"Tell me about him," I say. "Your father."
Rebecca hesitates, settling herself against a neighboring tree. For a moment, I think she'll refuse, retreat back behind professional walls. But then she sighs, twisting a loose curl around her finger.
"His name was David," she begins softly. "He was... gentle. That's the word I always think of first. He could fix anything. Cars, appliances, toys. He'd spend hours in the garage tinkering with broken things until they worked again."
I nod, encouraging her.
"When my mom got sick—breast cancer—the bills piled up fast. Insurance covered some, but not enough. He took extra shifts at the factory, worked weekends, but it wasn't enough." She stares at her hands. "He got desperate. Robbed a convenience store. Got caught immediately. He wasn't cut out for crime. Too honest for his own good."
"How long was his sentence?"
"Five years. He served three before he died." Her voice tightens. "Pneumonia. Treatable, if anyone had bothered to notice how sick he was. By the time they got him to a hospital, his lungs were too damaged."
"I'm sorry."
"My mother recovered," Rebecca continues. "Beat the cancer. She's healthy now, lives about an hour from here. Calls me every day, worried sick about me working in a prison." A small, sad laugh escapes her. "She's going to lose her mind when she hears about this."
"You're close with her?"
"Very. She's all I have." Rebecca looks up at me. "What about you? You mentioned Dice is your only family?"
I nod, shifting to find a more comfortable position against the tree. "Our parents died when I was fifteen, Dice was twelve. Car accident. No other relatives stepped up, so we ended up in foster care. Different homes at first, but I raised hell until they placed us together."
"You've always looked out for him."
"Tried to." A wry smile crosses my face. "Not always successfully. I wasn't exactly a role model, getting into trouble, running with bad crowds. But I made sure he had what he needed. Food, clothes, someone who gave a damn."
Rebecca listens intently, judgment absent from her expression.
"When I aged out of the system, I got a place, worked whatever jobs I could find. Brought Dice to live with me as soon as he was sixteen." I shake my head, remembering. "But legitimate work doesn't pay much when you've got no education, no skills anyone values."
"So, you started stealing."
"Started small. Shoplifting, breaking into cars. Then graduated to bigger things—businesses after hours, then eventually jewelry stores, high-end targets." I shrug. "I was good at it. Quick, careful. Never hurt anyone."
"Until you got caught."
"Until I got caught," I agree. "Eighteen months for a jewelry store job that went sideways. Security system had been upgraded, I didn't know. Rookie mistake."
Rebecca absorbs this, her expression thoughtful. "And when you get out? What was the plan?"
"Was?" I raise an eyebrow. "Still is. Three days from now, I'm supposed to walk out those gates a free man. Dice has a bedroom ready for me, lined up some legit work."
"Going straight?"
"That was the idea." I gesture vaguely at my bloody bandage. "Though plans seem to be changing by the minute."
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of our current situation settling between us. Birds call in the trees overhead, oblivious to the human drama unfolding beneath them. The sun has lowered, casting long shadows through the woods.
"If you could do anything," Rebecca asks suddenly, "if none of this had happened, if Walsh wasn't after you. What would you want? For your life?"
It's a question no one's asked me before. What I want has always seemed irrelevant compared to what I need. Survival, taking care of Dice, staying out of prison.
"Honestly?" I meet her gaze. "Simple things. A legitimate job that pays the bills. Maybe my own place. Nothing fancy, just somewhere that's mine. No one telling me when to eat or sleep."I pause, the next words surprising me as they form. "Maybe someone to share it with someday."
Her expression softens. "That doesn't sound so impossible."
"What about you?" I counter. "What does Rebecca Johnson dream about when life isn't throwing her into prison riots and forest escapes?"
