoughts are the same as mine, I bite my tongue and let them discuss options.
“She wouldn’t do that, would she?” His head cocks to the side as he asks us both a question we can’t answer.
“Maybe one of us could talk to Hendrix and see if he can pick her brain and give us some answers as to where she’s at with it all,” I suggest. “Two weeks is still a good amount of time for us to work with, right?” I turn to Monica, raising eyebrows, hoping she can back me up with a few extra beats of positivity.
“Yes. Of course.” She smiles a little too excessively but it works. “A united family is on the top of everyone’s priority list.”
“Okay, next on the agenda is employment,” I announce. With a criminal record, getting a job is pure luck, but with a brother like Hendrix, Jagger’s chances have increased tenfold. “Now, am I correct in saying you have a cover letter and resume on file?”
“Yeah.” He tips his chin towards Monica. “We did it together, last week.”
“The fact you finished a four year university degree while in here puts you ahead of so many people.”
“I’m still a criminal Emerson, no degree is going to sugar coat that.”
“Jagger,” I snap. “When you step out these doors don’t bring that negativity with you. People are working their arses off so your transition goes smoothly. For that reason alone, please try and be positive.”
“Positive?” he scoffs. “I need to be realistic. I’m not going out there with these hopes of a miracle just so I can be dissapointed. My expectations are low, but don’t misconstrue that for ungratefulness and negativity.” He points a finger to his chest forcefully, lowers his voice and speaks through clenched teeth.“Because, I’m not. That. guy.”
“Okay let’s call a timeout.” Monica makes a T with her hands, but that does nothing to break the tension between Jagger and me. Ang
er is radiating off him, and the familiar urge to comfort him settles in my chest.
“It’s going to work out Jagger, I promise.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t,” I confess. “But from what I’ve seen and read about you, you’re determined. You went on to get a bachelor’s degree in prison, your behaviour has been good enough to be considered for conditional release, and let’s not forget the support you give newer, younger inmates. I lean forward on my elbows, invading his space as much as I possibly can without it being inappropriate. “You prove time and time again that if you want something bad enough you’re going to make it happen for yourself. Why is this any different? You’re your own worst enemy right now, and it’s my job to remind you every chance I get that you deserve to go home. You’ve paid the price for your mistakes. Let the past go.”
In this moment there’s nobody else in the room with Jagger and me. The voices drown out, and a thick blanket of understanding settles over us. I’m not going to let him give up on himself. No matter how hard I have to push or how uncomfortable it makes him feel. I’ll cross all the lines I know I shouldn’t, just to wade through the regret, and self-condemnation he insists on holding onto. People like Jagger deserve a second chance. They’ve paid their penance and earned their forgiveness.
Giving myself the afternoon off, I leave Goulburn and head back to the city to drop off the car and meet some friends for dinner and drinks. I’m about fifteen minutes from the office when my ringtone blares through the car speakers. I hit the answer button on the steering wheel, and the automated prison recording echoes through the car.
“Shit.” The loud voice surprises me and I momentarily swerve into the lane beside me. A loud horn sounds behind me.
“Emerson, are you okay?”
I straighten the car, and flick my blinker on, deciding it’s safer to pull over.
“Emerson,” he repeats.
“Yeah, sorry. Im here.”
Reclaim: (A Redemption Novel) Page 4
