“Who knows how long that could take. Grady might be serving a twelve-month sentence by then.”
“It would be a lot easier to wring Lance’s neck until he spills the truth. But we know how that’ll end.”
“Unfortunately. Please don’t get yourself arrested. I can’t fight this without you.”
He ruffles my hair. “Likewise, Sutt. Let’s leave physical violence out of the equation. When can you visit Grady again? We need to get his full story.”
Ash forms on my tongue. “Next Sunday.”
My brother whistles. “Damn, that’s ruthless. He only gets to see you once a week?”
“Don’t remind me.”
We settle into a beat of silence and a blanket of numb envelops me. I welcome the reprieve for a few moments. It doesn’t last more than a handful of seconds. Thankfully I’m distracted by a flurry of movement in front of us.
Bear scampers across the yard, probably chasing a stray cat. It’s good to see him running around instead of staring down the empty driveway, waiting for his best friend to come home. I brought him along so he wasn’t alone. He makes me feel like a piece of Grady is with us.
“He’s a really great dog.” Jace leans forward and calls to him. Bear bounds over with a trail of drool dangling from his mouth. I cringe and cross my fingers that the slobber disappears. My brother doesn’t seem to mind, scratching under his jaw and ears. Bear shuffles closer and practically climbs into his lap.
Jace chuckles. “Grady isn’t the only one you’re changing.”
“What do you mean?”
“This pooch had a serious vendetta against me. He’s never been my biggest fan, but you’re softening him up.”
A twinge of glee tickles my gut. “That’s a nice sentiment. Pretty sure he’s just lonely.”
“Nah, he’s becoming a lover. Just like his owner.”
I fan at my eyes, refusing to cry for a third time. “Dammit, Jace. Stop being so sweet.”
“Quit being so emotional,” he shoots back.
“I have a decent excuse.”
“Yeah, you’re off the hook. Sob away. I’ll loan you my shoulder.” He continues petting Bear, who rolls over and offers his belly for a rub. My brother doesn’t hesitate and lavishes the dog with attention. We’re all a bunch of blubbering softies.
And on that note.
I reach for my favorite uplifting romance that’s reliably waiting on an end table. Best Laid Plans by LK Farlow always hits me right in the feels. Even on my lowest days, I can count on her words to bring me back to the surface. Maybe getting lost in the pages will help me figure out a stellar plan of my own.
Lord only knows what kind of miracle we need to get Grady out of this mess.
30
Grady
Happy something #97: Waking up with the sunshine warming my face.
Ipace the short length of my cell, a caged lion preparing for an attack. Seconds bleed into minutes with the pounding of my shoes. Only silence greets me. Slapping footsteps along the linoleum hall never come. Doors remain firmly locked. No one travels in or out of this wing. The guards are avoiding me on purpose. Their new game is to keep me waiting until I snap. That fragile hold I maintain on my control is beginning to fray.
The forced isolation is getting to me, chipping away at my sanity. I can’t fucking handle this version of persecution. Keeping my wrists cuffed for over twelve hours was only the beginning. The skin is still raw days later, but I barely notice. Not while they ramp up the cruelty when I refuse to bend. I’m not a docile inmate they can boss around. That doesn’t stop them from trying.
Life wasn’t supposed to smash against rock bottom after Sutton returned from college. We were doing everything right, and finally starting our forever together. But she’s being kept away from me on purpose. It’s not too shocking considering the shit I’m always being dealt. I’m capable of handling their hate. Dragging Sutton into the depths of hell is what fractures the reconstructed fissures in my heart.
I’ve never needed a happy something more than this moment. She graciously penned me one, but these bastards are still holding it as ransom for my soul. The guards must take courses on doling out torture in its most wicked form.
They’ve already taunted me this morning. Grousse—the worst of them all—waved my salvation in front of the window as he strolled by. My name printed in her neat script was barely legible through the grimy glass. All I’m able to imagine is their greasy fingerprints tainting her pristine intentions. I’d felt the shift inside of me. They stole another piece of my soul. My spirit is tainted. My ego is battered. I’m whipped and beaten, but not broken. There’s still some pride left in me. The black abyss is beckoning me in with open arms. My defenses are splintering further with every nasty word spat at me.
