“Trauma?”
I shrugged. “Who doesn’t have trauma?”
He snorted, and I opened my eyes to preen a little as he moaned around the first mouthful of his food.Damn straight, I’m a mean griller.
“Don’t know, yet. Might be nothing,” I said as I lifted a shoulder.
“You still planning on paying the rest of your life debt at TFC? You could work a different job and still give back and all that shit.” He said that like it hadn’t been his idea for those of us who got out of the AS to start rebuilding our life by being involved in the community—anchoring ourselves in the real world.
Ensuring we couldn’t be sucked into a different brand of madness.
I dropped my head and stared at my boots. “Says Mr. Fireman, who is going to die charbroiled and well-done.”
He groaned and leaned his elbows against the table. “Better than shanked in a riot. You could come work with me. I like the fire life.”
“You like adrenaline.”
I leaned my hands against the back of my chair and decided I probably didn’t have time to sit down and eat. In truth, my stomach wasn’t doing well after our conversation. “Do you really think we can ever do enough?”
He shrugged. “We keep helping people. That’s all we can do. Drag one person out of the tar pits, one day at a time. Wake up, do it again.”
I smiled at him, and he began to eat like his sole purpose was to shovel food into his mouth. “I gotta get to work. Have to take Wettekin some food, too.”
Rowdy saluted me. “Mrs. Trimble said you stole her quarters. I helped her take her groceries in earlier while I was waiting for you to get your lazy ass out of bed and answer the door.”
Instant rage, so potent I should be able to use it to make lightning bolts, smacked through my chest. I spun around to glare at the house, exactly like mine, that was about a quarter acre away, past some large granite boulders. “That old hen! I gave her quartersanddried her clothes! She’s worse than the cons.”
He laughed. “I believe you. See you early in the morning to go talk to this guy?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
After that, Rowdy was happy to ignore me. I wasted no time grabbing containers to get food together to take with me. Rowdy mumbled a goodbye around his mouthful as I stashed everything in my lunchbox and then more containers into a travel bag. With one last wave at Rowdy, I was off.
“Clean up,” I yelled as I raced toward my Jeep. I knew he would, even without the reminder, because he always did.
After I arrived at work, I made sure to punch in so I wouldn’t be hassled. I stopped at the break room to dump the food in the fridge, then hit the guard station to see who was covering my back. With all the basic shit squared away, I went around checking E block. It was a big relief that all my cons were doing what they should be when I compared their whereabouts against the list of their activities. I was more thorough than most of the guards, but I believed in stopping minor issues before they became problems.
Last on my list, since he was new, was Peter Gaffin. I searched around because he wasn’t currently signed up for any activities. My chest squeezed tighter the longer it took me to find him, and I’d begun to worry he was back in medical, when I stumbled across Brandon with Peter at a square wooden table in the library.
For a long time, I stood there and watched them. I was embarrassed by how much I enjoyed the too-serious set of Gaffin’s mouth, his stern chin, and the way he seemed determined to be pissed off about everything. He wasinvestedin his anger. Much as that sort of emotion was unhealthy, it also spoke of commitment. I knew I shouldn’t find Gaffin attractive, but I did. My belly grew warm as I stared. Brandon said something and Peter glanced up. He caught my gaze. With a smile, he fluttered the fingers on his right hand in something like a shy wave.
I lifted my hand to return the gesture, my body rushing with tingles. This was bad, but fuck it. So what if I liked looking? I could look. No rule said I wasn’t allowed to like what I saw.
“You there, Greene?” I jumped at a tinny voice from my pants’ pocket. We didn’t use the walkie-talkie function on our work phones much, so my heart kicked up faster. I pulled the phone from my pocket and hit the button on the side.
“Yo, what do you need?”
“We’re ready to transfer to your block from the SHU. Wanna put the fear of God in him, since you’re on shift?” Orlov asked.
I sighed. “Coming. Give me five.”
By the time I made it to the secure housing unit by going through F block, which stank like sewage for some reason today, Orlov was already there with his usual snooty snarl. He was short, trim, and nice to look at—his lips were wasted on him, full and pretty—but the handsomeness was ruined by the crap that typically cameoutof his mouth.
I tried to ignore Orlov and mentally prepare myself to speak with Beast.Fuck, Black, not Beast.Everyone else saying that stupid nickname had me doing it now, too. I hated him, and he didn’t seem to remember me, so I normally kept our direct interactions to a bare minimum. Half the reason I was still here at TFC was to make sure he kept serving his time—I always told the parole board he needed to stay behind bars—and limit the amount of people he destroyed in the process. Much as I didn’t want to interact with him, having him in my block would make keeping an eye on him easier.
I schooled my features as I approached the metal door to his isolation cell in the SHU. The slot that could be opened to talk and put food in the room was closed and I was thankful.
“You ready?” Orlov asked. He grinned and tipped back the brown cap he wore that matched his uniform.
