No Regrets (No Regrets #1)

by Heather Allen

  I walk down the hallway to the back of the building and step out into the alley in search of Meyer. The swinging screen door slams closed behind me as I scan the blacktop littered with beer bottles and cardboard boxes. My eyes land on a couple kissing, leaning into the shadows. But as I stare at them, my eyes growing accustomed to the dark, I notice red hair, the red hair that I want more than anything to run my hands through. Alarm bells ring as I recognize that the man shielding the woman isn’t Meyer and I’m pretty sure the girl is Mollie. My blood starts to boil. A frown crosses my brow and I slowly inch closer, not sure how serious Meyer really is about her but determined to help her, to protect her. A moment passes where I consider letting them have some privacy against my desire to have her for myself. Maybe she isn’t into Meyer or me and it’s really not any of my business, but I linger a moment, wanting more than anything to rip the man away from her. A few seconds pass with the anger rising before a partial scream echoes in the night air, followed by the sound of skin hitting skin in a loud slap. This propels me forward before I can even think. Red is cornered behind this guy and he’s inching her skirt up as she protests.

  I hear a muffled, “No.”

  As I get closer, I demand angrily, “Hey, you should get away from the girl!” My hand darts out to reach for the guy’s shoulder, attempting to halt his hand from progressing any further.

  The man turns quickly and throws a weak punch at my face while slurring a warning, “Dude, this is none of your business. Get the fuck away.”

  My fingers catch the guy’s hand and I push my own forward, meeting his chin. His head is thrust backwards into the brick wall beside him in a spray of blood. I watch as his grip on Mollie loosens and he diverts his full attention to me, stepping forward in an attempt at another punch. His hand sails through the air, connecting with nothing. My arm moves, bringing my fist up again, knocking the guy into the wall a second time. A loud, hollow sounding thump resonates through the air, making me wince. This time the man instantly crumples to the ground.

  Hurriedly I look at Mollie. “Are you all right?”

  She seems rattled but her eyes are still clear. She nods.

  A rush of breath that I didn’t know I was holding leaves. “Where’s Meyer?”

  Her eyes dart to the man’s motionless body on the ground of the alley. I follow her gaze with my own, realizing that I don’t see his chest moving. I lean over and press my fingers to the man’s throat, then looking at Mollie, I urge her, “Hurry, go find Meyer.”

  She hesitates a moment, looking confused, as if she wants to say something, but quickly turns toward the screen door. She looks back, her stare meeting mine for a second before she disappears. In that look I see sorrow and regret, both of which I know all too well. I stare at the still body at my feet and nausea rises in my stomach. My hand palms my phone and I punch in 911. The operator picks up the line. “What is your emergency?”

  “A man has hit his head in an alley at 1458 Main Street. He doesn’t seem to be breathing.” My middle suddenly feels as if I’ve been punched and the breath has been stolen from me.

  “We are sending an ambulance right now. Please remain on the line.”

  The screen door behind me opens and Mickey strides out, followed by Brutus and Mollie. Slowly, other patrons find their way into the alley, forming a semi-circle around the scene.

  Mickey takes over on the phone as my body sinks to the filthy ground in shock. Mollie sits next to me and grabs my hand while tears silently make their way down her cheeks. Neither of us speaks for fear of voicing our real thoughts. My thumb moves in circles across her knuckles, trying to soothe both of us.

  The paramedics rush down the alley, then hook the man to tubes and machines. The police follow and the night drags on while people are questioned and I confess to having an altercation with the man. I relay the events of the night as best as I can. A terrible feeling washes over me and Meyer is still nowhere to be found. My earlier frustration at my friend turns numb. I just want him to be here. He might be able to help or at least talk me down from the rising panic I feel. I need him to be here.

  Finally as the crowd disperses, a police officer approaches Mollie and I with remorseful eyes. He states, “Greylan Pace, I need to take you down to the station. Theodore James, the man you had the incident with tonight, has just died from his injuries.”

  My hand runs through my hair and I stand as the breath rushes out of me. My body moves in a line, pacing back and forth as more panic rises in my chest. “Are you arresting me?”

  “Yes, Greylan Pace, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

  I nod, unable to speak, completely defeated. Red stands up and grabs my hand again. She squeezes tightly, trying to keep my mind from what is happening and I’m thankful for her presence in that moment.

  “With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

  “I’d like to wait for my attorney.” Each word is strangled as the events of the night wash over me.

  The police officer reaches for my hand with his handcuffs but Mollie’s fingers dart out, grabbing the officer’s arm. “Is that really necessary?” Her grip is tight. Sheer dread crosses her features as she seems to realize what is happening. I have the urge to comfort her and my anger rises as I think what she must be feeling. My fury comes as I remember the man’s hands on her body.

  The officer looks quickly to her hand and backs up, seemingly ashamed he says, “It’s protocol.”

  He fastens the handcuffs on my wrists in front of me at waist level. The cool metal digs into the skin, making me uncomfortable. I look at Mollie and state in an even tone, surprising both of us at how calm my voice is, “Find Meyer and tell him to meet me at the police station. Tell him to get a hold of Carlo and Jimmy. And tell them that I’ll need a lawyer.”

  “I will. I’m so sorry, Greylan.” Her eyes are downcast and terrified over the scene. Tears fall down her cheeks again. Her head shakes in remorse.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  My hand reaches out, awkwardly lifting her chin. “It’s not your fault. He shouldn’t have forced himself on you. I should have been there sooner.”

  She stares wide-eyed as I’m secured in the back of the squad car. I glance across the street and suddenly my stomach is turning in knots. My dream just came true. Is it possible that I won and lost it all within the same night?

  Chapter 1

  Five Years Later

  “Grey,” a deep voice calls through the metal bars that have been my life for the past five years. I glance up, resting my arms on my knees. My too-long dark hair falls across my eye as I look up at the guard.

  The man calls out, “It’s time, buddy. You’re out.”

  My hand moves hesitantly to the duffle bag situated next to me on the cot. I brace myself and stand, eyeing the eight by eight cell I’ve called home for the past fifty-eight months, just shy of five years. The walls are stripped bare, ready for the next occupant. A buzz sounds through the space as the bars slide open on squeaky wheels. I step forward and nod to the guard as he turns to lead me down the corridor to freedom. We make our way to another barred passage. The guard beyond pushes a button, freeing the bars to move backwards, they squeak again, echoing through the enclosed space. Trying hard not to think about anything that’s happening, I force my feet forward, my vision tunneled on the guard leading me down the hall. I have mixed feelings, joy that my freedom is mere steps away but terrified to meet the world I haven’t seen in such a long time.

  A long counter finally greets us with a glass window securing a woman beyond. She is dressed in a black prison guard uniform. Her brown hair is piled in a bun at the nape of her neck. She calls in a monotone voice through a speaker in the transparent wall while loudly chewing on a pi
ece of gum, “Name?” Her double chin bobs up and down with the movement.

  My voice comes out as a shallow whisper, “Greylan Pace.”

  She nods and turns to a wall situated with shelves with hundreds of small boxes on each. She finds what she’s looking for and pulls out a large manila envelope. She opens it as if this is a regular everyday occurrence, which for her, it probably is. Her hands deftly move to pour the contents into a small black basket. I attempt to brace myself for this moment. I haven’t seen the items in that envelope for years. They’ve been kept safely hidden away. Now, as my eyes scan the contents-the black banded watch and golden ring attached to a long glistening chain-my heart skips a beat. Memories of the ring flood my mind. The day my mom died, now seven long years ago, my dad placed the ring securely in my palm. His words that day were so pained. “Grey, I want you to have this. I know you’ll keep it safe.” I should have known in that moment what he was planning. He never parted with the ring etched with our family’s history. But I was so overcome with my own grief that I never recognized the signs.

  “Sir?” The woman’s voice is impatient.

  My eyes move up as I palm the ring.

  “Sir, we’re done. You’re free to go.”

  I look toward the guard who led me here. He steps forward and states, “Follow me.”

  He walks across the room to an ordinary glass door. I can see the bright sunshine beyond. Hesitantly, I look back to the woman behind the counter and she smiles in acknowledgement, possibly urging me forward. My fist clenches tighter on the bag that contains all of my possessions. The guard stops and pushes the door open, holding it for me to pass. I hesitate a moment again before crossing into the bright sun. I turn to look back just as the door closes and the locks click. A short walled walkway spans in front of me before ending at an additional gate. My head angles down toward the ground beneath my feet and my legs move to make the walk, slowly, my breathing erratic as I focus on what is happening. A guard steps from the shadows as I approach the gate in the wall. He looks at a clipboard and states, “You must be Greylan Pace.”

  My head moves in acknowledgement.

  He looks up to a short tower above us and calls into a walkie at his shoulder, “Greylan Pace. You’re good to open the gate.”

  Those few words change everything. The gate slowly moves forward, displaying the same dirt road underfoot and the same bright sun above, but in that instant it all looks so different on the other side of the metal. I step forward, forcing my pace to remain even. Once I’ve cleared the gates, they start their slow motion back in place. My breathing evens out and I can suddenly taste freedom. I’ve spent five years incarcerated, unable to do much of anything except think. Now I can do things to stop the thoughts that haunt me every day. I want the nightmares to stop more than anything but I know I deserve every single one of them. The man I killed is gone and I’m alive, now able to live as I want. How is that fair?

  Pissed that my thoughts have seeped back in again, I look up as a small framed figure in a long flowered dress steps from the grass beyond the road. Trinity. She hesitates with a shy smile across her mouth. My hand releases my bag to the ground and I secure the gold chain around my neck. My fingers touch the ring one last time before I reach down and grasp the bag. I force my legs forward in a rush across the small two lane road. I release the bag again before lifting her into my arms. She nuzzles my shoulder and whispers, “It’s so good to see you, Grey.”

  “Hey, kid.”

  It is better than good seeing her. I’ve missed her beautiful face. When I found out that I would have to spend time here for my crime in that alley so long ago now, I had refused to let her come and see me. I didn’t want her to set foot in a place like this. She protested every week when we spoke on the phone but I stood my ground. Prison is not a place she should ever have to endure in any way. It pains me enough that she came to get me today. But her stubbornness shone through when I suggested that I could get someone else to pick me up. For the past week I’ve braced myself for this moment. The instant when we would be reunited and life could go back to the way it was.

  She smells clean like soap and sunshine. I set her down to get a better look. Her hair is longer than I remember and her face has matured. Her cheeks seem narrower but her nose, my favorite part about her, is still the same. Her small frame looks thinner than the last time I saw her. The chocolate in her eyes shows the stress of the day and I’m sorry that I’ve put her through any of this. I have every intention of making it up to her, though. I lift my finger and gently push her nose, causing a huge smile and squirm. God, I’ve missed her.

  She asks, unsure, “Are you hungry? Do you want to go and get something to eat?”

  I shake my head, admitting, “Believe it or not, I’m tired. A real bed sounds better than anything else right now.”

  She assents in a rush of breath. “Okay, so home it is.”

  I grasp my bag and squeeze her hand as we walk to her black SUV waiting in the small parking lot. As I slide into the passenger seat, the new leather smell hits my nostrils. My eyes scan the car, landing back on her. She seems nervous. I want to alleviate any uneasiness she has but I’m not sure how. It’s been years since we’ve been together and as much as I don’t want to admit it, I’ve changed. Calling a tiny cell your home for five years and being told when to eat, when to sleep, and everything else that constitutes your life, does something to a person. I know that I deserved every minute of it. The fact that another person lost their life as a result of my actions haunts me every day.

  I ask, trying not to dwell on my own ghosts, “Is this a new car?”

  She nods and dismisses it with a wave of her hand. “About a month old.”

  As far as I know she’s been bartending at Brutus’ for the past few years. She is slowly getting through college, paying her own way. When our mom died, the insurance covered very little. Soon after her passing, we had to pay for our dad’s funeral. Anything after that came straight from fights. But Trinity has had to work harder than I ever wanted her to since I’ve been gone. I know there’s no way she can afford a brand new car with what she makes unless something has changed that she didn’t tell me about.

  I squint at her but her stare remains on the road. Maybe things aren’t as different as I thought they were. I whisper, “Look at me, Trinity.”

  She laughs uneasily. “Grey, I’m driving. I can’t look at you.”

  The car slows at a red light but her eyes remain on the windshield in front of us. My fingers grab her hand as I ask, “Trinity, what aren’t you telling me?”

  She reluctantly turns to look at me with a pained expression. My grip on her hand loosens as terrible scenarios pass through my head. Is she doing something else to earn money like exotic dancing or worse? My other hand clenches, I’ll kill someone.

  She shakes her head. “Grey, I was going to tell you later when we were home, after you got a chance to rest and get settled.”

  “Tell me what?” my voice is urgent and angry, both of which are unintentional.

  The light changes and she looks ahead again. The car lurches forward and silence spreads. The fact that she isn’t telling me something and obviously doesn’t want to, has my adrenaline rising.

  My voice comes out strained. “Trin, just tell me. You don’t want to know what I am imagining, so make me feel better.”

  She shakes her head and softly explains, “Grey, things are different now. You haven’t been around for so long and it’s been really hard working and going to school on my own.”

  Guilt and anger mingle through me. “Just spit it out.”

  “I met someone, Grey. He’s very important to me.”

  Relief spreads slightly. My rigid body relaxes but then thoughts of my sister with a man begin to flash through my mind and I start to rub my hands over my face.

  “Okay, Trinity, you met someone. What does this have to do with the new car? Did he buy it for you?”

  “Can we just talk about this a
t home when we aren’t enclosed in the car? I don’t want you to be angry. I don’t want anything… to happen.”

  Cause for alarm crosses my mind. What is she so reluctant to tell me? Is this person older than her? Are my original fears still a possibility? Then her last words hit me right in the chest. She doesn’t want anything to happen, as in, my anger to get the better of me. The last thing I want is for her to think I can’t control my emotions. The death of the guy in the alley was a fluke, a complete accident. I never intended for it to happen.

  I grab her hand and enunciate so my meaning is clear. “Trinity, I won’t be angry. I promise. Tell me where this car came from.”

  The car shifts into a wide driveway in front of a two-story brick brownstone. My eyes shift forward, taking it in. Home for us used to be a small two bedroom apartment downtown, directly above Jane’s Diner. It always smelled of stale oil from the fryers. On good days the sweet smells of pies in the oven drifted up to fill the small rooms. Now glancing at the large home situated in front of us, my stomach drops with fear. I look over with surprise and concern.

  Trinity grabs my hand and squeezes. She hesitates a moment before admitting, “Greylan, I met someone and he takes good care of me. The car and the house and school, I finished school six months ago. I wanted to wait until you got out so that I could explain everything to you.”

  I pull my hand away and sit, silently absorbing her words. She fucking met someone. I have a feeling she still isn’t telling me something. I know there must be more.

  I look over and ask, “Is that all?”

  She shakes her head and looks forward again. Her hands move to rest on the steering wheel. The words leave her lips in a whisper, “We’re engaged.”

  All the air escapes me. Engaged, what the hell?

  My tone is fierce. “Trinity, you’re only twenty-five. You’re just starting your life. You can’t be engaged to anyone.”