Path of Destruction

by Cara Dee

  I glanced around at the inmates. Some fifty men filled the room, everyone with somber expressions, whether they were religious or not.

  It was terrifying that I was leaving everyone tomorrow. They were people I didn’t give a flying shit about, yet they were familiar. They could get stabbed, sick, sent to the hole…I wouldn’t care. They belonged to the only place I knew right now, so they brought a sense of comfort.

  The hell you know is better than the hell you don't.

  I blew out a breath, relaxing a bit for the first time in days. I didn’t have a clue, in general. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I was likely to fuck up. But I'd deal with that then.

  "Thanks for bringing me here, Casey."

  He nodded, smiling out of the corner of my eye. "That was weird, by the way," he whispered. "You've never used my name before."

  I shook my head, amused, and tuned in to the chaplain.

  *

  I didn’t sleep that night.

  For the last…few dozen times…I counted the cracks in the ceiling, and when lights came on in the morning, I was wired and tense. I was giving all my shit to Kid, so there was nothing to pack, save a stack of letters.

  "Are you gonna shower?" he asked as I hopped off my bed. For the last time.

  I shook my head and went to take a piss in the corner. For the last time. "I'm gonna stay here 'til they come get me at seven forty-five."

  "Okay, I'll hurry back." He grabbed his towel and shower kit. "They gave me a pass so I could get off the breakfast shift early."

  I nodded, and then he was off.

  It gave me about an hour to write him a letter. Maybe he'd laugh at my spelling. I wouldn’t be here, anyway. It beat arguing about insignificant crap too, 'cause I hadn't mentioned the money on his account yet. Or that I was leaving behind some books, stationery, and a stack of stamps. I had some shaving cream left as well, and spices and ramen for trading.

  I stashed all my shit in his locker; he could believe I'd gotten rid of it until I was gone.

  The letter I wrote was more of a note. Reminders. He better fucking keep up with the workouts. I told him to call me often, I jotted down my new address, and I suggested a few guys I knew who were relatively safe for him to befriend. Alone, he'd be a sitting duck.

  "Hayes." Shit, it was a CO already. "It's time."

  "Okay." I pushed back a bout of nausea and folded the piece of paper, then tucked it under Kid's pillow.

  Speaking of… He appeared a few seconds later, out of breath.

  "I made it. Fuck." He bent over slightly and rested his hands on his thighs. "That’s the briskest walk I ever made without running."

  Because, no running allowed.

  I smirked faintly and stood up. "Mind if I get one minute?" I asked the CO.

  "Sure." He nodded and stepped outside.

  I glanced at the bunks behind me. It wouldn’t be my home anymore. When I turned back to Kid, he was trying to keep a brave face.

  "Get the fuck over here." I hauled him in for a tight hug, and the shock of affection caught me off guard. I really cared for him. "There's a note under your pillow."

  "Okay." He swallowed audibly and hugged me harder. "I'm not scared."

  My heart slammed against my rib cage, and I managed a grin. "You're a shit liar, Kid." I blinked past the sting in my eyes and kissed the side of his head. "You were right yesterday. I have no faith in myself, but I have faith in you."

  "Really?" He eased out of the hug slowly, and I gave his shoulder a firm squeeze.

  "Really." I nodded with a dip of my chin. "You got this. Your turn in a year, and I'll be there. All right?"

  "Okay." He sniffled and didn’t look up until he'd forced back his emotions. "I'm gonna miss you."

  "Me too." I meant that. I hoped this year would go by fast for his sake. "I wrote down my number and address. Use them."

  "I will," he promised and took a step to the side. "Get out of here, Lincoln. I'll be fine."

  "Right. Come here." I needed another hug, so I took it. Squeezing him hard. "You motherfucker," I whispered. "You made me give a damn."

  He choked out a laugh and returned the hug. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

  I smirked and let go. It was time. "I'll talk to you soon."

  "Yeah—wait." He removed his beanie and held it out for me. Knowing it was special to him, I shook my head. "No, I'm serious."

  "It's yours," I said.

  He huffed and shoved it at my chest. "Don't be difficult. If you insist on making everything a trade, send me a new one. I want you to have it."

  Goddammit. Now he was making me uncomfortable. The CO reappeared in the doorway with a pointed look, so I didn’t have much of a choice. I pocketed the beanie.

  "You'll get it back in a year." With a final squeeze of his shoulder, I left the cell I'd called home behind me and followed the CO down the stairs.

  "Hayes!"

  Nunez was coming from the dining hall, and he quickly stepped up to shake my hand.

  "Look after him," I said.

  "You have my word. Don't come back here."

  "I'll do my best," I chuckled.

  Mack and I exchanged a nod on the way, too. Then I was walking down halls I hadn't been in since I arrived years ago. My heart climbed up in my throat, and everything was surreal. Mechanical locks whirred and ka-dunked, doors opened and closed.

  We entered the administration building where I went through a mindfuck of a procedure to…basically check out. I declined a change of clothes from Lost and Found, knowing Pop was waiting on the other side of the last set of doors with a new outfit. I was given forty bucks and some change, and I stared blankly at the bills.

  They'd fucking changed. The design. It was different.

  So it begins.

  I was a decade behind.

  *

  "A sight for sore eyes," Pop said thickly.

  I'd lost the ability to speak. I hugged him tightly and swallowed repeatedly. My eyes wouldn’t close, though. They scanned the parking lot in front of the prison, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back inside to change clothes.

  "I won't ask how you feel." He clapped me on the back twice.

  "Good." I chuckled hoarsely and eased off, grinning when he produced a pack of smokes for me. "I wouldn’t know what to tell you. Thanks." I accepted a lighter, too.

  The first drag tasted like freedom. No one was tapping his watch impatiently because smoking wasn’t allowed. Holy fuck, I wouldn’t be followed by guards anymore.

  "Let's get outta here," I said.

  "Have you had breakfast?" He nodded toward a row of cars.

  "No. I wouldn’t mind coffee." Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I could stomach food at the moment. But coffee…? Hell, yeah. A cappuccino, maybe. Or regular black, which was what I preferred…

  Screw it, I was having both.

  Chapter 23

  Adeline Ivey

  "Do I know Keith's son, Mom?"

  "No, sweetie, you don't." I wiped down the counter a last time and deemed the kitchen done. "Lincoln went away when you were a baby."

  It was a small space, though I doubted he'd need more. Rather than a box-shaped apartment atop a garage or something, his new—temporary—home was narrow and had two stories. He had his own private entrance, which led straight to the little kitchen. It'd been furnished already with a round table by the window that seated four.

  I'd been coming and going all weekend to make sure he'd be as comfortable as possible. Not that he'd care about drapes or even notice I'd scrubbed the floorboards. It bothered me that I hadn't been able to remove the grease stains on the floor by the stove. Who the heck had floors with no finish in the kitchen? It'd be like having carpeted bathrooms.

  "Okay." I wiped my forehead and surveyed the kitchen. Fridge stocked, freezer filled with food I'd prepared, microwave installed… Lincoln wouldn’t be allowed to drink any alcohol whatsoever, so I'd given the six-pack to Madigan. "Oh! Abel, could you do me a huge favor?" H
e nodded eagerly, enjoying it when we gave him work. He said it made him feel adult. "Can you get the coffee and filters I left in the hallway at home?"

  "Yeah, okay." He ran out the door.

  I smiled and moved on. In the tiny hallway between the kitchen and the living room, I quickly checked the half bath. Toilet paper, two hand towels, soap. Done.

  I adjusted the rug on the floor and continued to the living room. While Jesse and I had bargain hunted and come across a chair and a coffee table to go with the couch, Madigan had splurged on a plasma TV that now hung on the wall. Crazy expensive.

  A knock on the terrace door let me know Jesse was back, so I hurried over to help him.

  "It's not too big, right?" I studied the tree he'd bought.

  "Chicks usually don't mind that it's big."

  "Jesse!" I dropped my jaw.

  He laughed and positioned the tree in the corner. "Chill. It's fine." Once the tree was in place, he inspected it and said, "I'll go get the decorations."

  "You do that." I shook my head at him and headed upstairs. I had less than an hour until the Hayes men would be here, so I wanted to get everything finished.

  There was only a bedroom and a bathroom up here. Not much to check in on. Straightening the bedspread over the bed that took up most of the space, I made a mental note to pick up a clock radio next time I was out.

  The acoustic guitar Mr. Hayes had bought stood on a stand in the corner, its black polish gleaming in the light from the window. Keith, dammit; he's told you to call him Keith.

  I opened Lincoln's closet, sifting through the clothes I'd bought. Jeans, band tees, hoodies, sweat pants…socks, underwear, two ties. I'd have to get his measurements so the clothes he'd wear for work wouldn’t be ill-fitted. Another mental note.

  That was it, wasn’t it? I tapped my chin and left the room. The bathroom was ready, and the door that led straight to Martha's upstairs was locked. First time I'd tried the doorknob, I'd thought it was a closet. Instead, it was one of the reasons Lincoln was allowed to live here. Apparently, Michigan inmates weren't allowed to live alone at first. But this was technically part of Martha's house. They shared front and back yards, as well.

  Trailing downstairs again, I gathered my cleaning supplies and set them by the front door.

  *

  Had they stopped on the way? I checked the time, wondering where they were.

  Calm your tits, woman.

  I sighed and returned to chopping vegetables and peeling potatoes. Lincoln had requested pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy. That’s what he was gonna get.

  "Mom!" Abel called from upstairs.

  "What is it, hon?" I hollered back.

  "Can I stay home from school tomorrow, too?"

  I snorted, rinsing two bell peppers. "Nice try!" The puppy-dog eyes only worked once in a while. I had no work today, so when he'd asked so pitifully and sweetly to be home with me, I'd agreed.

  The door opened, and Jesse brought in a breeze of December cold. "I gotta get ready for work." Joining me in the kitchen, he stole a piece of carrot. "Is that for dinner?"

  "Not ours," I replied. "Madigan's bringing dinner with him after work. There'll be a plate for you when you get home." I went to the fridge to make him a sandwich since he probably hadn't eaten lunch. "Thank you again for helping me earlier."

  He shrugged. "Part of my punishment."

  I rolled my eyes. Actually, part of his punishment for sending Lincoln those letters was to be nice to him. Jesse had to give Lincoln a chance.

  "I think they're here." Jesse was looking out the window, and I was quick to join him at the table. My pulse skyrocketed at the sight of Keith's rental parking outside Martha's house.

  I kind of froze in place. Keith was becoming a familiar fixture, but seeing Lincoln stepping out of the car was too much. He was still in his dark blue pants from the prison. Then new construction boots and a hoodie. His dark hair stuck out from underneath a black beanie. He looked so…hardened. And big.

  He's home.

  I was hit by a sudden onslaught of emotions.

  He once told me I was everything.

  "Oh my God, don't stare." I left the window right as Lincoln looked our way, and I tried to calm my stupid heart. Back to sandwich making. Shit. He was out. He was our new neighbor.

  "He just rolled his eyes at us," Jesse said dryly. "What a sweetheart."

  "The last thing he wants is to feel like a circus act," I defended. "Quit staring and eat." I plated his food and set it on the table.

  Should I have decorated Lincoln's place for Christmas more? It would be his first holiday away from prison in so long, but then I figured he'd want things low-key, so I'd settled for decorating a small tree. What if he wanted more? No, I couldn’t imagine he'd give a crap.

  Jesus, stop overthinking.

  I released a breath and hung my head.

  *

  If I went over exactly at five o'clock, maybe he would think I'd been sitting around waiting. Which would be correct, except there was no need for him to know that. So I waited until it was fourteen minutes past.

  Their dinner had been ready a while, and Madigan would be home soon with ours. Not knowing if Keith and Lincoln were hungry, I put on one of Madigan's hoodies and my beanie and then walked over empty-handed.

  I shuddered at the cold. On the way up the porch steps, I kicked some snow off my boots and glanced at the kitchen window. It was pretty dark, so I didn’t think they were there. Maybe they were chilling in the living room.

  I gave the door two knocks, then folded my arms, tucking my frigid hands under my armpits. I should've put on my mittens.

  Lincoln opened the door, dressed in a pair of sweats and a wife-beater, and I automatically diverted my gaze to the floor. Don't stare directly at the sun. There were parts of me so buried I didn’t know if they still existed, and his showcasing what used to drive me wild made me uncomfortable now.

  I wasn’t allowed to appreciate that anymore. I'd lost that.

  "Uh, hi, I was wondering if you're hungry yet?" I forced myself to look him in the eye. "Your dinner's ready. I just gotta reheat it."

  He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and stuck his hands down the pockets of his low-clinging sweats. "Yeah, sounds good. Need a hand?"

  Well… Fuck no, don't you dare. Oh God, my thoughts went in the completely wrong direction, and I cursed myself.

  "Help her, boy!" Keith hollered from the living room.

  I quirked a smile, and Lincoln chuckled through a sigh.

  He put on his boots and a new parka. "Lemme grab my smokes."

  While he disappeared for a minute, I trailed down the porch again, confused and bugged by my earlier thoughts. Saying Lincoln was attractive, handsome, gorgeous, sexy…as…sin…would be stating the obvious. He always had been. But it stopped there for me—with all men I encountered. Easy on the eyes meant just that. On the eyes. It didn’t run any deeper. No shivers, no clenching, no breaths hitching.

  That kind of attraction didn’t exist for me, and Lincoln coming back into my life couldn’t change that. I didn’t want it to. I didn’t want that twinge of discomfort I'd felt when I saw him in his beater.

  It only meant I had more shit to work through.

  Lincoln came up behind me, lighting his cigarette.

  "How's your first day out?" I asked.

  "Weird."

  I couldn’t imagine. Pushing the gate open, I led the way back to my house, and I slowed down so he could smoke.

  "I got carsick on the way to Detroit." He squinted out on the street, the snow falling heavier. "When did TVs get so flat?"

  Despite the small smile I couldn’t hold back, I felt horrible for him. It was impossible to know what he was going through, all the adjustments, everything that was new.

  I climbed the steps so we could be under the roof. "I don't know what to say."

  He lifted a shoulder and rested his ass on the railing. "Not much to say, is there?" He took another drag. "P
op got me a cell phone. We'll see how long it lives. The buttons are tiny."

  I grinned and scrunched my nose.

  He flashed a lopsided smirk, then shook his head and looked over at his house. "You still do that."

  "Do what?"

  "Wrinkle your nose."

  "Oh." I touched my nose. It was getting cold.

  He blew out smoke and faced me again. "It's fucking weird seeing you, Ade. It's different out here."

  I nodded, glad he was honest about it. It was strange for me, too. "Everything's out of place."

  "Yeah…" He furrowed his brow at the ground and flicked away some ashes. "I can't decide what I want or feel, much less what to say."

  That about summed it up. "At least we're on the same page about one thing." I paused, watching him take a puff that made the cigarette glow brighter. "How about we take it one day at a time? I won't get in your way, but I'm here if you wanna talk."

  He nodded pensively. "Okay."

  It was getting too difficult not to stare, to make sure he was really here, so I excused myself and said I'd fix the food.

  *

  The pot roast was in the oven, and I'd filled two plastic containers with mashed potatoes and gravy when Lincoln walked in.

  "Have a seat." I gestured at the table and then opened the fridge. "I assume you've talked with Martha?"

  He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. "Yup. I think she called me motherfucker, but she was kinda muttering under her breath."

  I snickered, pulling out the biscuits I'd made earlier. "You're gonna like her."

  He didn’t answer, and I kept busy. I had to. Hell, I was almost afraid of what would happen when I slowed down and processed the last few weeks.

  You've missed him.

  Breathe in, breathe out. I bent over and checked the oven.

  "Mom!" Abel shouted from the stairs. "I'm done with my homework. Can I watch TV now?"

  "Just for a bit, sweetie," I called back. "Madigan will be here with dinner any minute." I grabbed the containers and brought them to the table. "Here's the mashed potatoes and gravy. Don't worry, I used plenty of butter…" I trailed off when I noticed Lincoln was watching me with a funny look on his face. "What's wrong?"