Christ.
It’s not that I didn’t appreciate them coming; it meant more than they’d ever know. But the reason I’d asked them not to come—begged them actually—was because the last two times I’d walked out of this room with nothing, I’d watched something break in them.
I was tired of bringing them fucking pain.
At least whatever happened today, every person in this room would hear the whole truth. For the first time. All of it. If I was going to be denied again, it wouldn’t be because I held back. They all deserved that much.
Hiding the weight pressing against my sternum, I offered them a small smile. The kind that said everything I didn’t have words for:I love you. I’m sorry. Thank you for not giving up on me.
Ryker stood near the front row in his expensive suit, arms crossed over his chest. He gave me a single nod. Steady. Encouraging. The kind of nod that said,You’ve got this, while also acknowledging that we both knew the odds weren’t exactly in my favor.
Just past him, Harper sat at the end of the first row.
She wore a soft blue sweater that made her green eyes look even brighter than usual. When our gazes locked, she offered me a gentle smile. A little wave of her fingers.
My throat tightened. It meant everything that she was here. That no matter which way this went, she’d shown up to stand beside me.
But the real shock came when my eyes drifted to the second row. A familiar set of eyes stared back at me.
Gwendolyn.
The world went sideways. Sound muffled into static. My feet forgot how to move. For a long, suspended moment, I just stood there like an idiot, shackles clinking as my body processed what my brain refused to accept.
My daughter was here. My daughter, who’d looked at me with so much hurt and anger the last time I’d seen her that I’d been certain I’d lost her forever.
She was sitting in this room. In a folding chair. At my parole hearing.
To support me.
After everything I’d done to screw up her life, she’d taken time out of her day to be here. To show up for the father who hadn’t been able to show up for her in fourteen years.
Something cracked open in my chest. Something I’d kept locked down so tight, I’d forgotten it existed.
I must have been staring too long because a corrections officer nudged my shoulder, jolting me back to reality. Right. Hearing. Future. Focus.
I forced my feet to move again, shuffling toward the single chair positioned facing the panel. Each step felt heavier than the last. The shackles around my ankles clinked against the linoleum in a rhythm that sounded too much like a countdown.
As I lowered myself into the chair, I noticed something else.
The seats behind the victim’s side of the room were empty. As they’d always been. You’d think that no matter what the guy did, he’d have family who cared about him. Someone to show up and argue that I should rot in here forever. But there was no one. Just empty folding chairs and silence.
The absence hit me somewhere unexpected. Right in the sternum.
Why? I had no idea. The guy was a monster.
But maybe his family wasn’t. Maybe they were victims too.
I filed that thought away as the woman on the left side of the panel cleared her throat.
She was maybe sixty, with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun and pointed glasses that looked like they’d time-traveled from 1962. Her lips were dry and cracked, pressed into a thin line that suggested she’d already made up her mind about me.
Next to her sat a man in his fifties. Balding head. Fingers like sausages. He shuffled through my file with the enthusiasm of someone reviewing their tax returns.
To his side, a thin man with hollow cheeks and a mole the size of Texas on his cheek. He was the one who’d be doing most of the talking, if past hearings were any indication. The attack dog of the group.
The woman spoke first, her voice flat and rehearsed. “This parole hearing is now in session. The board will be reviewing the case of Inmate Knox Blackwood, currently serving twenty-five years for second-degree murder.” She glanced up. “Mr. Blackwood, do you understand the purpose of this hearing?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
