Chapter 4

I think we’re all trying to find that certain someone that’ll love us for the awesome fucking disaster that we really are.

-Fact of Life

Freya

I was stupid.

Really stupid.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

But it was Christmas, and I didn’t have anything else to do.

The old guard with the harsh eyes took in my outfit, and I looked down at my ensemble once again, scared there was some weird stain.

There wasn’t.

Just like there hadn’t been the last time I’d looked.

I’d painstakingly chosen my outfit, trying on purpose to look more dressed down than I would usually be if I was going out for Christmas dinner.

Sure, this one wasn’t so much a Christmas dinner as a visit to a prison, but I was still meeting Ridley not at my job.

I was wearing jeans and a plain black t-shirt, black cowboy boots with silver swirls on them, and my hair was up and out of my face.

I’d read the rules.

I couldn’t wear a dress. I couldn’t wear open toed shoes. I couldn’t wear revealing clothing. My hair couldn’t be down. No jewelry.

That one I was breaking.

You couldn’t tell, though.

I’d tucked the pendant Corey had given me three years ago for my birthday in between my breasts, making it quite impossible to see unless you actually went digging for it.

It was made of leather, too, so it wouldn’t show up on a metal scanner.

Which was what I was doing right then.

The old man waved for me to turn around and I did, presenting him with my back.

The handheld metal scanner squawked once and then went silent as he went over my belt.

“You can move on,” he said, handing me back my purse.

I smiled at him.

“Thanks,” I said softly.

His eyes took me in, studying me from head to toe, then dismissed me.

I laughed softly under my breath as I went to the next guard.

He was standing behind a big counter, and he held out his hand to me.

“Driver’s license,” he said.

I sifted through my purse, pulling out my wallet, and painstakingly worked my license out.

“Sorry,” I said, putting a little muscle behind it. “I haven’t removed it in two years.”

He didn’t look as understanding as I thought he would be, and the woman behind me sighed.

“Maybe you can get it out,” I said, offering him my wallet.

He removed it within two seconds, swiped it into his computer, and then handed the wallet back to me with the license back where it went.

“You’ll sign in and out,” he ordered. “No touching the inmate; a brief embrace in greeting and another before you leave. No sudden moves. If we tell you to get to the back wall, you immediately get to the back wall or your privileges will be revoked. Understand?”

I nodded emphatically.

“Yes, Sir,” I said, nervous now.

Why would I need to get to the back wall?

Were there prison breaks often?

Would one of them try to beat the shit out of me? Choke me with their handcuffs?

My overactive brain ran away from me as I walked to the next station.

“Who are you here to see?” the guard asked.

This one had a clipboard in his hand, and he never once glanced up as he asked the question.

“Ummm, last name of Walker,” I said, looking around the room where the tables quickly started to fill up.

So I’d done a no-no.

I’d literally coerced information out of everyone and everything until I could piece together what was going on with Ridley.

And I’d done a damn fine job of it thanks to a couple of friends who’d felt bad for me.

They, of course, didn’t know why I was asking. They just gave me the info and told me not to do anything stupid.

Visiting him wasn’t stupid, was it?

The guard looked up then, his eyes surprised and wide as he took me in.

“No can do.” The guard shook his head and stepped back. “Walker is in the…”

The guard next to him that was checking in another woman cleared his throat.

“Let her in. Family,” he ordered.

The guard studied the new guard, and I bit my lip, hoping they wouldn’t send me away again.

“You can go to the extended family visit room,” he said, pointing to the door on the right side of the room. “I’ll bring him to you shortly.”

I looked where he was pointing, then back at him with confusion in my eyes.

“But…” I started to say, but the guard held up his hand.

“Just go,” he ordered.

I was confused.

I’d studied all the rules on the website for hours last night, just as I had the previous couple of times I’d tried to come.

I knew for a fact that to get into an extended visit family room, the prisoner was being rewarded for something, and I couldn’t figure out what Ridley, aka Connor, was doing getting rewarded for something already.

From our texting back and forth, I knew he wasn’t being a ‘model’ anything.

From what I’d been able to gather from his very cryptic messages, he’d had to fight constantly. He’d not only been having to prove himself, but he’d also been trying to get his foot into the door with a man who he’d refused to tell me about.

Which was why the information I’d been able to get from my cop friends as well as Corey’s friends had to be true.

He hadn’t told me exactly why he was in there.

All I knew was that he was undercover.

“Okay,” I said softly, turning my back on the guard.

I began to weave my way in and out of the tables, surprised to see so many women there.

Sure, I’d known that there would be a lot here seeing as this was an all-male prison, but where were all the fathers and brothers?

My mind was whirling and my stomach was tied in knots as I passed all the tables.

It was when I was at the very last table, the one closest to my destination, when I was stopped by a very angry woman.

“I was supposed to be able to have a family room tonight,” she hissed, getting up and putting her finger into my face.

I stepped back out of reaction.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t ask for one.”

I tried not to look at the woman’s shirt, but reluctantly my eyes were pulled down to the leather vest that covered her body.

In the reflective glass of the family room, I saw that the letters on the back of the vest declared her as ‘Donnie’s Property.’

My eyes went back to her face, and I took in all the lines and wrinkles, then further down to the pointy red, badly in need of a new nail job, finger that was pointing at my face still.

“I don’t really care if you did or not,” she hissed. “You’re going to pay. I’ve been on the waiting list for that room for months.”

I started to sidestep, trying to get out of her way, and she followed me.

Dammit.

I was not a fighter.

In fact, I was a runner.

And if I couldn’t run, I was a curl up into a ball and hope for the best kind of girl.

It drove my brother nuts, but it wasn’t a reaction I could really fix.

It was just that, a reaction.

I was saved from having that reaction, though, by the very man I was going to see.

“Let her through,” Ridley ordered.

I swallowed and looked up, my eyes widening when I saw him.

He wasn’t clean shaven like he had been the last time I’d seen him.

Even in my yard, as he’d helped me with my Christmas lights, he had, at least, a five o’clock shadow.

Now it was a full blown manly, lumberjack type of beard.

And he had a tattoo.

On his hand.

Of a skull.

Was that a prison tattoo?

Holy cow.

Even in orange he was gorgeous.

He’d been hot before, but now…oh man, he was just…devastating.

Those beautiful brown eyes of his seemed to soak up energy from everything surrounding them, and in the fluorescent light of the room we were in, they looked almost the color of warm beer.

But with that color, I could also see a look of fury boiling beneath the depths.

Oh yes, he was pissed.

“Excuse me,” I whispered to the woman.

The woman continued to glare at me, but she didn’t stop me from skirting her and heading in Ridley’s direction.

The guard that’d been escorting Ridley moved, blocking my back from the woman’s piercing eyes, and gestured to the room again.

“In there,” he said, pointing.

I followed Ridley, who’d already started walking into the room without another glance in my direction.

I found that I was somewhat happy about that fact.

It gave me the chance to study him without that unnerving gaze of his making me do and say things that I wouldn’t normally say or do.

He looked bigger than he had four weeks ago. Scarier, too.

Maybe it was the inmate orange.

Or possibly the new look.

I don’t know what it was about him, but my heart started to race the closer I got to him.

“Later, Walker,” the guard said from behind me.

I blinked, turning to see him closing the door to the room, leaving me alone with Ridley.

I was suddenly extremely nervous.

So nervous that I was scared to look back at him.

“You can’t come visit me anymore,” he started. “I can’t be seen with you, and you can’t be seen with me.”

I gasped, looking up at him, forgetting my nervousness.

“And why not?” I challenged. “I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. I didn’t think anybody would.”

Ridley frowned, then unconsciously slipped the handcuffs from his hand via the key he’d pulled out of his pocket.

My mouth dropped open.

“What the hell,” I said. “They’re just allowing you to do that all willy nilly?”

His mouth quirked. “All willy nilly?”

I frowned at him.

“I can’t help the way I talk,” I crossed my arms over my chest.

His eyes went down to my chest for a few long seconds, then moved back up to my face.

“I’m being serious,” he said. “You can’t come up here anymore.”

“Why?” I asked.

His brows rose.

“Why?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes. Why?”

“Because this isn’t a normal thing here,” he said. “I’m undercover, and you could slip and call me Ridley and blow the whole thing. Not to mention it’s more than obvious that there’s a fuckin’ leak somewhere or you wouldn’t be here.”

His glare was ferocious.

I shook my head. “I won’t do that.”

“You can’t promise me that,” he countered.

I was nodding even before he finished that statement.

“Yes, I can,” I said emphatically.

He sighed and sat down on the couch that was easily ten years old.

It looked comfy, though, by the way Ridley’s shoulders and back sank into the cushions.

“Sit down,” he said tiredly. “You’re here now.”

He sounded resigned, and I frowned.

Had I made a mistake?

I thought he’d like having me visit him.

But I also didn’t really know him outside of a few texts.

Sure, we’d been texting on and off for a few weeks now, but that didn’t mean much.

He didn’t know me well other than from texting.

And when we did talk; in person and over a phone were completely different things.

I sat down at the table, turning the chair around to face him, which he found amusing.

“You came here for a reason,” he said.

I bit my lip.

He sighed again, and I started to get angry.

I wasn’t usually such an emotional person, but the man currently sitting in front of me had affected me from the first day I met him.

“I quit my job,” I said in a rush when he looked like he was about to say something else.

He blinked, staring at me.

“What?” he asked.

“Well, not the main one. But I quit volunteering,” I said. “I told them I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“And?” he asked.

“You were my reason for telling them I couldn’t do it anymore,” I said. “I told them I had prior engagements for the next couple of months. And they didn’t think I was telling the truth.”

His mouth quirked up in a smile.

“So what, they followed you?” he asked.

I nodded.

“I think they did. I really think that they thought I was lying, so I had to prove to them that I wasn’t. So I came,” I said.

He laughed.

Not a small laugh, either, but a full belly laugh.

I found my first smile in over twenty-four hours since I’d given my notice with my boss that I wouldn’t be coming to the clinic anymore.

“So other than driving two hours to come see me when you didn’t want to, how’s life treating you?” he asked. “You said in your messages last night that someone stole your Santa.”

I nodded emphatically.

“They did!” I growled, hit all over again with the anger that I’d been plagued with. “Off my roof!”

His brows rose to his hairline, and his lips widened into a smile at how angry my voice sounded.

“I thought that it was on your side porch,” he said. “Who put it on your roof?”

I pointed to my chest.

“Me,” I indicated myself.

He blinked, then leaned forward.

“You got on your roof?” he asked. “You have a two story roof.”

I nodded.

I would know if I had a two story roof or not.

Why was he not more upset about someone stealing my Santa like I was?

His mouth thinned into a straight line as his eyes narrowed.

“Was anyone there to help you?” he continued.

I shook my head.

“Mr. Craddock kept egging me on, but other than that, no; no one helped me,” I told him. “I stapled him to the roof with my staple gun.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, and I nervously started to clench and unclench my hands on my purse.

The sound of snack cake wrappers brought my attention to my bag, and I smiled as I took out the snack cakes and started tossing them over to him.

“I brought these for you,” desperate to change the subject I could feel taking a bad turn.

The snack cakes hit the couch next to his legs, five in all, and settled against his thigh as I pulled out a bottle of milk.

“I wasn’t sure they were going to let me bring these over here,” I added. “But they didn’t say anything. It said on the website that if something wasn’t allowed, they would confiscate it until I left.”

Bemused, Ridley picked up a Christmas tree snack cake and stared at it.

“I wasn’t sure I was going to get any of these this year,” he said. “Thank you.”

I smiled at him.

“I saw them at the convenience store on the way over here,” I explained. “Normally, they’re smaller in those boxes, you know?” I said. “But these were twice the size. I figured you’d enjoy them if they let me go through with them.”

“They’re not supposed to,” he pointed out.

I blinked. “Not supposed to, what?”

He opened the package and took a large bite, taking off the top of one tree, as well as nearly all the middle before he replied. “Let you have any food. They think you’ll sneak in razor blades or something.”

I blinked.

“How would you get razor blades into something that’s sealed?” I asked.

He looked at me like my naivety amused him.

“I watched a YouTube video the other day about how to make a blow dart out of shit and toilet paper,” he said. “If someone can make something that’ll kill someone in here, I’m pretty sure someone from the outside world with access to damn near anything can figure out how to open a package and seal it back up without making it look like it’d been opened.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Who would want to make something out of poop and toilet paper?” I asked him.

“The guards were telling me something about a guard getting hurt a few years back by an inmate making a blow dart out of those two materials. Used three toilet paper rolls for the tube of the blow dart. Shot the guy right through the eye with it as he was walking past his cell,” he said. “Then another time…”

I held my hand up for him to stop.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t really want to hear about it.”

He grinned at me.

“That’s what you say about all my stories,” he teased, sounding hurt.

I laughed at him, suddenly a lot more at ease.

“I like you, Ridley,” I said softly.

He grinned and opened up another package, eating this one in three bites as well.

“I like you, too, Fuc,” he said.

My mouth dropped open.

“That was told to you out of confidence!” I hissed at him, picking up the milk I’d bought for him and chunking it at him.

He snorted, catching it with hilarious ease, then twisted the top off it and took a sip.

“I would’ve never thought a name like that would get past the teachers,” he said after a while. “None of mine would’ve ever allowed it.”

I grimaced.

“One of my teachers was the one that gave it to me,” I explained.

Ridley frowned at me.

“A teacher?” he asked, sounding stunned. “What the fuck?”

I shrugged.

“I wasn’t the most liked kid in class. I was quiet,” I sighed. “And I liked to read. I hated answering questions because it made me stand out more than I wanted to stand out. And, to top it off, I was smarter than most of my teachers. It didn’t go over well with them, and they found ways to make me realize their displeasure.”

“By calling you Fuc in front of the whole class,” he growled. “Do you ever stand up for yourself?”

I grimaced.

“I…” I shook my head. “It’s easier not to.”

“How?” he asked. “Wouldn’t think it’s easier to take all that shit rather than just say something.”

I laughed.

“Have you ever been bullied before?” I asked him.

He leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“No, can’t say that I have. That was also because they knew better, though,” he admitted.

I nodded.

“Imagine that geeky kid that always got stuffed into a locker…” I said to him.

He nodded, visualizing I was sure.

“Now, when there are other bullies surrounding him, what do you think would’ve happened had he tried to stand up for himself? DO you think they would’ve left him alone, or amped it up?” I asked.

His mouth opened to deny what I was getting at, but then he shut it just as fast.

I nodded and smiled.

“That nerdy kid that got shoved into lockers was me,” I informed him. “The only person I was able to stand up against was Mr. Craddock, and he almost ran over my dog because I’d done it the time before when I’d seen him checking on one of his rent houses. My dog stuck up more for me than anyone, and look where that almost got me. Had you not been there, I would’ve had a dead dog. That’s the way it goes for us individuals that aren’t blessed to have friends or personalities like yours.”

“So you’re telling me, when you stand up for yourself, it ends up being worse in the long run rather than the initial beating?” he guessed.

I nodded.

“Did your brother know about you getting beat up in high school?” he continued.

Those words caused me a pang of sadness as I thought about all that my brother had done.

“My brother was my greatest friend. He hated seeing anything happen to me, but he was also three years ahead of me. Not much he can do at a different campus,” I explained. “He was able to help me out his senior year when I was only a freshman, though. That was my best year at school as far as I can remember.”

“He probably put the word out that you weren’t to be touched,” he said. “I would’ve done the same for my sister. Hell, I did do the same.”

I smiled.

“Has your sister always had those seizures?” I asked him, wanting to change the subject.

Anything would be better than talking about those years.

They’d been pure hell, and no one that’d never been bullied would ever understand just what kind of hell it was.

“Yeah,” he nodded his head, lifting his shirt slightly to have easier access to an itch on his belly before continuing.

My eyes were drawn to his tight abdominal muscles that clearly showed a couple small glimpses of abs before he dropped his shirt back down into position.

My eyes went to his, and I saw awareness of what I’d just done there, but he didn’t stop his explanation.

“My sister has…had…a lesser form of epilepsy since as long as I can remember,” he explained. “I was eight and she was six when the first episode I remember her ever having happened.” He shook his head. “We were sharing a room with my parents at Disneyland.”

I winced.

“She’d just gone to sleep and was lying in the bed next to me when she started jumping around like one of those Mexican jumping beans.” He frowned. “I turned over to yell at her to stop when I saw the way she was staring at nothing. Ran and got my parents, and they took her to the ER while my grandmother waited back at the hotel with my brother and me. It was terrifying.”

“Does she have them often?” I asked softly.

He looked at me, wondering, I guess, what he should divulge, then shrugged.

“Here and there,” he admitted. “Nothing as much as lately, though. Once she had the baby it was like night and day. While she was pregnant the episodes amped up to nearly terrifying. Then she had Emily. Though the episodes were still present once she had the baby, they were nowhere near as bad as they’d been before. Ever since the latest car wreck that I met you on…well it got worse again.”

I swallowed.

I’d heard him explain that to the doctor.

She’d been struck in the head with a car seat from the backseat, and ever since then, her seizures had become more and more sporadic.

“Were y’all able to control it before then? While she was pregnant?” I asked, my nurse training kicking in.

He pursed his lips in thought, then nodded his head at the same time he shrugged.

“She had multiple seizures throughout her entire pregnancy,” he admitted. “But she has triggers for the one she did have. If she’s tired and forgets to take her medication on time that day, it might cause a seizure. Sometimes it’s extreme emotion. She’s been seeing a specialist in Dallas since she was a small child, but they’ve only gotten worse over the last year.”

“Oh,” I whispered softly. “That’s terrible.”

It was, too.

She would forever have to live with the fact that she’d played a part in killing my brother, and nearly killing herself and her baby. Not directly, no, but indirectly. If she hadn’t needed to get to Dallas, my brother wouldn’t have been in that car.

Not that I held it against her.

I never would.

I knew his sister wouldn’t be seeing it that way, though.

“Your sister…is she okay?” I asked softly. “How’s she doing with all this?”

He rubbed his face with his forehead, stopping to scratch his beard roughly before replying.

“She’s not good. Well, she’s better now since Apple got his head out of his ass,” he amended.

“Apple?” I asked, confused.

“Her man, Apple Drew. He was the one who came in with the baby in the hospital while we were there,” he explained.

“Ohhh,” I remembered. “Gotcha.”

He reached up to scratch his beard again, and I looked at him, studying the way his hands seemed to be restless, and the only thing they seemed to want to do was play with his beard.

“You don’t like the beard?” I asked.

“I like the beard,” he pursed his lips. “It’s nice not to have to shave every day,” he admitted. “But it itches like a mother fucker.”

I giggled, causing a smile to break out over his face.

“I like the beard, too,” I admitted. “I liked the goatee, but the beard makes you look…rougher. Manlier.”

He snorted.

“So you like the unkempt look, do you?” His voice had changed, become darker and …sexier.

But before I could respond, what sounded like a solid thunk hit the door to our room, and chairs all of a sudden started screeching as they were moved back in a hurry.

“Shit,” he hissed, standing up and walking to the door.

He opened it, then immediately shut it again with a slam.

“Get my cuffs,” he ordered.

I got them and tossed them to him.

He caught them and slipped both onto one hand, treating the metal as if they were brass knuckles rather than a set of handcuffs.

Then all hell broke loose.