His hand shakes, so he clutches mine tighter. “Will you come with me?”
The simple request has my chest clenching and my heart so tight it could rupture. The impact alone could refracture whatever healing my ribs have accomplished in the last few days.
The Colten who stands in front of me now is far different than the man who lured me to Cedar Creek Cove. He was the kind of man to dig a bottomless hole and entomb all his emotions in the unfathomable depths. A man who could easily slip on a mask, deceiving the world by leaving a layer between him and whatever feelings were eating away at his flesh.
But the barrier has fallen, crumpled into a pile of ash at his feet. I want to collect the dust and hold it in the palms of my hands to prove to him how effortlessly I love his imperfections. The things he finds too weak to share but the things I find beauty in.
Because he is a remarkable brother. A protective parental figure who has shoved everything else aside to ensure his siblings feel valued. Cared for. So they know they are a priority—that they are set up to strive in life despite the memories that linger in that house like an old scent that permanently intertwines with the threads in a carpet or the paint on the walls.
He’s carried the weight of it all.
The company.
Their bills.
The vast property that could have swallowed them all.
Colten had to grow up exceptionally fast because he witnessed what failed love looks and feels like. It left his family vulnerable, but he picked up the pieces and held them together without blinking an eye.
Now he’s here, searching for answers because Jane’s car at the bottom of the river only stirred up more questions about what happened that night.
After we make our way to the designated visitors’ entrance, Colten and I show our driver’s licenses before they screen us andgive us temporary visitor badges. Escorting us to the visitation room, Colten grabs my clammy hand, refusing to let go. I grip his bicep as we brush past guards, their eyes locking onto us as we pass.
I’ve never set foot in a prison. It’s unsettling.
Concrete walls and floors synchronize with the harsh light, highlighting the beige accents here and there. Black cameras dot the ceilings and corners of the hallways, reminding me that people are watching every move we make.
My body trembles when we come to a halt.
“Right this way,” the female correctional officer says, opening the door and leading us into the visitation room, separating guests from the inmates.
We step inside. It looks exactly like the movies, a wall of glass through the center of the room with telephones for communication and metal chairs that look like they could freeze my ass in under a minute. Other correctional officers stand in the room, observing and scanning the few people visiting other convicts.
She motions to two chairs. “Take a seat, and they’ll bring him in.”
The nervous tremble in Colton’s tone breaks my heart. “Thank you.”
He pulls out a chair for me, and I take a seat, holding my breath at the shot of pain that smashes into my ribs.
He takes a seat, eyeing me suspiciously. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I partially lie. He’s what matters. I’m here for him. I am attempting to ignore the pain as much as I’m trying to forget I might be coming face-to-face with a murderer who was plastered on the news for months, years ago. I throw his question back at him. “Are you okay?”
He rolls his lips, leaning back against the metal backing of the chair with his arms crossed. “I’m not sure.”
A door on the other side of the room, behind the glass, opens, revealing a man in a khaki-colored jumpsuit. His downcast expression is fixated on the concrete floor below his shoes, giving us a clear view of his short, cropped brown hair. Colten’s father’s wrists are shackled together as the guard leads him farther into the room.
Colten stills unnaturally beside me, his hand tightly gripping mine. Christian finally looks up, his shoulders rigid at seeing his son. He blinks a few times, their eyes holding each other’s while they process what’s in front of them. Then, Christian’s focus locks on me.
Heavy eyes take me in, his face void of any expression. He lifts a hand to his peppered facial hair, scratching at his jawline with his fingernails. The dark circles under his eyes make him appear twenty years older than he is, but the handsomeness that was once there still lingers. I hold his gaze for a second longer, noting that he and his son probably had identical color irises at one point. Not anymore. There is an overlay of gray. They are lifeless.
At the same time, Colten and Christian reach for the phones, unsaid words passing between them. Pulling the phone between us, we both lean into it to hear.
Christian clears his throat. “When they said one of my sons was here to see me, I didn’t expect—” He pauses, swallowing.
“Me?” Colten finishes, his tone laced with a huskiness I usually find charming. But at this moment, he’s holding back; it’s as if his vibrating hands are trying to transfer some of his resentment to me so he doesn’t lash out.
His father nods slowly, the silence sitting heavily.
