“Not Ivan. I mean Joey. I’ll call him and—”
“Oh, hell no. What are you—”
“I can talk to him, convince him to come here to…I don’t know, get me. If I do it fast enough, Ivan can’t get to him.” The idea was nauseating, but it made sense.
“You think it could work?”
Emotion screwed up her face, made it tight with fear and the memories of that day, but she had to. How could she not do this?
“It’ll work. Come on. Give me the phone before I change my mind.”
After only a brief hesitation, Jessie handed it over, and Uma started dialing. Nobody picked up, so she tried again and again. All the while, Jessie beside her, visibly anxious. Finally, third time was the charm.
“This is Joey Chisholm.”
Oh fuck. His voice.Uma swallowed, choking on the memories. A hand landed on her arm, and she opened her eyes, hadn’t even noticed they’d closed.
“Hello? Who is this? Listen, I don’t have time to—”
“Joey?”Inhale. He can’t hurt me.Jessie squeezed her arm, and Uma met her eyes and held them, steady. “It’s me. I mean, Uma.”
No sound. No sound at all. Not here, not on the other end of the line.
“I…”Say it. Just say it. Jessie nodded, biting her lip, looking nervous as hell. “How are you?”
“Oh…oh.” He was all gaspy, surprised, and…happy? “Oh, I knew you’d come to your senses, sweetheart.”
Trying her best to sound natural, she went on. “So, uh… How would you like to come get me?”
“That would be…Yes. Of course I’ll come, Uma. You know I want to see you. I’ve been waiting for you to call.”
“Can you come now?” she asked, feeling utterly unafraid somehow—calm, strong, and ready for whatever happened.
Jessie nodded encouragement.
“Where are you?”
“I’m in Blackwood, Virginia,” she said, taking in the landscape around them before raising her eyes back to Jessie’s and holding them. “How soon can you get here?”
* * *
Back and forth, Ive paced the sidewalk, his eyes glued to that door, waiting. Every time it opened, he lost a breath and a heartbeat, and every time, it took him a while to get it back. A dude bumped him on his way out, clearly not happy and in a hurry, and with a look, Ive knew his story: he or someone in his family in trouble. Dealing with the courts, working shit out by the letter of the law, which was the worst fucking way possible. He could relate to that man. Hewasthat man.
The thought brought him up short. His body stilled, and his eyes focused, for the first time, not on what lay past those dark glass doors or what would come out next, but on the person reflected in them: him.
The guy looking back at him in filthy jeans, ratty button-down plaid shirt, and scuffed work boots looked rough. He looked like a convict. Like he deserved to be here, getting his sentence handed to him on one the scales of justice.
A sudden curiosity drove him to edge closer to the glass and see what it revealed. It showed a face that was well worn, his experiences etched into his face like every other bad guy there. He looked like exactly what he was: an ex-convict up to no good.
He watched his brow wrinkle up with his first whisper of a doubt. So, what was the plan, anyway? Come up here and tear some shit up? Kill a guy? With what? He looked down. His bare hands?
Jesus.Had he truly evolved so little since his youth? Another glance in the glass showed lines carved into his cheekbones, circles under his eyes. He looked tired and worn. Like a guy who’d lived.
But have I? Have I really lived?
Immediately, his mind went back to that morning and everything that had happened between him and Uma in his workshop. Then back to last night, before he’d found out about her skin, when he’d just known the goodness of her, without all the bad shit.
He wanted to go back. To that perfect evening spent in the bed of his truck, beneath the stars.
