If she was running that fast, I probably wouldn’t even catch up to her before she made it to the house.
“We were watching a movie.” I shrugged. “Maybe it was a little too scary for her.”
George shook his head. “Spare me from dickhead teenagers. Did you have your fun? Were you happy to hurt her like that?”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt her!” I said defensively. “I was trying to make a point!”
He shook his head. “You’re never trying to hurt her, but you always are.”
“I just was trying to show her we’re different. That’s all.”
He snorted. “You think you’re so clever, Marc. But one day you’re going to realize, you’re going to push her too far and she’ll be gone. Really gone.”
* * *
Eleven weeks after the wedding
Marc
“Marc? Come on back.” I blinked, and the male nurse with the intense brown eyes was standing above me again. This time his surgical mask was down around his neck. “You looked like you were fading again, and I need you to be alert so we can transfer you to recovery. Do you know where you are?”
I gave the briefest of nods. Yes, I knew exactly where I was.
I was back in the world. The world where Ash was gone.
Really gone.
* * *
Fort Dix
Three months, three weeks, three days until release
Marc
I watched as Benfield made his way through the tables filled with prisoners and their loved ones. There was a certain look of snobbery on his face. As if he was concerned brushing up against them accidentally might contaminate him.
Finally, he made it to my table and sat across from me. He looked me up and down, but said nothing. I don’t know if I had changed in appearance, having been inside now for over a year, but I didn’t care.
My hands still looked a little fucked up. After the surgery to fix them, I’d needed weeks of therapy to get full use of them again. Most of the fingers had healed okay, but the index finger on my right hand was still a little crooked, and the knuckles on my left hand swelled any time the weather changed, which it had today.
“Campbell,” he finally said. “How are you?”
“In prison. How the fuck do you think I am?”
“You could have been out in twelve months.”
He knew about the fight. Some new asshole trying to establish a reputation he was a badass. We didn’t do badass in minimum security. We did keep our heads down, shut our mouths and serve our time. Given the anger that was always simmering in my gut, I had no problem teaching the asshole this lesson with my messed-up fists.
That landed me a second stint in SHU, another doctor visit, and more therapy for my hands. It also meant I had to serve my full sentence. But it didn’t matter. Three months, three weeks, three more days. I could do it. Once I was free, I knew exactly what I was going to do.
“Why are you here?” I asked him.
“I wanted you to hear it from me. Arthur Landen killed himself last night. Shot himself in the head.”
I sucked in my breath. Just hearing his name made that simmering anger boil and writhe, until, finally, it registered what Benfield had said.
“He’s dead?”
