“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. Anger 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.”

“Geez, you scared the shit out of me,” he mutters.

Putting the car in park, I switch the ignition off and grab my phone out of the cupholder. Unlinking the bluetooth system I put it on my ear and continue the conversation. “Sorry, the automated voice surprised me, that’s all.”

“Are you talking and driving? Should I call back another time?”

“No. I had you on bluetooth but decided to stop anyway.” A strange silence settles between us, the mood shifting immediately. “You there?”

“Yeah.”

“What just happened? What did I miss?”

“Nothing.” He dismisses me and the question, but without the prying eyes of the law and narrow minded people who don’t understand, I push him.

“Tell me. Maybe I can help.”

“Aren’t you sick of offering me help?”

“I don’t do things I don’t want to do, Jagger. So, if I’m offering, it’s because I want to. Now stop deflecting and tell me.”

“It’s just one of those times when you think everything is going well, until you hear something that makes absolutely no sense, and you realise how much shit you’ve really missed out on.”

I do a quick replay of the conversation trying to remember what I let slip.

“The bluetooth.” I sigh in understanding, remorse making itself comfortable in mind. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” he reprimands. “Don’t make my problems your problems. There’s nothing for you to apologise for. It’s not the last time it’s going to happen, and I need to be prepared. And if I recall you gave me a whole speech today on positivity. So, even if it’s only for the duration of this phone call, I’m going to be positive.”

“Hmm positivity and a side of sarcasm.” I jest. “You’re just full of surprises.”

“That’s me.”

I laugh, smiling at how easy it has become between us.”So what’s your next surprise?”

“Huh?”

“What do you need help with?” The lull between us only enhancing the magnitude of what he’s about to ask.

“I need you to talk to Sasha,” he blurts out.

“Jagger, I can talk to her, but I can’t promise she’s going to listen.”

“You don’t have to promise; I know she will.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“There’s something special about you Em.” The nickname rolls off his tongue like there’s never been a day in his life where he hasn’t called me that. “When you talk, your words are like sirens. People don’t have a choice but to listen.”