Chapter 1
Connor
The sky was so big it felt like it was going to swallow me up. I leaned back, fresh air filling my lungs as I stared up at the soft clouds. There wasn’t a bar, wire, or fence to impede my view. It was just me and that endless Montana sky.
“Feel good?” one of the correctional officers asked as they shut the prison gate behind me.
“Y-Yeah,” I muttered, overcome with emotion.
“Good. Remember that feeling,” he said, a tone of warning in his voice. “And don’t go doing somethin’ stupid and fuck it up.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. The officer’s words rang in my ears as he turned and walked away, keys jangling at his hip. That sound had followed me for seven years, two months, and twenty-three days. Now it was fading away.
My parole officer, Ms. Randall, waited by her car in the parking lot. I clutched my small bag of belongings and walked toward her, feeling strange in these civilian clothes. The jeans were too loose because I’d lost weight during my time in prison, and the flannel shirt felt rough against my skin after years of sitting in a box in storage. Between that and my wallet with nothing but fifteen dollars in it, they were all I had in the world. But freedom…man… that made it all worthwhile.
“Ready to go, Connor?” she asked, her face neutral but not unkind.
“Yes, ma’am.” My voice sounded strange to my own ears. In prison, I’d learned to speak only when necessary, to keep my tone flat and unremarkable. That was how you stayed out of trouble.
The car ride to her office was quiet. I couldn’t stop looking out the window, drinking in everything. The world was just how I left it. The small towns we passed through had more charm than usual, the ranches sprawled wide across the landscape dotted with cattle, and the mountains in the distance seemed to go on forever. Colors were brighter somehow, more vivid than I remembered.
“McGrath Ranch is about three hours from here,” Ms. Randall said as we pulled into the parking lot of the parole office. “We’ll go over your paperwork, then I’ll drive you there tomorrow morning with the others.”
Inside her office, she laid out the terms of my parole in clear, unmistakable language. Six months at McGrath Ranch. Regular check-ins. No alcohol. No drugs. No firearms. No contact with known felons outside of those working at the ranch. It seemed I wouldn’t be the only ex-con working there.
“Pete McGrath runs a tight ship,” she explained, sliding a map across her desk. “He’s been taking parolees for almost fifteen years now. He’s fair, but he doesn’t tolerate nonsense. Your first offense with him will be your last, so don’t fuck it up.”
There was that warning again.Don’t fuck it up. What they really meant was, don’t fuck upagain. Because that’s exactly what I’d done before, the whole reason I was in prison to begin with. I’d fucked up. Bad.
My hands trembled as I took the papers she offered. Everything, including my future as a free man, hinged on these next six months. One mistake and I’d be back behind bars.
“I won’t mess up,” I said, meaning it more than I’d ever meant anything. “I can’t go back there.”
Ms. Randall’s expression softened just slightly. “One day at a time, Connor. That’s all you can do. But stay on your toes, alright?” She leaned back in her chair, giving me the once-over. “I read your file, you know? You don’t seem like a bad guy. You just made some bad choices. But your behavior has always been good and, surprisingly, your officers had only good things to say about you.” She gave me a small grin, leaning forward with her finger tapping on the desk to punctuate her speech. “If anyone can do this, it’syou.”
I had to avert my eyes, feeling the shame and embarrassment creep up inside me. But my expression stayed stoic and flat.
“I won’t let you down,” I replied at last.
“It’s not me you’ll be letting down if you screw up. It’s yourself.” She pulled a drawer open and grabbed a small envelope. “McGrath Ranch gives everyone a week’s pay up front,” she said, handing it over. “It’s not much, but it’ll be enough to get you a good meal tonight and some secondhand clothes. I’ve got a room for you down at the motel for the night as well. After I drop you off tomorrow, you’ll be on your own.”
I nodded. It was far more than most inmates could expect upon release. Usually, new releases were given a twenty-dollar bill and told to take a hike. So this felt like winning the lottery.
“Is there anyone you need to call or inform of your whereabouts?” Ms. Randall asked. “Anyone who could lend you money to get started?”
My heart sank just as quickly. “No,” I said flatly. “I don’t have any friends or family.”
She let out a long sigh. “Alright. Well, I guess let’s get you down to the motel for the night. You can figure out clothes and food from there. It’s right downtown.”
Ten minutes later, Ms. Randall’s car disappeared around the corner, leaving me standing in front of the Sleepy Pine Motel. The neon vacancy sign buzzed and flickered, casting an eerie red glow that reminded me too much of the warning lights that would flash during lockdowns. I shook the thought away and walked toward the office.
The motel clerk barely looked up from his magazine when I entered. He slid a key across the counter after I mumbled my name. Room fourteen. Last one at the end.
“Check-out’s at eleven,” he said, already returning to his reading.
I nodded and made my way down the concrete walkway, counting the peeling metal numbers until I found my door. The key stuck in the lock, requiring a jiggle and firm push before it turned. Inside, the room smelled of industrial cleaner and cigarettes that clung to the dated curtains despite the “No Smoking” sign on the door.
But it was mine. For tonight, at least.
