1
FAITH
My brother, Oakley smiles the second I step into the visiting room, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
It must be hard for anyone to smile in this place—grey walls, grey plastic chairs bolted to grey metal tables. The air reeks of bleach, with an undertone of bad decisions.
A child cries in the corner while a toddler taps the edge of a chair with his shoe. The low hum of whispered conversations blends with the occasional creak of a door and the bored shuffling of guards.
I tug the sleeves of my cardigan over my hands as I walk past one of them. Their gaze slides over me like oil—slimy, and judgemental, as if they know exactly what kind of girl ends up here, visiting her brother in prison.
Oak rises and wraps me in a hug, just like he used to when we were kids. He got the nickname Oak, as he’s as big as a tree.
My brother. My protector. My safe space. Even in here.
“I’ve missed you,” I whisper into the worn cotton of his prison-issue sweatshirt.
“I’ve missed you, too.” His voice is rougher than I remember. He pulls back, gripping my shoulders, getting a better lookat me. He’s leaner, tighter somehow—his once-boyish face is harder now. His buzz cut makes him look more like a soldier than a criminal.
“Mum would never let me visit, but now I’m eighteen, I don’t need her written permission.”
His eyes sadden, matching the grey walls. “I never expected anyone to visit, but I thought Mum might have at least replied to my letters.”
My gaze drops to the scuffed floor. “She won’t come.”
He sighs. “Still drinking?”
I nod, curling my fingers into the hem of my cardigan sleeve. “Worse. Her and Nigel stay out all night, then come back drunk and screaming.”
His jaw ticks. “Who’s Nigel?”
“He’s been living with us for a while now. This one seems to have stuck around, but I don’t know why.” Saying his name makes my stomach twist with nausea. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself.
Oak leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Did he do that?” He nods to the side of my face.
I lift my hand to the bruise beneath a thick layer of foundation. I thought I’d concealed it. “No. Mum.” I gulp and take a seat at the table, the fixed bench barely big enough for my bottom, and the table digs into my belly. “She’s worse since you left.”
Oakley sits across from me with pained eyes. “How bad is it, Faith?”
I cross my arms. “She doesn’t like it when he’s nice to me… or looks at me.”
“Looks at you?” Oak’s voice deepens.
Shame coils tight in my throat. “Last week he was looking at me in a sundress. Mum slapped me and said I was flaunting myself in front of him.”
Oak shoots to his feet, fists clenched. “I’ll kill him.”
A guard shifts near the door, casting a sharp stare our way.
Oak breathes through his nose and forces himself to sit again, knuckles white. “I mean it, Faith. Give me his full name. I’ll get word to the crows. He’s a dead man.”
I shrug off my cardigan. “He’s not my biggest problem. If he wasn’t around, I’m sure Mum would be worse, focusing all her attention on me.”
“You’re not going back there.”
Tears prick my eyes. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Oak leans across the table, dropping his voice. “You remember the garage near the Black Crow near where we grew up?”
