“Geez, you scared the shit out of me,” he mutters.
Putting the car in park, I switch the ignition off and grab my phone out of the cupholder. Unlinking the bluetooth system I put it on my ear and continue the conversation. “Sorry, the automated voice surprised me, that’s all.”
“Are you talking and driving? Should I call back another time?”
“No. I had you on bluetooth but decided to stop anyway.” A strange silence settles between us, the mood shifting immediately. “You there?”
“Yeah.”
“What just happened? What did I miss?”
“Nothing.” He dismisses me and the question, but without the prying eyes of the law and narrow minded people who don’t understand, I push him.
“Tell me. Maybe I can help.”
“Aren’t you sick of offering me help?”
“I don’t do things I don’t want to do, Jagger. So, if I’m offering, it’s because I want to. Now stop deflecting and tell me.”
“It’s just one of those times when you think everything is going well, until you hear something that makes absolutely no sense, and you realise how much shit you’ve really missed out on.”
I do a quick replay of the conversation trying to remember what I let slip.
“The bluetooth.” I sigh in understanding, remorse making itself comfortable in mind. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think.”
“Hey, don’t do that,” he reprimands. “Don’t make my problems your problems. There’s nothing for you to apologise for. It’s not the last time it’s going to happen, and I need to be prepared. And if I recall you gave me a whole speech today on positivity. So, even if it’s only for the duration of this phone call, I’m going to be positive.”
“Hmm positivity and a side of sarcasm.” I jest. “You’re just full of surprises.”
“That’s me.”
I laugh, smiling at how easy it has become between us.”So what’s your next surprise?”
“Huh?”
“What do you need help with?” The lull between us only enhancing the magnitude of what he’s about to ask.
“I need you to talk to Sasha,” he blurts out.
“Jagger, I can talk to her, but I can’t promise she’s going to listen.”
“You don’t have to promise; I know she will.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“There’s something special about you Em.” The nickname rolls off his tongue like there’s never been a day in his life where he hasn’t called me that. “When you talk, your words are like sirens. People don’t have a choice but to listen.”
6
Jagger
“Michaels, you got another visitor.”
I put my book down, and crane my neck up off my pillow. “Really?”
“I know, I’m as shocked as you are. Nobody for twelve years, and then bang last five weeks every Tom, Dick, and Harry wants to see you.”
I chuckle at his humour. Thompson has worked here longer than I’ve been here; always the diplomat, he could be your best friend and your worst enemy all at the same time.
“Don’t worry, only a few more days and I’ll be out of your hair.” Swinging my legs off the bed, I put the bookmark in between the pages and leave it beside my pillow.
“Things are going to be different,” he says a little too seriously.
I meet him at the entrance of my cell. “For you and me both.” His hand lands on my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “You did good in here, son.”
Appreciative of the faith strangers have put in me over the years, I nod, accepting the compliment. “Good.” His voice booms, changing the mood. “You’re on the home stretch now. Once you step out of these doors, don’t you ever look back. I never want to see your ugly fucking mug again.”
“Don’t worry, I’m never stepping foot in here again.”
We arrive at the visiting room doors, and I wait for the officers to exchange their daily dose of trivial banter before allowing me to walk on in.
Having already broken the tension with Hendrix, and getting used to seeing Emerson, I’m completely caught off guard when my eyes zero in on Sasha sitting alone in the large, empty room. She nervously chews on her bottom lip, a habit that hasn’t changed with time.
Refusing to answer my calls, and with no update from Hendrix, I realise she must’ve spoken to Emerson. I slow down my strides and take in the change of the girl I left and the woman she’s become. She wears her hair shorter now. Just above her shoulders, the loose curls a blend of honey and white blonde. As I slowly come into view, her eyes fill with tears every step I get closer. Covering her face with one hand, she begins to quietly sob. Shoulders hunched and shaking, I fall to her side, kneeling on the floor. “Please stop crying,” I beg.
“Michaels. Arse on chair. First and final,” the guard bellows.
Begrudgingly, I shuffle back and take a seat opposite of her. She continues to suffer in silence while my only choice is to watch. Folding her arms on the table, she leans her head down in the crook of her elbow and attempts to regulate her breathing. My heart aches as the crying eventually turns into hiccups. Sasha crying has always been a trigger for me. It’s intrinsic; I just want to fix it. Growing up it became harder when I was often the reason for her tears. Just like right now.
“Sash, look at me please.”
“I can’t,” she mumbles. “It’s too much.”
“Okay, well how about I take my turn first?” I don’t even bother waiting for an answer. For more than five thousand days, the first conversation I’d have with Sasha since getting put away has always been the forefront of my mind. I’ve got a lot to say, words that are too little too late, but need to be said anyway. “When I used to imagine this moment, I used to think I’d apologise and beg for forgiveness. Until I realised an apology doesn’t change anything, and forgiveness isn’t something I deserve.” My voice shakes, forcing me to try and compose myself. “I foolishly thought being in here was the punishment, but now that leaving is a reality, it’s impossible to ignore how much I’ve missed out on. Almost enough to be completely forgotten.”
She raises her head and straightens up. Wiping her nose and eyes with the edge of her sleeve, I’m momentarily distracted, taking in the depth of her red-rimmed eyes. Love and pain, side by side, unable to look anywhere but me.
“I was so angry at you, you know? I turned into ice, thinking about it every day. Every fucking day, like a movie, I let it play out, and then I would let it fuel my hate for you.” She punctuates all the right words, and I let the pain of her loathing wash over me. This isn’t about absolution, no matter how much my subconscious seeks it. “I was so sure I fucking hated you. And now I’m here, and you’re sitting in front of me and-” she raises her shoulders in a shrug. “How the fuck did we get here?” The rhetorical question cracks any semblance of balance between talking and crying.
“Breathe. We’ll figure it out.”
“Will we, though? Because I don’t know if I’m ready to see you all the time. Out of sight, out of mind. I liked it that way.”
“I’m at your mercy here, Sash. I’m fine with you calling the shots on when, where, and how, but-”
“Dakota,” she cuts me off. “I know. Why else do you think I’m here?”
“I know it’s going to take me forever to make it up to her, but I at least want the fucking chance.”
“That’s why I’m here. I spoke to your solicitor.”
“And?” I raise my eyebrows expectantly, itching to hear what Emerson said and what made Sasha change her mind.
“She wanted to know if I was going to stop you from seeing Dakota and if I would take any legal action against you about it.”
“That’s all?”
“She’s pro-Jagger, that’s for sure.”
“It’s her job,” I smirk.
“I wanted to see you first. I don’t know what I expected to gain from it, but it made me feel in control of the situation.” Exhaling loudly, her breath still hitches
from earlier. “I wanted to see you before I let you see her.”
“You don’t have to justify protecting her.”
“I know. I just thought it was fair to be honest with you. I can promise that we’ll work this out away from the courts, but I don’t know anything past that. I guess we can wait till you’re settled in and set something up?”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We’re only just getting started.”
I’ve been pacing around in this room they call purgatory for hours, a little alcove between the entrance into the cells and the exit outside. The day is finally here, and my heart has been thrashing around my rib cage for hours. I can’t sit still. I can’t focus. I don’t think I’m ready.
The door opens, Thompson walking in holding a plastic bag.
I stop. “What are you doing in this part of town?”
“I come here bearing gifts.”
“Gifts?”
“Clothes. You’re not going to walk out of here wearing that.”
“Hm.” I look down and then back at the man who deserves angel wings for putting up with all of us in here. “I guess I didn’t think that through.”
“Get dressed. and then you’re ready.”
“I don’t think I am.”
He hands me the bag. “That’s the problem, son.” Standing in the doorway, he looks back at me. “Today, you don’t think. You just do.”
I push my legs through the jeans, overwhelmed by the scratch of denim on my skin. Pulling the zipper up, I button the waistband together, take a seat, and close my eyes. I’m about to have a meltdown over fucking jeans.
A knock on the door almost goes unnoticed, until I see locks of brown hair walking toward me. I stand up to meet Emerson, shocked at how much solace her presence gives me.
“Are you almost ready?” she asks. Frozen and unable to speak, I nod. Avoiding my eyes, she looks behind me, and finds the bag of clothes Thompson brought in. Stepping around, she grabs the navy and white checkered shirt and hands it to me. “Put this on over your t-shirt.”
Sliding each arm in, I try and fix the way it sits as best I can without a mirror.
“Here, let me do it.”
Directly in front of one another, her breath mingles with mine, speaking their own language of anxiety and anticipation. She folds over the collar and straightens out the material. Her fingertips graze my skin and I forget how to breathe.
“Are you okay?” she whispers.
Like an idiot, I nod, again. Hands circle my biceps and make their way down to the cuff of the shirt. Slowly she rolls the sleeve up to my elbows and moves to the other one.
The motions are simple, things that people take for granted daily. But between Emerson and I it’s intimate.
Monumental.
With every touch, I feel the scars of my isolation come to the surface and the tangible fear of not being able to survive beyond these four walls.
“What are you doing here?” I say, finding my voice.
Pulling back, she finally has the courage to look at me. Her gaze strokes my skin, and for the first time her desire is unreserved and obvious. “I wasn’t going to miss watching you walk out of here.”
“I don’t think I can do this," I confess.
Holding her hand up in the air, she looks at me expectantly. I mimic her actions and let my palm touch hers. She takes it as an invitation to slip her fingers through mine.
I squeeze her hand, like she might disappear in any moment. Holding my gaze, she squeezes it right back. “You’ve got this, Jagger. Life’s waiting for you to live it.”
“I’ve got this,” I repeat.
“Ready?”
“As, I’ll ever be.”
She unlatches her hand from mine, and the separation is poignant and painful.
“Let’s go.”
Professional mask on, she walks outside unaffected, the switch unnerving. I follow her through a door that leads us to an office with an older lady sitting behind a desk lined with what looks like a million papers.
“Hello, Mr. Michaels.”
“Hi.”
“If you could take a seat.”
I do as she asks, and she turns all the papers to face me. She hands me a pen. “Now, please read through all these papers and then sign when required. Once that’s all done, I will make you a copy, and you, young man, are free to go.”
Free. Free. Free.
The word is on repeat in my head as I scour every line. I leave no page unturned, no paragraph unread. I sign my name six times, and with each scrape of the pen, the little voice inside my head gets somewhat louder.
Get ready Jagger, you’re going home.
7
Jagger
As soon as we walk out of the room, I stall. Looking from left to right, I take in the empty space, not sure where to walk or what to do. Like an apparition, Emerson comes out of nowhere and stands beside me. “Hendrix will be here in a minute. He just had to make a detour on the way.”
“You spoke to him?”
“I did.”
“You speak to him often?” I ask a little too harshly.
“Well now that you’re out, he can just talk to you directly anytime he wants.” I bite my tongue and taper down my jealousy. I have no claim to her, no matter how much I want it.
“So, do we just wait?”
She laughs at my question, and I turn to her perplexed.
“Yes, we do. It’s the least thought out part of this whole process.”
“I know they want people out of their hair, but this is weird.” Looking around at the sparse surroundings, I’m baffled at how many stops we have to take to get to the exit without instructions. It’s like being dropped in the middle of the ocean, with no life jacket and then left to drown.
“Lucky I’m here then, huh?” She elbows me lightly.
“You don’t even know.”
The unoiled door squeaks, and an exhausted-looking Hendrix half steps inside.
“Hey.” He tips his chin at both of us. He leans on the door jamb while his arm holds it open. “Walk faster please,” he says to someone outside.
“I’m coming.” A young girl’s voice travels through the room, and the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up. I wasn’t expecting this.
Watching her step through the doorway, I feel the air leave my lungs. She looks exactly like Sasha did at her age, except she has my colouring. With darker eyes, thicker hair, and olive toned skin, she’s even more beautiful than the day she was born.
“Jagger,” Sasha calls out from the kitchen.
“Yeah.” I poke my head out of my bedroom door and see her balancing a sleeping Dakota and grocery bags in both hands. “Here, let me help you.”
“What did he want?”
“Who?” I ask, untangling Dakota from her arms.
“Don’t play dumb. I saw George reversing out of the driveway on my way in.” Sasha hates George, and I don’t blame her. The definition of scum, he’s a guy who’s loyalty lies with money and drugs. If he has to visit, I try to make sure it’s when Sasha and Dakota have left the house, but the more frequently he visits, the more impossible it is to hide.
“He was just asking if I needed a ride to work tonight,” I lie. “I’m going to put her to bed.”
She rolls her eyes at my dismissal but doesn’t say anything further. Sasha knows when I’m lying, but she’s intuitive enough to figure out the less she knows the better.
Walking down the hallway, I head into Sasha’s room, where Dakota sleeps. Starting off in her own bed, Dakota manages to find herself in either of our beds by morning. Kissing the top of her head, I make sure she’s tucked in and comfortable before I head back to Sasha.
“How was dinner?” I sit on the single recliner while she putters around in the kitchen.
“Good, My mum and your mum doted on her all evening, and I tried to cram some schoolwork in.”
“You see Drix?”
“Yeah. He was on his
way out. Managed to play with Dakota for a bit, and ignored me. The usual.” I see how much the tension between the three of us weighs on her, and I wish it could at least be better between her and Hendrix. Their relationship is a once in a lifetime type of thing, and they’re throwing it all away.
“Soon enough he’s going to have to talk to us.”
“He forgave you. You’re the one that fucked it up again somehow, and you won’t tell me what happened. But he hasn’t spoken to me since the day I told him I was pregnant.”
“We hurt him, Sash.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she yells. “But what does he want from me? To regret Dakota? Because I won’t. That little girl in there is everything to me.” Her tone softens whenever she mentions our daughter, and It’s true, for both of us. We might’ve been young and dumb when we had her, but there is nothing in the world that could have me wishing I could turn back time.
It was rough at first. A huge adjustment, but Sasha and I had no issues with wanting to be parents. We struggled more with choices relating to finances and education. We put high expectations on ourselves as teenage parents. Me more so, trying not to repeat the same mistakes my father made.
Thankfully Sasha’s mum was supportive and helpful every step of the way. My mum? She told me I wasn’t a man or a father unless I paid for my family’s roof, food, and bills. So, I did whatever I had to do to get the fuck out of her house and show her I was a good man and a good father. There wasn’t room for an accidental pregnancy in my mum’s world, and empathy wasn’t her strong suit.
Hendrix was hurt. Unintentionally, our actions broke his heart. Whether he talks to me or not, there are other ways I can look out for him. And I can’t let him be associated with George or any of his low-life friends. Drix’s safety is still my priority.
“He’ll come around, I promise.”
“I can’t think about it anymore. It hurts too much,” she sighs. “I’m going to have a hot shower.”
“Okay, I’ve got some shit to do, but I’ll see you in the morning.”
Reclaim: (A Redemption Novel) Page 5