CHAPTER SEVEN
Sabrina
“Could you pass the gravy?” Finlay asked her mom across the dining room table.
Her mom held out the gravy boat, but passed it to me instead of Finlay. “Guests first,” she said.
Finlay rolled her eyes as I accepted the gravy.
“Then I should get it first,” Caden said from Finlay’s opposite side.
“Best friends before boyfriends,” I assured him. “Especially after what I caught you two doing last week.”
“Sabrina?” Finlay said with wide eyes.
“What?” I feigned innocence. “I caught you cutting class and binge-watching Outlander. What’d you think I meant?” I leaned forward and winked at Caden.
Finlay’s parents laughed. They got my humor. And they’d been kind enough to have Caden and me over for Thanksgiving. He was from California and wasn’t going home, and it didn’t make sense for me to drive to Florida for a day or two and have to drive back. I was already heading home for Christmas, so my parents were fine with me staying at Finlay’s.
“So, we know how Finlay’s and Caden’s semesters are going. How about yours?” Mr. Thatcher said to me.
“As you’d expect. I’m pulling straight A's in my classes and beating off guys with a stick in my free time.”
A deep belly laugh rumbled out of him, and my heart soared. They’d lost Finlay’s twin brother, Cole, a few years ago leaving a void a mile wide in their home—especially at the holidays. I was pretty sure that’s why Finlay liked having me home with her when she visited. I added the comic relief they needed to distract them from what was missing.
“She’s not kidding,” Caden said. “I figured Sabrina for a football girl, but she’s got hockey players lined up for her.”
I cocked my head and glared at Caden.
“What? Am I lying?” He winked purposefully.
“She’s been out with one and the other just drives her crazy,” Finlay said, clearly having her boyfriend’s back and paying me back for my comment.
“She left him tied to a tree,” Caden added.
“Sabrina,” Mr. Thatcher admonished.
I shrugged. “The guy had it coming.”
Mrs. Thatcher looked to me with those same thoughtful green eyes Finlay had. I braced myself for the kind-hearted lecture inevitably awaiting me. “Finlay’s dad and I didn’t like each other at first.”
“We didn’t?” Mr. Thatcher asked.
We laughed as Mrs. Thatcher’s head tilted. “Remember Amber?”
“Oh.” He grimaced. “Amber.”
“Yes, oh Amber,” Mrs. Thatcher said.
Finlay reached for a dinner roll. “Who’s Amber?”
“Story for another day,” Mr. Thatcher said, grabbing his own roll and stuffing it in his mouth.
“Nice save,” Mrs. Thatcher said to her husband before looking to me. “All I’m saying is sometimes first impressions can be wrong.”
“Nope. My first impression was dead on,” I said, pushing around a piece of turkey on my plate.
“Says who?” Finlay asked.
I glared at my friend. “Whose side are you on?”
“I want you to be happy,” she said.
“I appreciate that. But I don’t think some arrogant hockey player is gonna be the one to make me happy.”
“Why? Some arrogant football player makes our daughter happy,” Mr. Thatcher said.
Everyone, except Caden, laughed.
Finlay’s laughter slowly subsided as she looked to me, suddenly giving the impression something was wrong. “I wasn’t going to say anything…”
“What?” I asked, almost nervous for her response.
“I gave Crosby a ride home the other day.”
My head shot back. “What? Why?”
“Apparently, he’s into public nudity.”
My face fell as a sinking feeling turned my stomach. “What happened?”
“He was in a jockstrap. And nothing else,” she explained.
I cringed. “Oh, no.”
“Why were you alone with a guy in his jockstrap?” Caden asked jealously.
I placed my fork down on my plate and tried like hell not to feel sorry for Crosby.
Crosby
Most people spent Thanksgiving eating turkey and all the fixings with their families. Those with relatives far away might’ve spent it with friends. I spent mine at a federal penitentiary in Texas. Scratch that. The waiting room of a federal penitentiary in Texas after an eight-hour bus ride. Luckily, my parents’ lawyer paid or else I wouldn’t have been able to afford it.
I’d never had a job. Never had a reason to. My parents bought me everything I needed. They wanted me to focus on hockey, anxious for a son who played professional hockey as much as I wanted to play in the pros.
Now, everything had changed.
I’d spent the majority of the bus ride searching for a campus job—since I had no car. Most available jobs were during the day and in administrative offices. But given my class schedule during the day and my hockey schedule filling most of my nights and weekends, my availability was limited. One listing that caught my eye was for a position lasting solely for Christmas break working security in the psychology building. Since I had no home to go to and would be one of very few students remaining on campus over break, I submitted an online application and hoped for the best.
“Parks,” a guard called from behind a thick glass window.
I jumped to my feet and approached the window.
“You have thirty minutes. Keep your hands on the table at all times. No touching.”
I nodded.
He ticked his head to the right. “Go stand at that door and a guard will escort you in.”
I nodded again and moved to the door.
Within minutes, it opened and a guard stood there. His eyes moved over my khaki pants and plain white T-shirt. I wore no shoes; they were stored in a locker with my phone and the little money I had. “Follow the rules and you won’t have any problems.”
I nodded and followed him to an empty table in the center of the room. Some prisoners already sat at other tables with their guests.
The guard pointed to a chair attached to the table. “Sit there.”
I slipped onto the seat and folded my hands on the table, my heart suddenly thrashing around in my chest. It had only been a few weeks since I’d been there last—saying goodbye before leaving for Alabama, but every time I visited, it was a stark reminder of how my life had changed in such a definitive way.
“Like the sticks.”
My eyes jumped back to the guard who still hovered beside me. “What?”
He nodded at my arm. “The hockey sticks.”
I glanced down at one of the thirty tattoos on my arms. I knew the one he referred to. It had been one of my first. Two hockey sticks crisscrossed on my right forearm. “Thanks.”
“You any good?”
In no mood to shoot the shit with him, I shrugged.
“Well, for what it’s worth, your mother thinks you are.” A small smile pulled at his lips before he walked away leaving me with a pit in my stomach.
This wasn’t the life I was supposed to have. This wasn’t where my mother was supposed to end up.
“Crosby?”
My eyes lifted.
My mother approached. Her once impeccably-styled hair was now graying and pulled up in a messy ponytail. Her brand-name clothes had been replaced with a prison-issued blue jump suit. Slip-on sneakers replaced her thousand dollar heels. And her diamond tennis bracelet my dad had given her on their first anniversary was now a pair of silver handcuffs. The whole scene was still a shock to my system.
She slipped into the seat across from me, frailer than I recalled. She managed a small smile, though tears glazed her blue eyes. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
I forced my own smile. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
She placed her hands on the table like mine.
I tried to avoid looking at them because all I saw were the handcuffs.
“How’s school?”
I shrugged. “I’m getting used to it.”
“Do you love it in Alabama?” she asked.
“It’s not bad.”
She closed her eyes and a look of nostalgia swept over her features. “I bet the trees have changed colors and the whole campus is filled with hues of orange and yellow.”
“It is.”
“And how about the buildings?” she asked. “Are the old ones with their stone pillars still as impressive as ever?”
“They are.”
She opened her eyes. “Some of my best memories happened on that campus. I loved it there.”
I nodded. She’d conveyed her love for Alabama hundreds of times over the years. Especially when the time came for me to decide where I’d attend college. Much to her dismay I chose Texas. But as I sat there in a prison on Thanksgiving, staring across the table at my once vivacious mother, I could see how much she missed her freedom and the outside world.
“I want that for you,” she said. “I want that campus to bring you as much joy as it brought me.”
I nodded, unable to tell her what I’d been dealing with. I was there to make her happy. Keep her positive. Not complain about my shit.
“Have you spoken to your father?” she asked.
I shook my head.
She nodded. “He’s got his own demons to contend with, I guess.”
“Yeah.” I hated him for what he’d done to her. She’d sworn up and down she had no knowledge of what he’d been doing. And I believed her. Because if she’d known, she would’ve tried to stop him. And, she never would have been foolish enough to allow him to put her name on everything. Because in the end, her name on all the paperwork is what got her convicted right along with him.
Her eyes lit up, though the lines around them appeared deeper. “How’s hockey?”
“I scored a couple goals already.”
She shook her head, in that proud sort of way only a mother could. “You’re going pro. I just know it.”
“Maybe.”
“Keep playing like you’ve always played and the scouts won’t be able to resist. Just don’t give them a reason not to want you.” Guilt flitted across her face. “Another reason for them not to want you.”
“Stop blaming yourself. My skills speak for themselves. Who my parents are doesn’t matter to them.”
Her eyes dropped to the handcuffs on her wrists. “Let’s hope.”
“I’m serious.”
She nodded, but I knew she didn’t believe me.
“I sent some money to Rosa,” I said.
Her eyes lifted to mine. “You did?”
I nodded. “I wanted her to be able to get her kid a little something for Christmas.”
“Oh, honey.” She reached across the table and placed her hands down on mine.
My gaze wandered to the guard who quickly looked away, as if he noticed, but wanted to give us a minute.
“I figured sending money now would give her time to find something nice. And use her coupons.” A quiet laugh escaped me. “Remember how she used to spend all her free time cutting coupons?”
My mother smiled sadly, likely remembering our housekeeper. The one who’d been there for me when my parents traveled. The one who carted me to most of my practices when I was a kid and had been there for every big milestone in my life.
I called her from time to time to check that she and her new baby were doing okay. She assured me they were, but there was no way her office job paid anything like my parents had.
“That was very generous of you, but you must be depleting what little money you have left.”
I shrugged. “I’ll be fine. I applied for a job.”
“Oh, yeah?” Her voice drifted as she removed her hands from mine. “Your father and I did you a disservice by not forcing you to make your own money.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. She lifted her linked hands and wiped them away.
“It’s all right. I wasn’t ready for a job then. I am now.”
“Right,” she said, laughing through her tears. “You need money to take out all the girls who are undoubtedly fighting for your attention.”
I laughed. “Obviously.”
She laughed again, and I was so damn happy her tears had subsided. I hadn’t visited to make her sad. Her eyes moved to my tattoos. “You haven’t gotten any more, have you?”
I shook my head.
She lifted her chin at the un-tatted area on the inside of my left bicep. “Glad to see that spot’s still empty.”
I scoffed. “Yeah. I can assure you, it’ll stay that way for a very long time.”
She remained silent. I let the silence between us settle, giving her a chance to say whatever it was she wanted to say. That’s how it usually worked when we spoke. She spent so much time alone, she liked having me there, whether in person or on the phone. I figured the silence was easier with someone else sharing it.
I glanced around the room at the other people. Some smiled, some cried. It wasn’t a happy place by any means. It reminded you that you were separated from the people you loved. And no matter how terrible their crime, they still loved you.
“I think you should talk to someone.”
My eyes shot back to my mom. “What?”
“I’ve been talking to someone in here. You know, to help me…adjust. She thinks you could benefit from talking to someone too. Someone to work through your anger.”
“You think I’m angry?”
She tilted her head. Instantly, I was transported to her standing in our kitchen, giving me the same look when she didn’t believe what I was telling her. “It would be alarming if you weren’t.”
I dragged my teeth over my bottom lip, unsure what to say. Of course, I was angry. I had a million reasons to be.
“My counselor looked into it for me,” she continued. “The campus has a counseling center. All you have to do is schedule an appointment.”
I didn’t know if I should’ve been angry she thought I had anger issues—yes, I see the irony there—or if I should’ve felt fortunate that even behind bars, she thought about me and wanted what was best for me. “I’ll think about it.”
She nodded. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted…I love you, Crosby.”
“I love you too.”