Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“I want to care how you feel right now, Ramsey. I want to sit here and give you everything you could possibly want, but what you want is not what you need. Living in some trashy glorified cell where you have no idea who is coming or going in the rest of the house is not a safe place for you. You’re on parole. Having a place to live is only part of the requirements.” She lifted her hand and started counting off using her manicured fingernails. “You also have to maintain employment and avoid criminal activity, drugs, and alcohol. Plus, you can’t travel within sixty miles from home. One step out of line and you’re right back in there to serve out the rest of your sentence. That’s three years, Ramsey. Three.”
I ground my teeth. “I can’t live with her.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
“Fine. You want to bullshit me that you don’t love her—”
“It’s not bullshit,” I rumbled.
“It is. But if you want to lie about it, then fine. I’m not going to stop you. But, right now, you need to be surrounded by people who love you. I’m not asking you to put a ring on her finger.”
Panic hit my chest. “That’s not fucking happening, Nora. Do you understand me? Let go of whatever fairytale bullshit you’ve made up in your head. She is nothing to me.”
“Then you should have no problem living under the same roof as her.”
“Nora,” I warned.
“She was your best friend once. It’s not too late. You could have that back.”
“I don’t want it back.”
“You don’t want what back?” Thea asked, suddenly appearing beside me.
Surprise was not a positive emotion in prison.
Rational thinking told me that it was just Thea. Twelve years of experience caused me to shoot to my feet, knocking my chair over behind me.
Thea scrambled back.
Nora shouted my name.
And my heart pounded as my head tried to separate reaction from reality.
It was Thea.
It was Nora.
I was at a restaurant.
I was free.
Only this didn’t feel like freedom. There were no bars. There were no guards. There were no cells. But after years and years of conditioning, the prison was inside my mind now.
Nora’s voice was careful like she was talking a man off a ledge. “Ramsey, it’s okay. Let’s sit back down.”
Drawing in a deep breath that I hoped like hell didn’t sound as shaky as it felt, I bent over and picked up my chair while avoiding Thea’s gaze. I didn’t know if I’d scared her or if pity was going to show in her eyes. I told myself I didn’t care. It was fucking Thea.
But that was exactly the problem.
It was Thea.
“Oh look, it’s our waitress,” Nora announced loud and clear as we all took our seats.
I wasn’t too blind to see that it had been spoken as a warning that someone was approaching. I offered her a tight smile in gratitude.
The short, blonde woman who’d delivered a round of waters when we first sat down approached the table wearing a friendly smile. “Are y’all ready to order?”
“Yes,” Thea and Nora answered in awkward and unscripted unison.
She pulled out a notebook and a pen and looked to Nora. “Okay, what can I get you?”
“You go first,” Nora prompted me. “Get whatever you want.”
I swallowed hard as anxiety scorched through my veins. I stared at the menu, seeing words and knowing I was supposed to say something, but I just didn’t know what. I was a teenager the last time I’d gotten to pick my own food. I could order snacks at the commissary when I’d had money in my account. This was different. Some things were meals; some things were sides. They even had an entire list of sauces, though I had no fucking idea what the hell those were supposed to go on.
Pressure built in my chest as I scanned the page. “I’ll…um…have a steak.”
“All right, do you want the filet, the center cut, the rib eye, strip, or porterhouse?”
My mouth dried. “Just a steak.”
She half laughed. “Okay, let’s try it this way. Are you going to want that steak six, eight, twelve, or sixteen ounces?”
I kept staring at the menu like something was going to jump out at me. When, really and truly, I wished she’d shut the hell up and bring me a tray of food. Whatever was on the menu that day. Just bring it out.
“A steak,” I repeated roughly when I gave up on trying to figure out how many ounces would fit in the large section of the yellow trays at home—no. Not home. Prison was not home.
“Okay…” she drawled. “How would you like that cooked?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I banged my fist on the table, which made everyone jump. “I just want a fucking steak. You pick. Whatever you want. Just stop asking me questions.”
“Ramsey, relax,” Nora whispered, covering my hand with hers.