TRENT

“Jesus H. Christ. That is her?” For the past five minutes, I’ve tried to force my feet to move forward. They seem to be glued to the cement sidewalk as I stare at the woman I never thought I’d meet sitting in the back of a car outside of my home.

“Tara, get out of that damn car now. Fuck,” I holler. My arms are instinctively going limp at my sides, and my fingers are twitching to touch her. My head is screaming ‘Thank fuck,’ and my dick has gone fully hard.

I met Tara about a year into my sentence. Well, we haven’t actually met. Not until now. She’s someone else’s wife who was bored out of her mind because she’s married to a man who controlled her every move. Then beat her to a pulp if she moved left when he told her to go right.

Somehow, she convinced him to allow her to help with a local inmate writing program, told him how it would look good for his appearance. Once I learned all about the bastard, the irony that he should be behind bars—or better yet, in a Goddamn coffin for laying one finger on her head—about did me in and drove me off on a furious train to hell.

For a man like me to get a letter in the mail from a woman like her, take a chance on someone listening to my life story without judgment, only to find she, too, needed someone to talk with, and hearing what her life has been like made me want to change.

By the grace of God, Tara somehow chose me to write to without even knowing a damn thing about me. All she knew were the details behind what I had done to put me in federal prison. A hellhole where all I felt was the urge to fucking die every minute I spent behind those brick walls.

We’ve written back and forth for years. Telling each other our dreams, hopes, and eventually, I wrote her a twelve-page book admitting all the crimes that sent me behind bars in the first place. Damn, I hated revealing that to her. Hated reading it back to myself. Seeing the morbid details of what I had done in black and white had me ending the letter assuring her if I never heard from her again, I would completely understand.

I sweated my ass off for fucking weeks waiting for her to write me back after that. I had all but given up when the officer slid my already opened envelope through the bars of my cell. The familiar smell of lilacs assaulting my senses. I tore through that letter until the man inside of me let all my wrongdoings finally slide out of me.

I bawled for days knowing she didn’t have one ounce of judgmental blood in her body. Carrying on about how much she loved me, knew the real me, and would come to me when I got out, and together we would work through our demons until we could walk around without the fear of slipping back into our pasts.

After we confessed our love for one another, all hell broke loose. Tara came clean to me about her abusive husband. In details, I might add.

Horrible, nightmarish words slashed by what I imagined a very shaky hand bled out all over those pages. I took my anger out on punching bags, weights, and even my own body, and I remembered. Christ, I drove myself insane for months remembering the things I did to Clove, a woman I should have never touched or degraded in the first place. A woman I prayed faithfully has forgiven herself for what she had to do in order to find the man she loved. My brother.

One day, I woke with a new attitude, told myself I needed to focus on getting better, and from that day forward I swore Tara and I would work out a way to be together once I was released.

I told her to run. To go to my mother. But for some reason or another, she always came up with an excuse as to why she couldn’t. So, for her to be here now after not hearing a word from her in months has my cock stirring in my pants and my brain freaking the fuck out for all kinds of reasons.

Two particularly. How in the hell did she find me, and why did it take her so long? Questions and answers can come later; all that matters at this moment is she’s here. Still, though, I have this nagging notion tapping me on the chest that she was trapped in a corner by her evil husband. Unable to escape.

I lift my hands, folding them behind my neck, the muscles in my forearms flexing. I want to hold her hand. Caress her skin. Mark her with a new life instead of the scars that bastard has bored down into her soul. I want everything she has to offer me and more.

I’ve finally found a place to settle down. Beaumont, South Carolina, is my home now. The beginning of a new life for her and me, and Christ Almighty, there’s so much I want her to see. But first, I need her to come to me. To kiss her mouth, touch her body, and to make love to her the only way I know how. Rough. Hard. And downright dirty. I know she wants it. Toward the end of my sentence, it was all we talked about. The hard fucking between two battered souls who were meant for one another.

Firstly though, I have to know if he’s touched her, hurt her, took her in a way I know she doesn’t want. Not sure if I’d stick to my parole by not leaving the state if he did.

“I’m out of here. This is a fucking miracle, my friend. Take tomorrow off, and you can thank me for helping her get out here later. I’ll call if I have any questions about our cases,” I hear my buddy Adrian say while never taking my eyes off the woman slowly getting out of her car. I’ll take the entire week off if I want. Keep her sexy ass in bed. Doing the things we talked about. Christ, I’m hard for her.

“I’ll thank you now. You can tell me later how you got her here.” I lift my chin. I love the man as much as I love what we do for a living, but my mind is racing with the fact she’s really here.

I met Adrian Daniels in prison. Got lucky when he was tossed in as my cellmate. At first, I ignored him, but the fucker kept at me. Talking about his wife, his kids, and his life he fucked up by selling drugs for the extra cash to help put his oldest son through college. Knew all about the desperate things people do to survive. We became friends. Busted our asses to stay clear of the trouble that happened daily inside those prison walls. It wasn’t easy, but we skidded through by dreaming. Studying. Always reading up on the law. How and what we could do to survive in this world that’s as fucked up as we are.

I always thought Adrian would be out before me. I’d grow old in that place and never fulfill my dreams with Tara.

It wasn’t until my mother came to visit me one day and told me she had cancer. Through tears, she bared her soul, and before she died, she wanted one wish to come true. For me to get out on parole. We hired a lawyer, set out to get my time in front of the board. I received parole, got out, and by the grace of God was granted to leave the state by my parole officer. My mother’s wish didn’t come true before she died, but at least she knew I had a fighting chance, and I promised her the last time she came I wouldn’t give up, no matter what.

I knew her health was deteriorating with every visit. When she missed one visit, I became worried. I ended up receiving a visit from her lawyer where he told me she had passed away. My twin brother, Turner, sure as hell wasn’t going to tell me. Can’t say I blame him. After all, he hates my fucking guts. Her lawyer expressed his condolences, slid a piece of paper in front of me, and I read through blurry eyes where she left me more money than I knew what to do with, plus a letter telling me how much she loved me and to start my life over by doing some good. After months of grieving for her and dealing with the shock of five million dollars sitting in an account, Adrian and I decided to form a private security firm.

The day I opened the letter from Tara with her tear-stained marks blotting some of the ink was the day I knew what I wanted to do. Something that would not only make my mother proud, but Tara, too. Adrian and I opened TAMS. Short for Trent, Adrian, and Melody. We help abused women find a way to be free from their abusers. It’s not easy, but we’ve never failed. Not once. We don’t intend to either.

With Tara, though, I simply couldn’t get her to leave the bastard. It was like taking a pair of sharply jagged pliers and pulling your teeth out to get her to listen. I begged more times than I could count. Worried until I became sick. Punching the worn-out bag in the prison’s gym until my knuckles were raw.

My heart squeezes inside my chest whenever I think about my mom. She passed away two years ago. One year before I was let out on parole. Not a day has gone by when I don’t miss her. Wishing to God I could have been there to watch her be laid to rest. It’s the price I had to pay for what I have done. Stuck behind bars. Not able to say good-bye. And I’ll never be able to visit her. To tell her I love her. My brother made sure of that by burying her on his land. He paid me back the only way he could when I found out where she was buried. He knew I couldn’t come within a certain distance of him and his wife. It was a lifetime stipulation as part of my parole agreement.

Once a month, my mom would come visit me in prison. The son she thought was dead for so long was very much alive. Only I wasn’t the son she raised me to be. I was a monster living inside of a man. A man she never fully forgave for the crimes I committed, but she tried to forget. Always bringing in the hope that one day I could forgive myself. She died knowing I never would.

Hell, I’ve tried. I’ve been to counseling in prison. Went through it with my parole officer. And now, at thirty-five years old, I’m still struggling to get out of bed every morning, to put my shoes on the right feet and not steer off the beaten path for this woman who needs my love as well as my protection. And for me.

Christ, she is without a doubt the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. Worth everything.

Years ago I had an obsession. A compulsive fucking tick I couldn’t shake. It ate away at me day and night. Bled me dry. And all those things are what drove me to do things I’m not proud of. Placed me behind bars where in the eyes of society I still belong.

I was so fucked in the head that it didn’t matter that every night when I would lie in bed next to my twin brother’s wife, Clove, where I pretended to be him and knowing it was wrong, feeling it in my depths of my gut, I was rotten. I still fucked her brains out, drained my cock, and lost it once by taking her forcefully. I kept on, regardless of the fact that I knew I was killing her inside. Always taking what wasn’t mine to take. Hurting her in all kinds of ways that she didn’t deserve and killing any type of relationship I could have had with my brother. Greed took over. The never-ending begging in my head that kept hammering away, telling me constantly that she was mine when deep down I knew she wasn’t. It was unforgivable. A vicious cycle of delusion in reasoning, until one day it wasn’t.

Clove was pregnant with his child before I kidnapped him and switched roles, took over his life, and played house. Wore his clothes, drove his car, and for a while, told myself all the money he was set to inherit was rightfully mine. I helped her own mother kidnap her, pretended to follow along with the greedy, destructive bitch she was. Played a part in trying to destroy Clove’s life. And it all ended overnight when the first time in my life my heart spoke louder than my head. Telling me she was never mine to begin with. Neither Clove, nor her newborn daughter deserved to start out their lives together secluded in a house with Clove’s mother at the helm.

I helped her escape, worked with the police, Clove’s brother, and together we brought her mother down. Death by my own hand. I deserved to stay in there for the rest of my life. To suffer knowing I would never get penance. Never be able to forgive myself for committing all those heinous crimes. Unforgiving.

I blamed my bastard father, who stole me from my mother and separated me from my identical twin brother. Making me believe I wasn’t loved and raising me to hate them. He beat me raw, lied to me. Convinced me of so much shit I could empty my stomach just thinking about it now.

There isn’t a day when I don’t wish he were still alive, so I could kill him with my bare hands. Until I was coated in his blood. Yet it still wouldn’t make amends for the man he turned me into. I will forever blame him for the foundation he laid before me. I could give two fucks that deep down inside I have no one to blame but myself. He started my downward spiral into my life of hell, and not one single person has been able to see me for the man I really am inside. Not until Tara.