“Vannguard Shaw,” the officer said, looking through the mesh, metal panel.

Vann rose from the folding chair and walked up to the window. He hated his name—a stupid joke from his drunk father randomly picking a word from the hospital’s waiting room bulletin board of services. Or maybe it was because his dear ol’ dad had been too wasted to even spell it right on the birth certificate, rolling and slurring the letters just as he did his speech when he was too damn drunk to think straight.

“It’s Shaw.”

The officer gave him the standard-issue authoritative stare-down he was familiar with when he dared show any sign of going against the grain.

“Vannguard Shaw,” the guard repeated with a wry grin. “I have personal belongings from your check-in, including one leather wallet, two ten-dollar bills, and one driver’s license. We also have two personal items from your cell, including one notebook and one photograph. Sign here.” The officer handed over the clipboard and threw the contents into a large manila folder.

He grabbed the pen and squiggled his signature. He tugged on the collar of his new black T-shirt, fitting a bit more snugly than his usual stiff prison clothing. He rubbed his hands on his jean-covered thighs and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, enjoying the feel of the new boots on his feet.

The officer retrieved the clipboard and checked the form, ripped off a copy, and handed it over to him. “You need to sign this too.”

In exchange for his second signature, he received a pink copy with a crisp, one hundred dollar bill for transfer expenses. In some sad, twisted irony of life, that was more money than he’d ever had in his hand at once in the twenty-one years before he had checked into this place. A hundred bucks for a decade lost to this hell.

Great. He was now a thirty-one-year-old ex-con. He could practically hear the stampede of people waiting to meet him. Not.

“Mr. Shaw is responsible for your transport.”

Mr. Shaw? “There must be some mistake.”

That earned him another chastising look.

He sighed.

And cursed under his breath.

They probably screwed up the paperwork and saw “father” checked off on some box and assumed they shared the same last name. After all, who the hell else did he have who would transport his ass over to the new halfway house where he was supposed to spend the next few months of his parole. His drunk father had donated his sperm and a lifetime of punches and headaches, but he definitely hadn’t given his name or his hand in marriage to his mom before she’d died during childbirth. He’d lost count of how many times he’d thanked the heavens the hospital had given him his mother’s last name on his birth certificate. Dear ol’ dad had taken him in but sure as hell was quick to throw his ass out in the street as soon as he’d hit eighteen and the government assistance stopped.

Regardless of the circumstance, he’d been glad to get out of that house. Seemed his father’s sole purpose in life was to remind his son of how worthless he was to humanity, and there was only so much of that shit a person could take and stay sane.

“The paperwork’s approved. Deal with it. Keep the pen. Have a nice life.” The guard pushed off the desk, rose from his rolling chair, and walked away, leaving him alone to sort the few items carefully into his wallet. Lovely. How could someone drop a little bombshell like that and walk away?

He smoothed out the bills before slipping them in the compartment. He stared at the photo of a younger, happier version of himself with a young Drayton at his side, smiling into the camera. He ran the tip of his thumb along the image, sighing as a memory came crashing in.

“Hey, Double D?”

His childhood friend sighed. “I hate it when you call me that. Makes me sound like a pair of tits.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Drayton gave him a pinched expression and hesitated before speaking. “I…don’t like tits.”

Vann looked at him for a few seconds then shrugged. “That’s cool.”

His friend pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “Yeah?”

He nodded.

“You’re really okay with that?” his friend asked, holding a textbook under his arm. He always seemed to carry some book or magazine, filled with either science, math, or some other weird foreign-looking language consisting of numbers, letters, and odd symbols.

They silently walked along the dirt road that ran behind the park, enjoying the quiet moments just as much as the banter. There was an ease between them, enough to let his guard down more often than not. “Dray?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re really the only double D I’m into.”

“Yeah?” his friend asked, his eyebrows inching above the rim of his glasses.

“Yeah.”

Vann folded and carefully tucked the photograph safely into his wallet and slid the pen into the spiral of the small notebook.

He blew out a nervous breath and pitched the now-empty manila folder into the garbage can by the doorway on his way out. He stepped out into the open space just inside the exit gate, flinching at the bright afternoon sun. Hello, Florida. The sharp sunlight hurt his eyes, reminding him of the milder daylight during his scheduled one hour in the yard in the early morning hours—like a grade-school kid granted recess to play with the other children. Assuming, of course, he didn’t do something that earned him some time in solitary.

He clasped his hands with the notebook behind his back, the same at-ease position he commonly took during check-ins and random inspections. He closed his eyes, fighting the prickling burn, counting the seconds with each grinding turn of the metal gears of the large fence as it inched open. He took a deep, centering breath, calming the slow simmering panic at the thought of rejoining the regularly scheduled programming called “life” that never seemed to play nice with him. He bit back his building anger at the thought of seeing his father again. The thought of being stuck with Mr. Asshole for his transport to the assigned halfway house churned his stomach.

Ten years. Ten fucking years and twenty-nine days.

Samuel Issacs, his rehabilitation officer, had worked with him every week since the notification of his parole, with therapy sessions and playing what-if scenarios in hopes of easing him back into everyday life and prying him from the protective shell he had built over the last decade. He’d taken Shaw under his wing and helped coordinate his release and a new outfit waiting for him on release day. Sam was a man on some holy mission in life to mentor inmates—his boys—and help them rejoin the world. A world Vann thought he’d never see again outside of the barbed wire fence and iron bars.

He stepped through the open fence and out into the parking lot. He squinted and flattened his hand above his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun. His lips parted on a breath when he spotted the silver car parked to the right. That car. It looked strikingly similar to a drawing he’d sketched ages ago while sitting under a tree. His hand fell to his side, mesmerized by the sleek curve of the silver beast staring him down, drawing him closer. He absently walked toward the car as if the sports car pulled each booted step forward with an imaginary rope. The driver’s side door opened, breaking the trance. He stopped, equally mesmerized by the tall, lean-muscled man emerging from the car.

Dray.

So different yet still the same.

Somehow, some way, he could always spot that man in a crowded room as if his mere presence was a beacon to his senses. Now, it seemed as if a spotlight beamed down on him with a flashing neon sign calling his attention. Screaming for it. He looked just as striking now as he always had, more so if that were even possible.

Vann resumed his trek, unable to tear his eyes away from the broad shoulders underneath the pale blue Henley shirt. Drayton’s dark hair was short in the back, just as he’d had it when he was younger, but the top was longer and would probably fall over his eyes if it weren’t so meticulously brushed. Only a few steps away, Vann cursed the dark sunglasses that shielded the pale gray eyes he knew were staring at him.

Drayton casually slid his hands in the pockets of his jeans and smiled.

“Hi,” Vann said then silently cursed himself. Ten years without seeing Drayton or talking to him and the best he could do was a “hi”? He tugged on his T-shirt again, feeling the heat of the Florida sun burning through the fabric. He squinted, staring at Drayton, admiring how nicely he filled out his lean-muscled six-foot-one frame. He was almost two inches taller than Vann, but he exuded a different kind of strength that made him appear stronger and taller with his head held high. Definitely not arrogance, but a quiet, casual confidence that seeped from every pore and commanded attention. He was certainly not the same withdrawn, geeky guy with the hidden snark he was back then. “What are you doing here?” He lowered his brow. He really needed to start coming up with better shit to say.

Drayton stood straight with both hands tucked in his pockets as if waiting for Vann to say something more. “Nice to see you too.” There’s the snark I missed.

Vann ducked his head. He deserved that snap. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry I didn’t let you visit.

Sorry I didn’t write.

Sorry I was the guy you fell in love with.

Sorry I lived up to every stupid thing those people said about me growing up.

He exhaled a deep breath. He deserved every bit of snark Drayton threw at him. He should be thankful Drayton wanted to speak a single word in his proximity in a semi-nice tone after denying him visits or refusing to mail replies to his letters.

“I’m taking you to the halfway house. It’s a few hours’ drive and we’ve got a deadline so we need to start heading out.”

Vann tugged at his shirt again. Even though he’d take Drayton’s company over his sperm-donor dad any day, he knew better than to break the rules so quickly and risk going back to that hell.

“Here, you need these. I’ve got another pair I can use.”

Vann looked up just as Drayton removed his sunglasses, revealing the pale gray eyes and long dark lashes behind them. He took the glasses and peeked through them. “Prescription?”

“No. I had LASIK done a few years ago. I don’t need the glasses anymore.”

Vann slipped on the shades, thankful to hide his prying eyes from watching the jean-clad ass stretch into the car and shift until Drayton returned wearing another pair of sunglasses.

“I don’t understand. I was told a Mr. Shaw was responsible for my transfer. I figured they screwed up the name in the paperwork and my pops would be here. I wasn’t expecting you.” Vann’s knees weakened when a slow smile spread across Drayton’s face. That smile, even more stunning than he remembered, still had the power to knock him out.

“I’m Mr. Shaw.”

Vann tugged on his shirt collar again then scratched his head. Maybe the heat was messing with his other senses.

Drayton shoved his hands in his pockets again. That’s new. Drayton was never the shy type.

“I changed my name. After everything that happened with my parents, I…” He cleared his throat and quieted, looking off to the side as if gathering his thoughts. “After you went in, I wanted to have a part of you always with me. I took your name. I know it was your mom’s name so I hope you don’t mind.”

He couldn’t swallow. Apparently the heat had tightened his neck and shrunk his throat. And the sunglasses didn’t seem to help shield his now burning eyes. Drayton had a habit of saying things that twisted Vann’s stomach in knots. Same thing would happen every time he told Vann he loved him when they were young, sitting under their tree by the lake, sneaking kisses or huddled together in the dark of night. He blew out a heavy breath, trying not to make much out of Drayton’s words.

He knew the power of words. How a few spoken sounds could erupt a storm of emotional chaos and soul-splitting pain. He had learned their painful and destructive power from his father. But he had experienced their healing and strengthening power from Drayton. Vann had often joked with him, telling him his words were special. Not because of the lyrical way he sometimes spoke, but because they had special powers. They awakened an untapped reservoir of resolve in Vann’s soul to push forward.

After their seven years together and the weekly letters from Dray reliving memory after memory, he still wasn’t sure where things stood between them. Supporting a friend through a tough time? Sure. Vann could see Drayton committing to help his best friend. But there was no way Vann expected the feelings to still be there in Drayton’s heart after all this time. And he certainly didn’t dare hope for more.

“So no more Double D?”

“Thank fuck.”

He missed their banter. A smile tugged at Vann’s lips as he absently looked at the car, following each elegant slope and curve of the silver metal.

“Do you like it?”

He glanced up at Drayton. “It looks…familiar.”

Drayton smiled. “It’s your drawing. It’s the first model I released from the car company.”

“Car company?” Vann stepped closer to the car, slowly circling it, assessing it at every angle.

“I engineered an electric motor and some new battery tech. No one thought it would work, so I started a new line of exotic cars for it. Had a wait list of international clients ready before I even showed the prototype off.”

“You never mentioned it in your letters…” Vann’s words trailed off as he walked to the back of the car, trying to digest Drayton’s words while deciphering his body language. Drayton always wrote of their time together and rarely wrote of new things in his life. If the current Drayton was anything like the younger version, the casual way he had spoken was his way of making something huge sound far less important than it was to lessen the stark contrast between them.

He finally reached the rear of the car and gasped when the air escaped his lungs. There, below the spoiler, showcased in the center of the rear panel with raised letters in an elegant script font, read the single word brand of the car.

“You named it VannGuard.” He closed his eyes when Drayton approached and stood at his side, far closer than any man had ever dared to stand. The familiar heat warmed his senses and tightened his chest with a sudden awakening of emotion he’d kept locked away for so many years.

“You inspired the whole idea, so it made sense to name the car line after you. The body is designed from a lightweight, hybrid composite and can survive one hell of an impact. Under the strong and breathtaking design, it’s powerful yet quiet. I couldn’t imagine a more fitting name.”

Vann’s heartbeat raced. Fucking Dray and his special words.

Drayton’s arm brushed against him as he stepped away and walked toward the driver’s side door. “We should go so we don’t cut it close. Traffic can be a bitch once we hit Dade County.”

Vann reached out and ghosted his fingers over the raised letters before walking over to the passenger door. He slid into the soft leather seat and snapped the seat belt in place. He looked at the glove box and saw the same elegant script of the car brand’s name embossed in the leather.

For the first time in his life, his name was associated with something beautiful, elegant, and obviously expensive.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t hate his name.