Thorn and D-Con walked out the front door. Johanna stuck out her lower lip and blew away the strands of hair falling in her face. She wished everyone would leave her alone and understand her when she said no, she meant it.

No matter if her cell phone could go with her. When Chief called, she wanted to be by herself, in the house, with no distractions.

She shut the door and looked at her phone again. It was already three o'clock.

Keeffe had promised her cell phone would be able to accept collect calls from prison. All she had to do was say yes.

Her hands shook. She sat down and put the cell on her thigh, afraid of dropping the phone and missing the chance to hear Chief's voice. Not knowing when he would get his turn to make a call, she'd charged the phone twice and sat beside the wall until the battery was full because she'd been afraid she'd miss the incoming call.

Leaning over, she snatched the list of rules for talking to Chief in prison. Keeffe told her she didn't have to write them down, but she'd repeated them in her head until it was necessary to write them down so she could see them.

1. Don't mention Brikken by name. Say family instead.
2. If you talk about other people, use their initials but switch the initials backward.
3. Do not discuss Chief's sentence or the verdict.
4. Do not ask to come visit.
5. Chief's good, so don't ask him how he is doing.
6. When you ask him questions, it's easier for him to answer yes or no. Remember, his conversation will be overheard by other prisoners and are recorded.
7. Calls only last fifteen minutes and they disconnect automatically.
8. Don't cry.

The last rule Keeffe mentioned at least half a dozen times. Her chest ached, and she rubbed her hand between her breasts. Physically exhausted and emotionally wrecked, she'd acted like a crazy woman over the last three days while waiting for today.

She put the paper beside her on the couch and rubbed her eyes. He wouldn't even have to talk to make her feel better. All she needed to sustain her was to hear him breathe.

Her life fell apart when he'd left. Despite trying to find joy in her friends and the club, she couldn't see past the haze that remained when he'd left her. She put on a happy face at work and inside she cried over the injustice of the situation.

The stress put a toll on her life, and she failed to pull herself out of the depression that overwhelmed her.

In all her nineteen years, Chief was the only person she hadn't lost. No one had to tell her she had abandonment issues. Before eight years of age, she'd been left with more strangers than she could remember and never knew where she'd wake up or who would be with her. Most of those experiences, she'd blocked from her mind over time, because Chief had swept into her life and promised to never leave her.

The phone rang.

She yelped in surprise and picked up the cell. Disappointment clogged her throat. Ashley.

Even though she had call waiting, she let the ringing continue until the incoming call went to voicemail. With her luck, if she would've talked to Ashley, she would've pushed the wrong button if another call came in and missed out on talking to Chief.

Silence crawled over her skin making her shiver. The bare walls inside the house irritated her. While she'd lived here with Karla from the ages of twelve to eighteen, Karla had made the house a home. She'd taken the knickknacks, pictures, personal items with her when she'd moved out, of course.

The furniture, beds, kitchen supplies, and appliances came with the house. That and her meager possessions got lost in the barren house. Thorn, Olin, and a few of the Brikken members moved her in the day after Chief got arrested and she hadn't done anything to make the place hers.

She couldn't face buying any decorations or new furniture because this was supposed to be her and Chief's home. They should decorate together.

The wind rattled the screen door. She closed her eyes.

"Please, call," she chanted over and over until her tongue twisted and the words became unrecognizable.

Opening her eyes, she looked at the time. "Are you kidding me?" she whispered.

Only fifteen minutes had gone by.

Her stomach growled. She ignored the noise. Even if she ate, food only upset her stomach. Lately, she lived off coffee and snickerdoodle cookies. Not her choice of food, but readily available at work.

The phone rang.

She jolted and read the screen. Restricted.

Connecting the call, she said, "Hello?"

"This is Seattle Penitentiary; will you accept a collect call from inmate... Dean Stanton?"

Her heart thundered in her chest, unused to hearing someone call Chief by his real name. "Yes. Yes."

"I'll connect your call."

Her skin tingled. Nervous about breaking the rules, she held her breath waiting for Chief to say something.

"Bug?" said Chief in his normal gruff voice.

"Oh, my God. Yes." Hysteria vibrated her chest. "It's me."

"Fuck. It's so good to hear your voice." His tone lifted. "We don't have long."

"I know," she whispered, breathing heavily.

"I heard you're not taking care of yourself."

"I'm doing okay."

"You need to eat and get more sleep," he said.

"I will."

She closed her eyes and listened to his voice. He could lecture her for the fifteen minutes they had together as long as he kept talking.

"You need to quit working. Told you that before and meant it. I don't like hearing that you're not doing what I told you to do. I'm not asking."

She opened her eyes. "I need to stay busy."

"Then, you stay busy with family." He paused. "There are things you can do. Ask V.P."

V.P.? She rubbed her forehead. "Okay."

She'd figure out later which member had the initials V.P. or P.V.

"Tell your boss Monday morning, bug."

"I said okay." She sighed, needing to know more about him. "Are you...sleeping well?"

God, she had no idea what to ask him. There were too many rules, but she needed to find out if Keeffe told her the truth that Chief was doing okay in prison.

"I've got a lot of time to sleep. It's all good. They have some bars for pull-ups and sit-ups and shit in the yard, so I get some exercise. Books I can read in my cell."

"I'm glad you're taking care of yourself. I've..." She grimaced. It wasn't fair of her to tell him she worried about his health and safety. He had enough going on being locked up.

"Bug?"

"Yeah?"

"I've got you taken care of there. You need to trust me and let things ride for a while, but you'll be okay. You need to give it time, and you need to let others be around you. You're not alone. Your friends and family will support you," he said.

"It's hard," she whispered.

"But, it'll get easier. Be patient."

She nodded, realized he couldn't see her and said, "Okay."

"Can you do something for me?"

"Yes."

"Get one of the men to bring over my things to the house. I want you to put them in the bedroom. Take some of the money I have going toward you and redecorate the room."

She sat straighter. "Like paint the walls?"

"Paint, furniture, whatever kind of shit you think we'd like. I want that room ours when I return."

Return.

Return.

He was coming back to her.

If she quit her job, she could work on the room, and when he came home, the bedroom would be perfect. It would be new, and not a reminder of when Karla lived in the house.

"I can do that," she said.

"Listen. The call might cut off any minute, and I'll be gone."

"I know." Her body tensed. "Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you think about me?"

"Every second," he whispered.

"Me, too. I mean, I think about you all the time. I can't think of anything else. I'll think of something and want to talk to you, and then I forget that I can't pick up the phone or go to...to the family. I dream about you and wish you were beside me when I sleep. Just to hold me, and not let me go. You're not going to let me go, are you? You're going to come back for me, and not forget that I'm here?"

"Never."

"Promise?"

"I love you, bug. Remember that," he said.

"I love—"

"Your call has ended," said a female-voiced recording.

"No." She pulled the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. The word ENDED blurred, and the tears she'd held back all day rolled out.

Holding the cell to her chest, she careened to the side and laid on the couch and cried for the pain coursing through her. She'd never survive three and a half more years without him. Six months had practically killed her.