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She pointed out the coffee shop and let go of my arm. I missed her touch immediately.

Then she stood in front of me, holding out her arms.

“Well? How do I look?”

Beautiful. Gorgeous. Sexy. Off limits.

“Um, fine,” I managed to squeeze out.

She raised her eyebrows. “You smooth talking stud. I can see that I’m going to have to watch myself with you.”

She walked away shaking her head. Then she did a little pirouette as she called out, “Wait for me here? I’ll be about 20 or 30 minutes.”

She didn’t even stay to hear my answer, but who was I kidding? Other than hauling shit at her momma’s place, I didn’t have anywhere else to be—and nowhere I was wanted.

I found a bench where I could see the coffee shop entrance and sat down.

It felt weird being outside without anyone watching me—no guards, no cameras, no townsfolk judging me and finding me lacking. It was hard to believe I was free. I didn’t deserve to have this, but I was so darn grateful to be out of that shithole prison, that I could have kissed the asphalt in the damn parking lot.

Even so, I didn’t feel completely free. I probably never would. I would always carry the knowledge that my brother was dead because I was an asshole. There were days when I wished they’d lock me away forever, because that’s what I deserved. For reasons I didn’t understand, life had given me a second chance, and that was hard to deal with. I had no clue how to live anymore.

“Jordan? Jordan Kane?”

I looked up to see a woman with auburn hair looking at me. Oh shit, I could tell from the way she was staring that she knew me. And there’d been only one person at high school with hair that color.

“Allison?”

I stood up, and she immediately took a step back.

“Wow, it is you!” she said nervously, trying to force a bright smile.

I nodded and shoved my hands in my pockets.

“How’ve you been? I mean … I heard you were … out.”

I nodded again.

Allison had been my girlfriend when I was a sophomore in high school. Although, thinking back, there had been quite a number of them. We were together the night Mikey died. We’d been making out until I was too wasted to know who I was with or what the fuck I was doing. I’d only seen her once since then and that was the day I’d been sentenced. She cried.

“I’m sorry I didn’t write,” she said, twisting the strap of her purse around her fingers.

“It’s okay.”

What else could I say? I don’t think I would have written back if she had.

“I should have,” she continued. “I wanted to … I just didn’t know what to say.”

Christ, this is awkward.

I looked over to the coffee shop but there was still no sign of Torrey.

“How are your folks?” asked Allison, tentatively.

“Yeah, they’re … okay. It’s hard for them, y’know?”

She nodded.

“How’ve you been?” I asked. “Did you go to college like you wanted?”

She smiled her first genuine smile.

“Yes, I did! I just graduated with my MBA from Texas State.”

“Wow, that’s great. Good for you. Um, I thought you wanted to study Dance and Theater?”

She pulled a face.

“That was just a pipe dream. I … I grew up a lot after … after what happened. I’m so sorry, Jordan. I never got to tell you that.”

Her words had me all choked up, and I could see from the look on her face that she felt the same way.

“You look good,” she breathed out, reaching out to touch my arm and tracing a finger along one of my tattoos.

Her voice was filled with regret, but I didn’t think it was for me.

“Thanks. You, too,” I muttered.

I searched again for Torrey, but instead I saw a skinny guy with glasses walking toward us.

“Hey, there’s my girl,” he said, placing a possessive arm around Allison’s shoulders and giving me a hard stare.

Allison’s cheeks flushed, and her words collided as she struggled to introduce us.

“Oh, Henry, this is, um, this is Jordan. We were … friends … in high school.”

He held out his hand, and after a short pause I shook it. I was surprised and sort of amused when he tried to crush my knuckles. I squeezed back a little harder than I should have and saw him wince.

“Alli didn’t mention you,” he said, pretending to be all jokey.

“You know that’s not true,” she said, quietly. “This is Jordan,” and the way she emphasized my name, I could see the exact second that he finally got it.

His eyes widened and he tugged Allison more closely into his side.

“The ex-con?”

She elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Yep, that’s me,” I said, the bitterness evident in my voice.

“Um, we should go now,” said Allison, yanking on her boyfriend’s jacket. “Nice seein’ you again, Jordan. I hope … it all goes well. Say hi to your folks for me.”

As she walked away, they seemed to be arguing.

A moment later, Torrey came practically dancing from the coffee shop.

“That looked uncomfortable,” she said, cocking her head toward Allison and the prick. “I saw them from the window. Who are they?”

I was irritated by her nosiness, so I just shrugged. “Girl I knew from high school and her boyfriend.”

“Okay,” she said, accepting my answer immediately.

Then I felt like the prick for being so defensive.

“Allison was my girlfriend at the time … at the time I was sent to juvie. I haven’t seen her since. The guy was her boyfriend, I guess.”

Torrey sat down next to me on the bench and patted my knee.

“Bet that sucked, seeing her again.”

Hell, yeah!

“It was okay, I guess. Her boyfriend was a prick.”

She laughed. “He probably didn’t like the fact that his girlfriend’s ex looks like a freakin’ model!”

I was pretty sure I turned red, hearing her words.

“I think the whole jailbird vibe made him uncomfortable,” I said, forcing out a hollow laugh. “But at least she spoke to me, which is more than most people have done. Didn’t suck too bad.”

“See!” she said, sounding delighted. “Things are getting better already!”

I wouldn’t have gone that far, but still, it hadn’t been as bad as it could have been. Maybe she was right.

“Hey! Wake up!” she yelled, poking me in the side. “Didn’t you hear what I said? We have to go celebrate!”

I rubbed my ribs, and she grinned at me as she stood up.

“Celebrate what?”

“Me getting a job, doofus! Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Uh, that’s pretty neat, Torrey, but I cain’t go into a bar.”

Her face fell. “Oh, that’s right.” Then she smiled. “Okay, well I can’t buy you a coffee yet either as the only decent place isn’t open, but how about pizza?”

I practically drooled when she mentioned pizza. I hadn’t had one since I got out, and the ones you got in prison, well, let’s just say if I’d slapped some tomato paste on the sole of my shoe it would have been tastier.

“Ha, the look on your face!” she said, pointing a finger at me. “If a guy ever looks at me that way, it’ll be a first.”

I stared at her in surprise.

“Seriously? But you’re gorgeous!”

Her mouth dropped open. “You think I’m gorgeous? Wait, don’t answer that—I don’t want to give you the chance to take it back.”

She smiled and linked her arm through mine again. I really liked the way it felt.

“You are,” I said, quietly. “You are gorgeous. Any guy would be crazy not to think so.”

She flashed her beautiful smile at me and leaned her head against my arm.

“Thanks! You’re not so bad yourself, Auto Man.”

We strolled along in the late morning sunshine, just like any of the other couples out at the new mall. It was so normal, yet it felt utterly bizarre, like someone would jump up and start yelling shit at me, saying I shouldn’t be around ordinary folk. I started tensing up, my eyes darting around, waiting for the attack to begin.

Torrey tugged lightly on my arm, her expression worried. “Too much?”

“Um, just…”

I scrubbed my hands over my face hard enough to tear the skin off. I felt her grab my wrists.

“Hey, it’s okay. Nothing bad is going to happen. And if it does, I’ll protect you.”

The idea of her protecting me was comical. She was nearly a foot shorter and probably weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet.

She smiled. “Take-out pizza?”

I nodded, relieved she’d understood.

“Yeah, that would be great. Um, but I don’t have any money.”

She shook her head. “I told you—my treat. Your money doesn’t work here today. Besides, you’re going to fix my car for me, aren’t you?”

I almost smiled. “Yes, ma’am. That I am.”

She poked me in the ribs again.

“Stop calling me ‘ma’am’! It makes me feel about a hundred. If you do it again, next time I’ll kick you in the nuts. Understand?”

I didn’t think she was joking. “Yes, ma… Torrey.”

“So what do you like on your pizza?”

I scanned the menu in the window and my mouth watered at the thought of a meat feast with ham, pepperoni, beef and chicken.

“I don’t mind. Whatever you like.”

“Stop doing that,” she said, frowning. “Stop trying to please everyone all the time. Just tell me what you want on your damn pizza.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, “I’m not used to … having a choice.”

“It’s okay,” she said, patting my shoulder. “Just tell me.”

“Could I have the meat feast?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a guy—I should have known,” and she pushed me with her shoulder.

She was so tactile, touching me the whole time. But it wasn’t weird or a come on, it was just how she was.

We had to wait in the pizzeria while they put our order together. She held my hand the whole time, letting me know that she was there for me.

The waiter kept throwing worried glances at us, like he was one twitchy finger away from dialing 911.

“It’s okay, Jordan,” Torrey whispered. “Try to relax. You look like you’re about to make a run for it, and you’re making him nervous. We’ll be out of here in just a few minutes, and that meat feast will be partying in your mouth.”

Then she palmed her face and groaned.

“I can’t believe I just said that. It sounded really bad. Don’t ever remind me I said that!”

I didn’t know what to say when she winked at me and grinned. I just took a deep breath and smiled back.

God, this woman! She just had a way of making everything okay … bearable.

The pizzas arrived and Torrey pulled out her wallet, handing over a credit card. I picked up the boxes, desperate to get the hell out. I held the door while Torrey scooped up the two cans of soda, and then we headed back to my truck. The smell was driving me crazy and I must have been walking faster than usual because Torrey yelled at me to slow down.

“I can’t keep up,” she yelped. “Just because your damn legs go on forever, it doesn’t mean mine do!”

“I think your legs are just fine,” I said, automatically.

Yeah, like I haven’t thought about them every second of every day since I met her.

“Have you been checking out my legs, Jordan Kane?”

Up until that moment, I didn’t know that prison had sucked out my mental filter along with everything else I’d lost. I felt my face get hot, but Torrey just gave a quiet little laugh and let me wriggle off the hook.

We rolled down the windows in the truck so it wouldn’t get all steamed up. Yeah, that had me thinking things, too. I tried to concentrate on eating. As soon as I opened the lid, the scent of melted cheese, tomatoes, spice and the meat feast had me drooling. I took a huge bite and felt my eyes roll back in my head. That shit was good.

“I think someone’s enjoying their pizza,” Torrey deadpanned.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, around a second slice. “’Sfuckin’ wunnerful!”

She smiled and shoved the best part of a whole slice in her mouth. That got me thinking stuff, too. But the lure of the pizza pulled my mind back out of the gutter.

We ate in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. I was just a guy eating pizza in his truck with a pretty woman sitting next to him. It was … normal.

As soon as I had that thought, the guilt flooded back. And, as always, a huge rock sat in my stomach, sickening me.

“You’ve got that look again,” said Torrey.

I didn’t even bother to ask what she meant—I already knew.

I sighed and closed the lid on the pizza box. Maybe I’d be able to eat the rest later.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. “No. Won’t help.”

“Are you sure about that? Have you tried?”

I stared straight ahead out of the window.

“My counselor said…” I darted a sideways look, but her face showed no reaction. “My counselor said I should talk about … stuff.”

“Okay…” said Torrey, carefully. “But you don’t because…?”

My eyes dropped to the steering wheel. “There’s no one to listen.”

She rested her hand lightly on my thigh.

“There is now.”

I tried to get the words out, but nothing was happening. Her fingers slid away, and I hung my head, defeated.

“Tell me about Mikey. I’d like to hear about your brother.”

“He was the best,” I said. “The best guy, the best son, the best brother. You’d have liked him.”

 

 

 

Torrey

 

I’d thought we’d had a breakthrough with the pizza, you know, doing something ordinary, but he closed up again half way through. I could practically hear the prison doors of his mind slam shut.

I knew a guy at college who’d gone to see a friend in prison once. Just one visit had given him nightmares for weeks: the noise, the dehumanization of people, the smell.

So I figured if Jordan couldn’t talk about the bad stuff, maybe remembering the good times he’d had with his brother might be easier.

As soon as I mentioned Mikey’s name, he changed again, a smile lighting his lovely face.

“He was the best,” he said, sincerely. “The best guy, the best son, the best brother. You’d have liked him.” He paused, “Everyone loved him, he was easy to love.”

“Was he as good looking as his brother?”

He lifted an eyebrow at me and grinned—a for-real, all out, teeth-showing grin. It was just a glimpse of the cocky young kid I imagined he’d been. I didn’t think it was possible for him to be any cuter. Live and learn.

“When we were younger, people thought we were twins.”

“And later?”

“His hair is … was darker than mine and he kept it short.” He swept a hand through his messy curls. “He was a big guy—the high school quarterback, just solid muscle, but a bit shorter than me. I was kind of skinny back then.”

His smile faded. I was desperate to keep him positive and upbeat. He had a great smile and I wanted to see more of it.

“That explains it.”

He glanced over. “Explains what?”

“The cut-offs you wear when you’re gardening. They look like they’re about to fall off.” Not that I’d mind.

But instead of smiling again, he frowned.

“Yeah.”

I waited but he didn’t explain. I was about to explode with frustration. Trying to get him to talk was worse than pulling teeth.

“And? Don’t just tell me ‘yeah’ and then go all quiet!”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“For fuck’s sake, Jordan! Don’t be sorry all the time—just talk to me!”

He looked at me warily.

“Am I pissing you off?”

“Hell, yeah!”

“Sorry … I mean…” He sighed. “I didn’t think anyone would mind—about the clothes. When I left prison none of my old stuff fit anymore. They don’t let you leave in your TDCJ uniform.”

“What the hell’s that?”

He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his forehead.

“Texas Department of Criminal Justice. We all wore uniforms so prisoners can be easily identified. I think it’s to depersonalize you, too, ya know, so corrections’ officers don’t form associations or whatever.”

“Was it striped? Not that you wouldn’t look good in stripes.”

I wanted to bring back his lovely smile but all he managed was a wry twist of his lips.

“Ha, no stripes. No arrows, either. Nah, we had to wear these white cotton pullover shirts and white elastic pants. But those are State property. So when I was released, I got issued a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. It was all they had in my size. I don’t know, I didn’t ask. When I got home, I took some t-shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans from Mikey’s room. They’d kept it all, so … I really didn’t think it would matter…”

He looked down.

“I take it that didn’t go down well with your parents.”

He shook his head sadly.

“You could say that. Momma screamed at me then started cryin’. Dad yelled, sayin’ how I’d been home five minutes and had already upset my momma, and that I was an ungrateful bastard after they’d agreed to have me back … that it was disrespectin’ my dead brother … I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I just needed some clothes.”

He sounded so upset and frustrated, I wanted to lean over and give him a big hug. But I didn’t.

“So what happened?”

“They let me keep the shit I’d already taken. Momma said I’d ‘defiled’ them, so there was no point puttin’ them back. She got me some stuff from Goodwill after that.”

I was so angry with his parents. What the hell was the matter with them?

“Jordan, you didn’t do anything wrong. Your parents overreacted, that’s all. I guess that’s to be expected, but it’s not your fault. If they’d thought about it for two seconds they’d have realized you needed clothes to wear.”

He shook his head in silent disagreement.

I tried to think of a way to lighten the mood. “Anyway, I like the baggy shorts.”

“You do?”

“Sure,” I said, with an evil grin. “I keep wondering how far south they’re going to go. I’m thinking of running a pool. Maybe some of the moms in the neighborhood would like in on it.”

He looked taken aback for a moment, then his shy smile came out again and I think he might have been blushing. Damn, that was cute.

But, as ever, his good mood didn’t last.

He glanced at the clock on the truck’s dash.

“We’d better get back,” he said, sadly. “Your momma is gonna be callin’ the police to say I’ve abducted you if we stay out any longer.”

“Jordan Kane, did you just crack a joke?”

He looked surprised. “Um, no?”

“Well, I thought it was funny.”

He considered that for a few seconds then smiled a little, but didn’t reply.

I turned on the radio as he drove, and watched him drumming his fingers to the music, lost in thought.

When we arrived back, I hopped out of the truck and threw him the plastic bag that I’d hidden in my purse.

“For you.”

His surprise turned to astonishment as he pulled out a pair of long-cuffed work-gloves, size large.

“You … you bought these for me?”

“Sure! I said I would. Don’t worry, I’ll get the money back off of Mom.”

I waved and headed for the front door.

“Torrey!” he called after me.

I turned to look at him.

“Thank you,” he said.

 

 

 

Jordan

 

I couldn’t believe she’d bought me a gift. Even if her momma was paying for it. I hadn’t had anyone do something like that for me in so long.

I took the gloves out of their packaging and pulled them on. They fit perfectly.

I went back to work and took out some of my frustration on the Rev’s overgrown rambling roses. I only got a few scratches on my upper arms. I hoped there’d be a garden emerging from the wilderness once I was done. I didn’t want to think what would happen to me when I’d finished—I couldn’t keep working here if there was nothing for me to do. I hoped that the Reverend was praying for a plan B.

I kept an eye open, but I didn’t see Torrey again. I’d hoped to be able to thank her once more for the gloves, and for, well, everything.

When I got home, my parole officer’s car was parked in the driveway.

More joy.

My parents hated having the house searched, but it was part of the agreement they’d signed as a condition of my parole, so they couldn’t object. But they could resent me just a little bit more.

At least Officer Carson wasn’t a complete bitch. I mean, she was one of them, so I didn’t really trust her, but she didn’t go out of her way to make things difficult either.

I saw Momma standing in the kitchen with her arms folded, fuming as Officer Carson went through the cupboards. They both turned and saw me at the same time.

“Hello, Jordan,” said Officer Carson, pleasantly. “It’s good to see you. How are you?”

“Fine thank you, ma’am,” I mumbled. It was my default answer for most questions.

I saw her glance at Momma who still hadn’t spoken.

“How’s work going?” the officer continued.

“Fine.”

“Reverend Williams says she’s very pleased with you.”

I nodded and shoved my hands into my pockets.

She smiled congenially. “Well, I’m about done here. Thank you, Mrs. Kane. Jordan, I just need to take a look in your room now, if that’s okay?”

She didn’t have to ask permission, so it was kind of nice of her that she did.

“Yeah, sure.”

I followed her up the stairs and along the hallway, then watched from the door as she checked under the bed, in my closet, under the mattress, and rifled carefully through my chest of drawers. She even checked under the drawers and behind the back of the unit. It was a reasonably thorough search, but if I’d wanted to hide drugs or shit, I wouldn’t have been so fucking obvious. I’d probably leave them outside or in the attic, hidden behind the rafters, like Mikey and I used to do.

“How are you finding it, being home?”

“Fine.”

She sighed. “You know, Jordan, part of my job is to help you with the transition. I know it’s difficult, but if you talk about it, and with the support of your family, you’ll have a much better chance of staying out of prison.”

Yeah, right—the support of my family.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She waited a moment but got nothing more from me.

“Do you have your monthly report for me?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll just get it.”

I handed her the sheet of paper, covered in my usual chicken scratch writing. Along with all the other parole requirements, I had to write a ‘complete and truthful’ account of my month.

I passed the scrawl to her and she cast a brief eye over it.

“Thank you, Jordan. Well, this will be the last home visit I make. There’ll still be the random searches, of course, but other than those, we’ll continue to meet in my office. You have my card—you can call me any time if you have a problem.”

I nodded.

“Okay, I’m done. I’ll see you in two weeks. Don’t forget to get your testing done at the police station.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I walked her to the door, and she gave me a professional smile before leaving.

Momma was thumping pots and pans around in the kitchen when I shut the door behind Officer Carson. I knew she hated these inspections as much as I did; the difference being, she wasn’t used to them. I headed out to the garage and threw some weights around. It helped. A bit.

I ate supper alone in the kitchen, washed my plate, and lay upstairs, praying for sleep to numb my mind.

 

 

 

I woke up suddenly. It wasn’t a dream that had disturbed me. I was fairly sure I’d heard something.

I listened carefully and then I heard it: a car engine turning over. The twin beams of headlights split the dark. Whatever was going on, I was guessing it wasn’t anything good.

I shot out of bed and ran to the front door. I was just in time to see red tail lights disappearing down our road and toward the town.

I flicked on the porch light and saw immediately what my night time visitors had done. My truck was covered in red paint, and someone had slashed each of the tires.

I swore loudly, and then I heard my dad’s voice behind me.

“That’s your brother’s truck.”

“I know, Dad. I didn’t ask for this to happen.”

“I should have known that lettin’ you use it would end up like this. Everythin’ you touch…”

I wanted to tear my hair out with frustration. Dad had been reluctant to let me use Mikey’s truck, and Momma had flat out refused to even discuss it. But when Dad pointed out that she’d end up having to run me everywhere, I think that forced her to agree. Mostly, because she couldn’t stand the thought of spending all that alone time with me.

Whatever.

It took a solid week of hard work getting the truck to run again. And now this.

I couldn’t believe it had happened. Why did they have to violate Mikey’s truck? I mean, what the fuck? How was I going to get to work now? How was I going to do anything?

My hands were shaking from the adrenalin burning through my body, and I wanted to hit something … badly.

“No, you didn’t mean for any of this to happen. You just went off and got drunk and Michael died because of you.”

Dad’s voice was so tired, barely even angry. It sounded more like something he’d said in his head a thousand times. He turned on his heel, shutting the door in my face.

Some things didn’t change.

 

 

Torrey

 

In deference to the morality police—a.k.a. Mom—I’d set my alarm half an hour earlier than usual so I could shower and dress before Jordan arrived for work.

She’d pretty much accused me of ‘leading him on’ by making coffee while wearing the clothes that I slept in. I’d only changed my routine because I was a little bit worried he might think the same thing.

I’d seen the way he looked at me, and he’d told me that he thought I was attractive … well, ‘gorgeous’ was what he’d said. I took that comment with a grain of salt—I mean the guy was practically a virgin. Okay, probably not an actual virgin given what Mom had mentioned about him getting into trouble with girls, but unless he was taking it up the ass in prison, which I somehow doubted, then he hadn’t had sex in eight years. A born-again virgin, maybe. Either way, I didn’t want to make it harder for him. And I’d definitely seen how hard I was making it. Not that I was intentionally looking, it was just very, um … obvious and for it to be so obvious he must have had quite the … yeah, better not think about that.

But losing half an hour’s sleep made me grumpy. I was not a morning person.

I staggered down to the kitchen, desperate for a shot of caffeine before I moved an inch further.

I was listening out for the sound of Jordan’s truck when I suddenly saw him from the kitchen window. He was wearing his too-big shorts, and it looked like he was limping.

I banged on the window, and he jumped. Shit, I must stop doing that to the poor guy.

But when he turned around, I was shocked. I yanked open the screen door and marched toward him.

“Jeez! What the hell happened to you now?”

Jordan was a mess. Blood was dripping down his leg from a cut across his left knee; his right elbow didn’t look much better, and the palms of both hands were badly scraped.

“Fell,” he said, with zero inflection in his voice.

“What? You fell in a way that managed to scrape your left knee, your right arm, both hands, and rip across the back of your t-shirt?”

He nodded and shrugged one shoulder.

“You’re full of shit, Jordan! Get your ass over here.”

He seemed reluctant to come in the house, so I grabbed a fistful of his sweaty t-shirt and dragged him inside, pushing him onto the couch.

“Sit there. Don’t move.”

He let his backpack slip off his shoulder and leaned back, his eyes closed.

I ran upstairs to get Mom’s first aid kit and a bottle of peroxide for the second time in as many days. Then, as an afterthought, I went to the kitchen and boiled some water, put it in a bowl and carried it over to the couch with a clean towel and more Bactine. It seemed likely that we were going to have to stock up on that if Jordan was going to carry on working here. Maybe kissing the boo-boos better would help, too—or kissing other things. Aaagh! Mind on the job, Delaney!

“Soak your hands in there,” I ordered.

He hissed as his raw hands sank into the hot water.

“Wimp,” I teased him.

He raised his eyebrows, and I thought I saw a slight smile twitch at his lips.

When he’d washed his hands thoroughly, I dried them with the towel then smeared the palms with more ointment. He needed two small Band-Aids on the worst scrapes, but otherwise his hands weren’t too bad. After yesterday’s tussle with the rose bushes, his arms were already a patchwork of scratches and Band-Aids. He looked like he’d been wrestling a pair of bobcats. Did people still do that? Well, we were in Texas.