Lifers

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I shrugged. “Knock yourself out, but I’m pretty sure she hates me.”

  “And she’s definitely fired you?”

  “I was just headin’ over there. I’ll find out as soon as I get out of here.”

  Officer Carson sighed. “Let me know when you have an answer. We’ll have to make arrangements otherwise.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She stood up and walked me to the entrance.

  I was relieved that the visit hadn’t been a complete disaster, and was pleased that I was on my way out, when we both heard Torrey’s car roar up the street. She skidded to a halt, wide-eyed, in front of Officer Carson.

  “Oh, uh, hi!” she said, as she climbed out of the Firebird, her eyes flickering nervously between my parole officer and me.

  “You must be Torrey,” Officer Carson said, holding out her hand. “Jordan’s just been telling me about you. I’m Sandy Carson, his parole officer.”

  “Oh … right. Torrey Delaney. Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.”

  They shook hands, and Officer Carson smiled at her, before turning to me.

  “Don’t forget the police station, Jordan. And call me later if you hear anything.”

  I nodded, and she walked back inside.

  “Awkward much?” laughed Torrey, flinging herself into my arms.

  I nuzzled her neck, reveling in the feel of her body against mine.

  “Not as awkward as her readin’ your text message,” I chuckled.

  “What? You’re kidding me!”

  “Nope. She heard your message come in and insisted on checkin’ out my phone. I don’t have any privacy, sweetheart. I couldn’t say no.”

  Torrey laughed. “Oh, well! Good thing you told me, because I was going to write about some of the things I planned to do with your dick. Just as well I couldn’t be bothered to type out a long message this morning.”

  I groaned. “You’re killin’ me, woman!”

  She laughed. “And what the hell happened to your hair? You look like you joined the Marines or something!”

  “Nah. But this hot woman I’ve been seein’ told me that I needed a fresh start, so … what do you think?”

  “Yeah,” she said, stroking the back of my head above my neck. “It’s so soft. It’s not hair, it’s fur! I think I like it.”

  I kissed her throat, sucking on her pulse point, feeling the tender skin under my teeth.

  “I’m happy about that.”

  “So,” she said, running her fingers under my t-shirt. “About that booty call?”

  “I’d love to take you up on that, sweetheart, but I’ve got to go see your momma. I don’t suppose she gave any clue what she was thinkin’?”

  Her demeanor shifted, and she scowled. “I’m not sure. We certainly discussed it last night.” Her eyes turned to me. “I’m sorry, Jordan, you’ll have to ask her yourself. As of last night, it wasn’t looking good, but maybe she’s gone all Christian and had second thoughts.”

  “That’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll call on her after I go to the police station.”

  Her eyes zeroed in on me.

  “My PO wants me to get another drug test,” I explained. “Apparently I seemed somewhat anxious when I arrived.”

  “How come?”

  “The usual: talkin’ to my old man.”

  “Oh,” Torrey pouted. “That sucks. I’ll come with you. I’ve got a couple of hours to kill. I’ll follow you in my car.”

  “Um, you really want to come to the police station with me?” I confirmed, shaking my head in confusion.

  “Sure, why not? I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You really know how to have fun!”

  She laughed. “Well, my plans for a booty call seem to be on hold. But if the police don’t take too long, you have a nice large truck … who knows?”

  “Miss Delaney, you have a wicked streak a mile wide. God, I love y… I love that about you.”

  “Hurry up then!” she snorted, snapping her fingers at me.

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  The police station was in the center of town, a couple of blocks from the Parole Office. I hated coming here; it brought back the bad memories.

  Mostly, they weren’t assholes, but I didn’t trust them either. Too many years of being controlled by people in uniforms—it left a mark. And they had the power to put me back behind bars. Who wouldn’t be freakin’ unnerved by that?

  Torrey was quiet as she stood next to me.

  “So, um, what are they testing for?”

  “Usual stuff: speed, coke, weed, opiates, PCP. No test covers everything, so they pick the most common drugs, or the cheaper tests for the lab to do, I don’t know.”

  “Is it a blood test?”

  “Nope, just have to piss in a bottle.”

  “And they can see from that if you’ve drunk a beer or something, as well?”

  “There’s a different test for that—the EtG. They’re looking for the metabolites your body produces when you have alcohol. That stays in urine up to 80 hours. Sucks, huh.”

  She looked thoughtful.

  “Torrey, this is what it’s gonna be like for the next four months if … if you date me. This is my reality.”

  She poked me in the ribs.

  “Really, Jordan? Is that what you think of me? Just because you have to go pee in a cup once a week, you think that will put me off?”

  I pulled her into my arms and kissed her firmly.

  “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Miss Delaney, and I am not lettin’ you go.”

  “Just promise me one thing,” she said.

  “Name it!”

  “Let me go when you pee into that cup.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “Trust you to say that when I’m bein’ all romantic, woman!”

  “Keeps it real!” she grinned.

  Our light-hearted mood vanished as soon as we entered the police station.

  The guys on duty recognized me, but I could see them throwing looks at Torrey. I didn’t like it.

  I showed my ID, even though they knew who I was, and explained why I was here. One of them phoned the collections supervisor, while Torrey and I tried to get comfortable on the ugly plastic chairs in the waiting room. We sat there for what seemed like an age. Torrey tried to chat away, but the delay was getting to me. I was twitching like a smack addict waiting for his next fix.

  “Hey, calm down,” she whispered, resting her hand on my thigh. “We’ll be out of here soon enough.”

  We were interrupted by an officer holding a stack of papers and a familiar-looking plastic bottle with a screw top.

  “Mr. Kane? This way.”

  Torrey squeezed my hand, and then I followed the guy into the men’s restrooms. He pointed me to a cubicle and left the door open. Then he snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and handed me the small plastic bottle. At least he turned around while I pissed into it.

  Stuff like that didn’t bother me. Eight years of having to take a shit in a restroom with no door—well, that strips away any ideas of modesty or privacy. Not saying I liked it, hell no, but I didn’t let it freak me out either.

  When I was finished, I handed him the bottle and washed my hands. Then I signed my name, got a copy of the form, and I was done.

  I got the hell out of there as fast as I could.

  “All okay?” Torrey asked anxiously, when we were back outside in the town square.

  I took a deep breath and tried to shake off the tension that still filled me.

  “Yep, all done. ‘Til next time.”

  Suddenly, I was aware that we weren’t alone. Three guys in baseball caps had spotted me. They were heavy looking dudes but maybe not as fit as they once were. If I could work this right, I’d talk my way out of it. If not…

  “Torrey, take your car and get out of here.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just do it, please, sweetheart!”

  She glan
ced behind her and stiffened.

  “No way! I’m not leaving you here with those thugs.”

  The men were too close now, and the window of opportunity to get her somewhere safe had slammed shut.

  I stood slightly in front of her and kept my stance casual, although in my mind I was on high alert. I just hoped that they wouldn’t start something since we were still directly outside the police station.

  “Ain’t you Jordan Kane?”

  Fuck.

  “Yes, sir. That’s me.”

  “Who the hell you think you are showin’ yo’ face around here, boy?”

  “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Well, trouble done found you.”

  One of them looked straight at Torrey, his gaze running up and down her body. I tensed immediately. Those fuckers were not getting their greasy hands on her, even if it meant I ended up back in the pen.

  “What you doin’ with a piece of shit ex-con like him, sugar? Why’nt ya come an’ spend some time with a real man. Sure we c’n be right friendly.”

  Torrey tried to get past me, but I kept my arm out, holding her back.

  “I wouldn’t piss in your ear if your brain was on fire,” she yelled.

  “Ha ha ha! She done tole you, Eddy!” laughed the one with the mustache.

  ‘Eddy’ didn’t seem very happy about that and I thought things were going to turn bad. But for once, thank you Lord, luck was on my side.

  Two cops came out of the station and immediately honed in on what was happening. While they weren’t fans of mine, it was pretty damn obvious that I wasn’t the instigator either.

  “Y’all got a problem here?” the older cop said.

  “We’s just havin’ some fun, officer,” said Mustache, giving a creepy, snaggle-toothed grin.

  “Mmm-hmm. Well, take your ‘fun’ someplace else. Y’all git.”

  Muttering to themselves, the men left. Immediately, the cops turned to me.

  “It would be better all around if you didn’t go showin’ your face in town, Kane. Folks around here are mighty picky ‘bout the company they keep.”

  “Oh for God’s sake!” yelped Torrey. “Those rednecks were just itching to start a fight. Jordan didn’t do anything! Hell, he’s just reported to your damn police station!”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said, quietly.

  “Let me give you a piece of advice, Miss Delaney,” said the older cop. “You get home to your momma and be careful about who you spend your time with. Some folk cain’t help attractin’ trouble.”

  Torrey looked taken aback that they knew who she was. Then she rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should look up the whole concept of ‘innocent until proven guilty’,” she snapped.

  “Do tell,” said the older cop. “Kane was proved guilty.”

  “And how long does he have to keep on paying?” she hissed.

  “Torrey!” I begged, tugging on her arm. “Now’s not the time, sweetheart!”

  She whirled around and turned on me.

  “When is the time, Jordan? When three rednecks have kicked the crap out of you for fun?”

  “Watch your mouth, young lady,” said the cop. “You might be the preacher’s daughter, but that doesn’t give you any special privileges.”

  I had to practically drag her out of there, still shooting sparks and spitting fire.

  When I finally managed to get her back in the Firebird she hadn’t calmed down much.

  “You can’t let them treat you like that, Jordan!” she yelled.

  “Sweetheart, it doesn’t matter.”

  “The hell it doesn’t! How could you just stand there and say nothing? We have a Constitution! They can’t just go trampling all over your rights!”

  “And you think they apply to me as much as they apply to you?” I shot back, rapidly losing my temper. “Don’t you get it? They want me to fuck up. They want a reason to put me back inside. They’d love to just throw away the key!”

  “Then fight back! Don’t let them! Don’t quit!”

  I ground my teeth with frustration.

  “I cain’t afford your fuckin’ principles!” I shouted.

  Her face became pale with anger, and her blue eyes were as hard as sapphires.

  “Fuck you!” she yelled, and drove off in a cloud of dust and smoke.

  Great.

  Torrey

  I was so mad at Jordan. I wanted him to stand up for himself. I hated this subservient, cowed side of him. I understood it, sort of, but I was afraid he’d sink back into the darkness and depression that he’d been stuck in when I first met him. I was certain it was better for him when he fought back.

  This day was really going to hell in a handbasket.

  I drove to work angry and miserable. I looked at my phone, hoping that Jordan might have sent me a message, but the only contact on there was from my bank reminding me that I’d exceeded my agreed overdraft. Yeah, thanks. And I still hadn’t heard anything from Dad. I was hurt that he’d erased me from his life so easily to pursue Ginger.

  Bev picked up on my mood immediately.

  “Someone’s having a bad day!”

  “God, Bev, you have no idea.”

  “Fighting with that fine man of yours?”

  I huffed out a tired laugh.

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Is he worth fighting for, hon?” she asked, seriously.

  “Yes,” I sighed, “he is.”

  “How about I make you a Caramel Frappuccino?” she said, throwing me a wink. “Caffeine and sugar all in one delicious iced drink.”

  Her dreamy expression made me laugh. “Better make it a light one, Bev. I think I might need several.”

  “You got it, hon.”

  It was good to have some girl time and get away from all the intensity that seemed to surround Jordan Kane. I thought again about what he’d said at the police station: mandatory drug and alcohol tests; visits and searches from his parole officer; curfews; travel limits; even his damn text messages were subject to examination. That was his reality. Did I really want to buy into all that? Hell, no sane person would want that.

  But there was so much more to him than his past or even his present reality. He was sweet and funny and kind. He was thoughtful and caring, and even when we were just talking, I enjoyed his company. And did I mention that the sex was so hot I practically melted just looking at him?

  It had been a few years since I’d let a guy get through to me like this. Why the hell did it have to be a fuck hot felon on parole? Life sure had a sick sense of humor. Or maybe I should go with Mom on this one: God has a plan for us all. Now that would be ironic.

  I really hoped he’d stop by later.

  Jordan

  I wanted to rip out my own tongue for yelling at Torrey that way. Damn, that woman was frustrating. And infuriating. Even when she was being a pain in my ass, she was still on my side.

  It had been so fucking humiliating to have those rednecks talk shit to her, and just have to stand there and take it. I didn’t care what they said about me—I’d heard it all and worse. But to have her dragged down in the gutter with me, that definitely pushed my buttons.

  I thought about texting her, but I really didn’t know what to say. I was sure she wouldn’t want to hear from me right now, so I decided to let her cool down.

  Besides, I had to go talk to her momma. And after last night, I was beginning to see where Torrey got her firecracker spirit from.

  I took a deep breath and headed on over to the Rectory.

  The Reverend’s car was out front, which was a start. Maybe.

  I guess she heard my truck because I was just fixing to knock on the door when it swung open in front of me.

  “Uh, good mornin’, ma’am. I was wonderin’ if I could talk to you?”

  Her expression didn’t give anything away.

  “Very well, Jordan. Please come in.”

  She stood back and allowed me to walk past her. I hesitated, wondering if she’d wa
nt me to go to the living room or the kitchen.

  Instead, she gestured toward a small room I hadn’t been in before. It turned out to be her study—where she wrote her sermons, I guessed. A long bookshelf ran along one wall, and from what I could see, it was stocked with several Bibles and companion readers, but what really caught my attention were pictures of Torrey as a little girl: Torrey on a tricycle, Torrey sitting on a pony, Torrey in a ballet costume. So damn cute! The pictures seemed to stop when she was about 12 or 13, and I guessed that was when her parents’ marriage had failed.

  “Please have a seat, Jordan,” the Reverend said, formally.

  I lowered myself onto the edge of an armchair, anxiety shooting through me.

  “Uh, I wanted to apologize for yesterday, ma’am. I didn’t mean any disrespect to you. Torrey and I … we’ve gotten … close. She means an awful lot to me, ma’am and I’m sorry if it seemed like I was takin’ advantage of you. Or her. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Thank you for saying that, Jordan. Do you intend to continue seeing my daughter?”

  “As long as she’ll have me, ma’am,” I replied, honestly.

  “I see. And would you say you have her best interests at heart?”

  “I want only good things for her. Torrey is … she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “I can see you believe that. But Jordan, are you the best thing that’s ever happened to her?”

  Wow, sucker-punched.

  “Um no, ma’am. I guess I’m not. But I really care about her.”

  “So do I, Jordan. Which is why I hope you’ll understand when I say I cannot condone your relationship with her. And I would be remiss in my duty as a mother and as a moral guide to the people of my parish if I encouraged it by continuing to allow you in my home. I am, however, willing to allow you to work here, but not if you continue to see my daughter. The decision is yours.”

  So, that was it.

  I stood up to leave.

  “Thank you for your time, ma’am. I appreciate you lettin’ me say my piece.”

  “And your decision is?”

  I looked her in the eye, knowing exactly what I wanted to say: “You know the ‘Song of Solomon’, Reverend?”