Chapter One
Ronan
Damn, I can’t wait to have a slice of real pizza.
Was it stupid that decent food was the thing I craved most? That and my king-sized bed. After six long years, I was getting out of this hellhole. Cassie, my younger sister, had told me it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Like Camp Fed, you know? I bet you’ll learn to play golf.”
Yeah, no. Not quite. Minimum security prison was still prison, and I wanted out. Now. Impatient to leave, I shifted on the narrow metal cot and tapped my foot.
Where the hell is the guard?
No more communal showers and crappy cafeteria food that tasted like paste. I couldn’t wait to shed the scratchy prison outfit and go shopping for something new to wear. A whole new wardrobe, in fact.
Cassie would definitely be up for that. I wondered if she’d learned to curb her add-to-cart addiction in the years I’d been away.
“All right, Michaels. Looks like it’s time to say good-bye. I’m sure you’re heartbroken.” Keys jangling, Officer Parker rapped on my cell before unlocking it.
Finally.
I hopped up from the bed. “No offense, but I can’t wait.”
“I’ll just bet. Come on.” I followed at the correction officer’s heels. “Keep your nose clean, and hopefully we’ll never see you again. You weren’t one of the troublemakers, even if you were a thief.”
I chose not to answer because…why bother? I’d done my time, and the truth didn’t matter anymore. Parker wasn’t as bad as some of the guards who’d made me scrub the toilets with a toothbrush because they liked seeing Ronan “Pretty Boy” Michaels on his hands and knees.
“That’s what you get for stealing from little old ladies and sick kids, Michaels. You’re the lowest of the low. How do you sleep at night?”
I didn’t, but it had nothing to do with my prison term. Almost dying at age twenty would give anyone nightmares.
I signed a shitload of documents, and with each paper completed, a little weight lifted from my chest. A new life awaited, and I was ready to start fresh. All I wanted was to put everything behind me and go home. See my sister and brother-in-law; meet the nieces I’d never seen; and reacquaint myself with Nicky, the baby boy I’d only known briefly before I was arrested. I was a stranger to my own family now. Life had continued while I’d spent days looking at nothing.
“You got someone picking you up? You’re lucky you don’t need to go to a halfway house. Must be ’cause you got all that money in the bank.” The CO frowned. “Don’t fuck up and forget to meet your parole officer, or your ass will be back here in a minute.”
“Trust me, I won’t. I thought maybe my sister might come, but she never answered my email, so I’ll use the bus transport into the city.”
Cassie hadn’t visited me, claiming the kids were keeping her so busy, there was never enough time. Her high-risk pregnancy kept her home the first year, and after that…I couldn’t lie—it hurt that she’d never managed to find a day to come see me, but I kept my resentment to myself. Marty, my brother-in-law, would email, but he claimed he was too busy trying to build up a new business to come see me. To be honest, I was a little miffed Cassie hadn’t responded to my emails, but I guessed with three little kids underfoot, it was understandable. Still. I huffed out a sigh, knowing I would’ve made the time. I always had when she’d needed me, except when I was in the hospital after the accident.
“Well, be prepared. There’re a few people outside the gates who aren’t exactly thrilled you’re getting out early.” Parker handed me my wallet, house keys, and the belt I’d worn at the time of my arrest.
“You mean protesters? Because I made parole a few years early?” Were these people fucking kidding?
“Keep it down,” Parker snapped. “What do you expect? A standing ovation? You got lucky. Don’t push it.”
I ducked my head, chafing under the correction officer’s harsh words. He was right, of course. I’d made a choice and would live with the consequences.
Dressed in the release clothes the prison provided—cheap denim jeans, a T-shirt, and canvas sneakers—I walked outside. Parker had said there were a few people hanging around, but he was wrong. There were at least fifty, all with signs calling me a liar, thief, and stating that I should be inside for life. I kept my head down and joined the line of about ten others also waiting for the bus. The rumblings from the crowd grew louder with each step I took.
“There he is. That’s him. Ronan Michaels. I recognize the tattoos.”
“Thief! Crook!” The noise from the crowd swelled. “How does it feel to steal from helpless old ladies and kids? You’re disgusting. They shoulda left you to rot in jail where you belong. We’ll make sure no one ever forgets your name.”
The old cocky Ronan would’ve probably flipped them off and told them to go to hell. But the old cocky Ronan no longer existed. All I wanted was to go home and start my life over again.
Three hours later, I stood on the corner of 48th and Ninth, and not gonna lie, it freaked me out a little. Streets I once walked and felt like I owned now seemed way too crowded. I’d forgotten how damnfasteveryone in the city walked. At least here no one looked at me like I was lower than dirt.
No one looked at me at all.
