“Table one.”
I take a slow breath, force my legs to move, and walk toward the table.
My palms are already sweating. I’m not ready for this. But I’m here. And there’s no turning back now.
I remember my father as a big man. Broad shoulders, heavy muscles, and oversized confidence. He used to spend hours in the gym, and for a while he even boxed. I never watched him fight, but Isaac told me stories. Stories that made him sound larger than life.
But the man who takes the seat across from me looks even bigger than the one in my childhood memories. Older, harder, solid looking. Faded tattoos snake down both arms, disappearing beneath the pushed-up sleeves of his grey tracksuit, only to reappear up the side of his neck. And yet, he smiles. The way a father should smile at his daughter. With pride. With love. With something that makes my throat go tight.
“You have no idea how many times I dreamt about this moment,” he says eventually, his voice roughened by years of confinement.
I glance around, needing a second to collect myself. Other prisoners have taken their seats now, laughing, leaning forward,grabbing the hands of wives and partners and children. A room full of reunions I never got to have.
“I imagined meeting you again one day,” I admit quietly, “just…not here. Not like this.”
“It must have taken a lot for you to come.”
“You have no idea,” I murmur, picking at the edge of the table.
He hesitates. “How is she?” His eyes flicker away like he already knows he shouldn’t ask.
A cold wave rushes through me. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t ask about her. You have no right.”
He nods immediately, ashamed maybe, but I don’t let myself soften.
“You’re right,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. I just…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “Never mind.”
Silence folds between us for a moment before he clears his throat.
I shake my head, then shrug helplessly. “I’m not sure. Mum wasn’t exactly thrilled when she saw the visiting pass.” Tears sting, blurring my vision, and I focus on the gouges carved into the table. I trace one with my fingertip just to keep my voice steady. “We argued. I haven’t been home for a few days.”
He reaches across the table and traps my hand between both of his tattooed ones. The sudden contact steals my breath and I gasp quietly.
“I’m so sorry, Leoni,” he says, voice low and thick. “I never wanted to cause any more problems for you, or for her. But thank you for telling me about my boy. Most people hear news like that from guards who don’t give a damn. Hearing it from you, even if it broke me, meant everything.”
“You deserved to know,” I whisper.
“I reached out to him,” he mutters, releasing my hand slowly. “Several times. He ignored me. I don’t blame him. I just wish I’d known he was going down that path.”
“None of us knew,” I say quietly. “Not really. I only started to suspect when he suddenly had money instead of asking me for it.” I huff a tired laugh. “He denied it. Obviously.”
“He shouldn’t have been coming to you for money,” he says firmly. “It should be the other way around.”
I smirk. “The world must’ve changed in the last ten years. Women make their own money now.”
He chuckles, softening. “Independent. Just like I always knew you’d be.” He leans in, eyes warm in a way that twists my stomach. “Tell me about your life, Lee. What do you do? Where do you live?”
“There’s not much to tell.” I force a smile. “I’m a secretary for a big design firm. And I have my own place, it’s really nice, actually. Overlooks the city.” My smile collapses as fast as it comes. “I haven’t been back since Isaac.”
His eyes sharpen. “Why?”
I swallow. “It’s where he died.”
His entire face tightens. “In your apartment?”
I nod. “Yeah. He got beat up the night before, came to mine to rest, and whoever did it came for him.”
“Who?” Mick leans forward, voice gravelly. “Did he say who?”
