Vann looked out the small opening of Drayton’s bedroom closet, impatiently waiting for Drayton’s father to make his nightly rounds. He’d been sitting in the damn closet now for a little over an hour and was getting pissed. The guy usually arrived home late, locked up the house, then worked his way upstairs to his bedroom. The man always seemed to make a pit stop in Drayton’s bedroom to check on him. Why? Who the hell knew. If he’d paid as much attention to Drayton during waking hours, maybe Vann would think it was love or concern.

He was getting antsy to jump into bed with Drayton and spoon him under the covers. They’d managed to do this every weekend for the last eight months when Dray came home to spend the weekend in his old room instead of the company housing for that research job of his. And dammit, he was itching for his snuggle time.

Vann sighed. Dray. It was beyond appropriate that his best friend was a bookworm because he’d managed to worm his way into Vann’s heart over the years. Nothing compared to the way it felt to have those long arms wrapped around him or those tentative kisses along his jaw and down his neck. Great. Now he was sporting a fucking hard-on.

Maybe the old man was staying out later than usual because of their less-than-pleasant dinnertime conversation. Vann had snuck in through the window after finishing his late evening roadie duties for the band and had missed hearing the stiff exchange firsthand. He tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach as he remembered Drayton retelling him of that night’s dinner conversation.

Apparently Drayton’s parents had heard rumors about their son spending far too much time with a gutter rat. Drayton confirmed the rumors—correcting their assessment of Vann—then officially came out to his parents while asking them to please pass the butter.

Vann bit his lip and smiled. That was the first time anyone had ever stood up for him.

He wanted to get under those covers with Dray and kiss him until he had to quiet his moans just to let him know how much he meant to him and how grateful he was to have him be the light in his life.

He leaned back against the closet wall when he heard the familiar click of the lock and creak of the bedroom door as it slowly opened. Within forty-five seconds, he’d finally be working his way under Drayton’s covers to join him. He closed his eyes and counted, hoping to settle the anxiousness twitching in his muscles.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi…

He halted when an unfamiliar sound swooshed in the silent night. He knee-walked over to the opening by the door, holding his breath as he peered into the darkness and let his eyes adjust. His heart thundered in his ears and his eyes rounded when the light glinted off the nine iron held over Drayton’s body.

Like a possessed beast, the large, broad man swung the club down onto his son’s body with a roar. Simultaneously, and in a flash of movement faster than Vann had ever seen, the man pulled his arms back over his head again, ready to land a second swing as Drayton yelled and held his arms up in a defensive position. A brief millisecond later, the man swung the club again, hitting Drayton’s arms and slamming the club head against Drayton’s skull. 

Vann launched from the closet and jumped on the older man’s back, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck in a headlock as he continued to swing at his son’s now bloodied form. Vann’s heart pounded and a yell ripped from his throat at the sight of Drayton’s unmoving body. He reached his arm out and grasped the club before it landed another strike. Rage coursed through his body as he yanked the club from the old man’s hand and tightened his hold around his neck. 

Drayton’s father spun, trying to unlatch Vann from his back. The older man backed into the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of Vann.

His breath whooshed out of his lungs at the impact as the pain swelled against his back. The older man quickly fisted his hand in Vann’s T-shirt, pulling him closer then slamming his fist against Vann’s face before tossing him aside.

Vann gasped for air, wiping the blood steadily trickling down the side of his face and into his eye. He shook his head, trying to focus his vision just as Drayton’s father returned to his son’s side, grabbed Drayton by the collar of his pajamas, and prepared to swing his fist to his son’s unconscious body. “I’m tired of you humiliating me!”

Rage pumped through Vann’s veins as he pushed off the wall and grabbed the golf club at his side. He charged forward with a war cry and swung the club in the air, landing the first impact against the older man’s back. With the adrenaline and anger feeding his muscles a violent cocktail, he swung again and again until the older man’s body slumped on the ground. 

He threw the club to the side and rushed to Drayton’s side, not caring about the blood trickling down his own face, the tears burning his eyes, or the sobs wracking his body. “Dray! Dray!” He pulled Drayton’s limp body against his own, cradling him in his arms. ”Please, Dray!”

Another scream tore through the darkness of the night as Drayton’s mother entered the room.

He had no idea how much time passed as he held Drayton close and the tears streamed down his cheeks, praying and begging on everything sacred and holy, hoping his lapse in faith through the years wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass when he needed his Drayton to breathe.

Sirens wailed in the distance, nearing with each passing second.

This couldn’t be his Dray’s end. He was supposed to make a mark in the world, to give the finger to each and every asshole who ever second-guessed him and his gifted mind. Everything faded in a blur as the pain in Vann’s heart began to spread. He couldn’t lose Drayton. He tugged Drayton’s limp body closer, pressing kisses against his hair and forehead, trying to pull him upright into a sitting position on his lap. “Please, Dray!”

“Stop him,” Drayton’s mother yelled when the police stormed into the room. “He killed my son and my husband!”

 

Vann woke with a gasp, trying to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as his chest heaved with each labored breath. Fuck. Ten years hadn’t lessened the memory, the pain and despair of seeing Drayton hurt, or the panic of losing him.

Most mornings, he woke from a dreamless state. Well, at least he couldn’t remember what the hell he’d dreamed or if it was in color or black and white. He was thankful. On those nights, he stole a few hours of sleep. But some mornings he woke with the same vivid memory that haunted him, reliving that night over and over like a rabid Groundhog Day.

He tore the bedsheet off his sweaty body and tossed it aside. He sat up from his spot on the floor and stared at the still-made, full-size bed. After everything that had happened with Drayton, the drive to the new halfway house, meeting the owners, the other residents, going through all the damn rules…it was all too much. He couldn’t handle sleeping in the thick, soft mattress then waking up to find out it had all been a dream. That would have secured him a spot in that special padded cell he’d once stayed in when he had panicked because he couldn’t remember how deep Drayton’s laughter rumbled before it quieted to a sigh.

He shifted his weight, cursing his numb ass as he tried to stand. He walked over to the window of his room, peeking out into the dark sky and sighed. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting the small clock on the dresser. He had plenty of time before breakfast to take a shower and look somewhat presentable.

He worked his way to the connected bathroom, stretching his arms above his head as a yawn threatened to crack his jaw. He looked at himself in the mirror and cringed. Over the years, he had perfected the grim expression staring back at him, one he had matched with his thick, nearly six-foot frame, hoping his appearance would grant him the precious distance he needed from the other inmates. He had managed to stay out of the prison cliques of sex and black market exchanges. The thought of someone touching him, other than his Dray, roiled his stomach. He shook his head, hoping to erase the thoughts of his time inside.

He focused on his reflection and a sudden sadness swelled in his chest. He definitely wasn’t that young kid from before. Even though he had lived on the streets for a few months and had been through some hard knocks growing up with dear ol’ dad, he never remembered looking so…mean and uncaring. Sure, some of those bullies who picked on Drayton in school would disagree after the ass kicking he dished out to them, but overall, he tried to focus on the positive. He never understood why someone would look away and ignore a stranger’s genuine smile, a hi, or a wave to break the ice. He hadn’t had many people in his life want to approach him, but he had sworn to himself many years ago that, for anyone who ever did give a chance to the street kid who was rough around the edges, he’d always have a ready smile in exchange. He had never aspired to be the most popular; he was just tired of feeling like the outcast.

He reached up and ran his fingertip along the scar that started at his temple and cut through his eyebrow. A constant reminder of the night he had almost lost the only person he had ever loved in his life. He curled his hand and looked away from the man staring back at him. He couldn’t remember the last time a smile had come easy to him. He walked away to prepare the shower, hoping to wash away the negativity that had hovered over him for far too many years. He was being given a fresh start. A second chance he never thought he’d have.

There was no way in hell he was going to waste it by letting his past or the last decade of solitude piss on his future.

 

 

 

The mumbles of conversation and footsteps up and down the stairs stopped a bit too quickly for a house full of guys. Vann smoothed the bedsheet until it was perfect, flattening out the dip in the bed from where he’d sat to tie his boots. Everything needed to be perfect. There was no way he could survive going back to that hell after a glimpse of freedom—the taste of food with actual flavor, a view of the night sky, being able to walk more than three steps before hitting a wall.

Seeing Dray.

He sighed.

The feel of Drayton in his arms again, hearing his voice, his laugh, and tasting his lips. A flood of memories of their time together filled Vann’s mind. So many things had changed, yet, somehow, had remained the same. The start of a smile twitched his lips. Drayton still had that dimple on his cheek that made a random appearance, and that smile of his still managed to weaken Vann’s knees. The timbre of his voice still had the power to make him lightheaded. The steady power in those gray eyes still read him clearly, as if able to see through the layers of bullshit and hardship down to his soul.

There was no way he could go back to prison after a teasing glimpse, a taste of so many things he had missed. He had to make this work. He had to be careful of the sinkholes life always seemed to open in his path. He grabbed the door handle and took a deep breath. I can do this. He exhaled a deep breath and turned the knob, finally making his way down the stairs.

He heard voices coming from the living room. One sounded like Matt; the other, unfamiliar. He slowed his step, hoping to capture as much of the conversation as possible before reaching the kitchen. One thing he had learned his entire life—more so during his time in prison—was to listen, be aware of his surroundings, and always be prepared for a strike.

“C’mon, Matt. Please?” the voice pleaded.

“You know I can’t, David. We have the rules in place for a reason, and you can’t decide to leave the house and be out all night without reporting,” Matt said.

“I can’t go back to prison!”

“Then you should have thought about that last night and called. It’s why we give you a phone.”

He slowly took each step down the stairs, finally spotting the two men. The large man stood face-to-face with Matt.

“You’re sending me back there.” He forced the words through tight lips, staring down the house owner with the same look in his eyes Vann had seen in some of the inmates at the prison. Anger and fear was a deadly combination, and he knew all too well how that dangerous mix ended.

“No. You did that all by yourself.”

Vann took the last step at the ground level and turned to face them, no sense disguising an eavesdropping attempt. He took a step in their direction and both men turned toward him. Matt raised a hand to halt him just as a voice boomed from the kitchen. “Shaw. Get in here.”

Regardless of the arguments in his head yelling at him to step away, he stood his ground and stared at Matt. For some reason, he needed to make sure the conversation hadn’t transitioned into dangerous territory. He was too familiar with the outcome of these confrontations. And for some reason, his instincts planted his two boots on the spot, waiting for Matt to release his hold.

“It’s fine, Shaw,” Matt said, almost as if recognizing his inner battle.

Vann nodded and turned toward the kitchen, spotting Julian leaning against the arched entryway with crossed arms and an odd expression on his face. He pushed off the wall and entered the kitchen when Vann approached, pointing to an empty chair at the table in the open space.

“Am I late?”

“No. You’re on time but everyone bailed the moment Matt lost his shit. It doesn’t happen often, and I think it freaked everyone out.”

He pulled out the chair and obediently sat, trying to silence the scrape of the chair on the floor. The wooden table sat eight, but he spotted two other chairs off to the side in each corner. The room connected with a large, open kitchen to create an even bigger area with the only divider a half wall of cabinets and shelves to the left. He chose the chair that granted him a slight view into the living room through the arched entry, needing to know how the conversation ended between the two men.

“Scrambled eggs and orange juice fine?” Julian asked.

Vann nodded. Anything that smelled that good was more than fine. He peeked to the left into the other room, unable to tear his focus away from the conversation in the living room. David now sat with his head in his hands as Matt took a seat next to him and patted his back.

“Learn from his mistake,” Julian said, placing the breakfast items in front of him. He slid a phone across the table. “We give you a phone. It’s basic because we can’t give you internet access on it or a camera. But you call or text us to check in. You can’t fuck up or you go back. Those are the rules.”

Vann glanced up at the looming figure, that same expression from a few seconds before now colored his expression.

“Thanks,” Julian said, his words barely audible. “For wanting to make sure Matt had things under control.”

Vann nodded once and focused on his plate full of food. He scooped a forkful of eggs. “So, that guy, he’s going back to prison because he didn’t call?” he asked in a hushed tone, hoping his voice didn’t carry over to the next room.

Julian nodded and pulled out the chair opposite Vann’s place at the table. “David had two weeks left here. He did five months just fine and fucked up at the end.” He rubbed his shaved head and blew out a heavy breath. “We’re not a hotel. We try to make this feel as much of a home as possible to make your transition easy, but you can’t ever forget you’re on parole and a slipup will cost you your freedom.”

Vann chewed his breakfast slowly, digesting every tiny flavorful bite of food and every spoken word.

“Matt’s the nice guy, and he sugarcoats shit better than I do. Don’t slip or you go back. That’s as basic as it gets. Curfew is at nine. We need to be aware of where you are at all times. The rules are strict early on and lessen with your time here once you’ve accomplished a few milestones. You start with a strict regimen of a work schedule and that’s it. If you don’t have a job, then you’re here. Period. Anyone you want to see must be authorized and they come here. You can’t go to anyone’s house until you qualify for a weekend furlough. You apply, and if you’ve met the program requirements and they’ve cleared the criteria, we grant you the pass. The rules are a pain in the ass and might seem suffocating in the beginning, but it gets better with time and they’re in place to help you with the transition. Our role here is to help you work your way back into everyday life. But you need to make an effort as well. Did you have any questions about the rules from the book we gave you last night?”

Vann shook his head, finishing off the last of the food and biting into the slice of toast.

“So, how was your first night’s sleep in the bed?” Julian asked.

“I…uh, slept on the floor.” Vann slowed his chewing of the breakfast toast when two uniformed police officers entered the house and walked over to David, still sitting in his spot on the living room couch. One officer grabbed him by the arm, cuffed him, and escorted him out while the other officer spoke to Matt.

“Why?”

Vann took a few gulps of the orange juice and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, returning his focus to Julian. “I’ll sleep in it tonight.” He quickly glanced up then away, trying to avoid Julian’s intense stare. “I promise.”

“You’re not going back in. You know that. Right? You can sleep in the bed and get used to it.”

His focus snapped to Julian’s gaze. How the hell did this guy know that was the thought running through his mind? “How do you know that?”

Julian leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “Because you aren’t going to let that happen. You aren’t going to fuck up, and you’ve got a bunch of people in your corner to make sure you don’t go back in as long as you stay on the path.”

“I think fucking up is part of my DNA. I’ve been fighting it my whole life.”

“And how many people did you have in your corner helping you in that fight?”

Vann swallowed the last of the juice. Damn, everything he tasted actually had flavor and every item tasted differently. In prison, it generally looked like mush in varying colors of a rotting rainbow.

“How many, Shaw?”

He backtracked in his mind, remembering the question. “Just Dray.”

Julian leaned forward, crossing his arms and resting them on the table. “This time around, you’ve got a full team of support, both in and out of this house. A lot of people worked together to get you here. When you need something, just say the word.”

“Okay,” he said, not really sure what else to say. He’d never had an army of support cheering him on. “Sam mentioned Jessie Vega and Detective Aidan Calloway were the guys who got the ball rolling on getting me out of there.”

Julian nodded. “To make a long story short, Jessie researched your jacket and found your link to another case he and Aidan were working on. Seems Drayton’s mother, Senator Delereux, had pulled every string possible to keep you inside. Her influence ended with her arrest and Drayton brought in a team of defense lawyers.” Julian rubbed his shaved head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything in the system move as quickly as that team did to get you here.”

Vann fidgeted with the fork in his hand. “I’d…like to meet them.” He glanced up and looked away again, spinning the fork in his hand. “To thank them.”

“We can invite them for a lunch thing this weekend. Aidan never says no to food so it’ll be an easy sell.” Julian tapped the table, drawing his attention. “Jessie said you could have served far less time with a different charge and—”

“I killed a man. Regardless of the circumstance, I ended a life.”

Julian leaned forward on the table. “The circumstances are important. One thing I’ve learned here is that things aren’t always as they seem. So I don’t base my judgment on what’s on paper. Yes, you killed a man that day but you also saved a life. Don’t argue with me.”

“Is that one of the house rules?”

Julian scoffed. “For fuck’s sake. I can already tell you’re going to stress me the hell out.” He stood from the table when Matt entered the room.

Matt’s face pinched, obviously upset about what had happened in the living room. He reached out and ran his hand down Julian’s arm then sat in the chair Julian had just vacated. “Sorry you had to see that.”

Vann shrugged. “He screwed up. Shit happens.”

Julian snatched his empty plate and glass and set them in the sink, shaking his head as he walked away.

“How about we start with trying to find you a job,” Matt said, drawing his focus. “Let’s talk about your skills to see where there’s a fit within our employment program.”

Vann chewed on his lower lip and crossed his arms. Skills? Shit. He could pace within a small space. He could bench a shit-ton of weight, but he doubted those skills merited a job. Serving a life sentence in a place filled with lifers definitely didn’t perk up interest in many skill development workshops and programs.

Matt thumbed through a list of what appeared to be company names and job titles. “Do you have computer skills?”

Vann shook his head.

Matt crossed off a few items from the pages, thumbing through the other sheets.

Vann crossed his arms, trying to battle the defeat that began to stir inside. “Um, I…did some light mechanic work at an auto shop before I went in.” He sighed, feeling a sudden burden weighing down his shoulders. Who the hell was he kidding? “I guess…engines and stuff have changed since then,” he quietly added. He lowered his head to hide his face.

“Shaw?” Julian said.

“Yeah?”

“You were on your own and barely twenty-one when you went inside. We’re not looking to beat you over the head and make you feel like shit. We’re trying to find a place to help ease you back into a routine. Okay?” Julian firmly held his stare.

Full team of support. Right. Vann cleared his throat, trying to push the rock that seemed to now be lodged in the way. “I’ll work hard at whatever you have me do. I’m a quick learner. I just…need someone who’ll take the time to explain it to me once. And I won’t be picky about what you have me do. I don’t care as long as it’s an honest day’s work.”

A hint of a smile softened Julian’s expression.

Matt crossed out a few more items on the sheets and lowered his brow. “Well, we’re a little limited for a few reasons. We have a lot of employers with openings for data entry and customer service, but that requires you to have a certain level of computer proficiency you don’t have at the moment. I can’t place you in any of the retail positions because of your first arrest at the grocery store.”

“What does one have to do with the other?” Vann asked.

Matt’s features softened. “With the theft charge, they won’t allow you to be on the cash register.”

“Oh,” Vann mumbled. Damn petty theft misdemeanor would haunt him for the rest of his life. He hadn’t actually walked out of the grocery story with the loaf of bread, but that didn’t seem to matter.

“We’re always adding employers, plus we’ve partnered with a few vocational schools and certification programs. We can look at those if you’d like while you stay here to build up your skills. You’re here for only a few months, but you can certainly start on a track and continue after you leave the house. How do you feel about working at a diner?”

Vann nodded. He needed a drink of whatever punch Matt had sipped after his little meeting in the living room. His positivity was like a spotlight in the darkness. “I’m game for whatever you think would work.”

Matt smiled and glanced up at Julian standing behind him. “I’m thinking of Bill and Lucy. Cam’s over there, and I think that would help.” He returned his attention to Vann after Julian nodded in agreement. “It’s a small diner…sandwiches, coffee, desserts. Bill and Lucy are the owners and Cameron is the barista there. He was our first house guest, so I think it might help to have him with you.”

“What’s a barista?”

“Means he’s the coffee guy,” Julian clarified.

“So why not just call him the coffee guy?”

Julian sighed and mumbled something that sounded like a curse before walking out of the kitchen.

“Don’t mind him. His patience is running a bit thin today. He’s upset about David,” Matt said.

“So are you. You’re just better at hiding it.”

“And you’re good at reading people.”

Vann shrugged off the comment. “About the diner. You mentioned this guy was your first house guest. I thought there was a rule about not being able to interact with another felon while I’m here. Isn’t that a parole violation?”

“We’ve already got the paperwork in place for a special exception for this since the diner’s in the work program. So it’s not a problem.”

Vann absently nodded. He figured they wouldn’t put him in a situation that would blow up in his face, but he didn’t exactly have the best track record with people. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Can I…call Drayton? I didn’t see a part in the book about phone calls.”

“It’s often left up to the discretion of the house. He’s already filled out all the necessary paperwork for calls and visits. We have all his numbers on file and the approved numbers are already stored in your phone contacts. So there’s no issue with calls here or to your cell phone. He can call the house until ten and your cell until one o’clock am. Keep your focus on work during the day and save your phone calls for the evening. Okay?”

Vann quickly nodded.

“We respect your privacy. We don’t listen in on conversations.”

Julian returned to the kitchen and crossed his arms. He raised an eyebrow as he stared at Vann as if silently waiting for some smartass remark. Vann crossed his arms, mirrored his expression, and leaned back in the chair to return his stare. He had mad stare-down skills and could sure as shit stare down the guy for however long he wanted to do this.

“You’re starting at the diner tomorrow morning,” Julian said in a level tone.

Vann’s eyebrow twitched upward in acknowledgment. That was fast.

“Do you prefer more time to settle in a bit?” Matt asked.

He shook his head. Sit in a room, twiddling his thumbs, left alone with his thoughts or staying busy to distract the negativity that always swirled in his mind? “I prefer to keep busy. Starting tomorrow is fine.”

“They’re going to have you handling the inventory and making sure the place is clean. Are you going to sit there and give me attitude about that?”

“One of the prior house guests had a problem with a cleaning job,” Matt interjected.

Vann cocked his head, refusing to break the stare-down with Julian as he spoke. “Sounds like that other guy had a problem with honest work. I scrubbed toilets on Tuesdays and scraped the grease off the kitchen on Sundays to prep for the week.” He stood from his seat at the dining room table and walked toward Julian, stopping when he was facing the man who refused to break his stare. “I also handled laundry duty every first Thursday of the month. I’m not afraid of work.”

“Good,” Julian said, his arms still crossed.

Matt let out a loud sigh. He walked over to them and gripped Julian’s jaw, turning his head and forcing him to break the stare. “J, behave.” He turned to Vann and gave him a don’t-you-dare look Vann knew better than to tempt. “Lucy makes the best cookies in town. Bring Julian one every day and you’ll have him in your pocket.”

Julian pursed his lips.

“Chocolate chip?” Vann asked.

Julian nodded once.

“Fine. I’ll bring you one. Maybe two if I can sneak it by Matt.”

Julian’s mouth twitched, trying to hide a smile. “Meet me out back. I’m going to take you over there to meet everyone and get the paperwork in order so you’re ready to go first thing tomorrow.” Julian grunted and grabbed the keys off the half-moon table in the hallway then headed toward the back door.

“He likes you,” Matt said.

Vann straightened, thankful he hadn’t said or done something wrong.

“His mom had many jobs when he was growing up. Cleaning houses was one of them, so you just earned his respect.” Matt softly smiled, the love he felt for his partner screamed from every inch of his body as he watched Julian walk out the back of the house. “You’re going to do just fine here.”

“I hope so,” Vann said under his breath.

“And don’t bring him that second cookie if you want to stay on my good side.”