He settled into the chair in the room and gestured for me to sit back on the bed. Confused, I took the edge and stared at him.
“We should talk,” he rasped softly.
“OK,” I said, my heart hammering. “Are Rosalie and Ellis OK?” My voice shook with my words.
“Yeah. Yeah, they’re good,” he said, blowing out a breath. “I, uh, fuck. It’s hard for me.” He wiped his hands down his black, ripped jeans. I could see tattoos peeking out from beneath the tears.
His legs bounced.
He was nervous.
“Just say it, man.” I eyed him. He didn’t seem the type to get nervous.
He scratched his head, moving his black beanie before tugging on it. In every instance that I’d seen the man, he’d had nearly his entire face covered.
“It’s hard for me,” he repeated. “Being down here. It-It’s changed, but I can still… feel it.”
“You were tortured here?” I raised my brows. “Church?—”
“Cole,” he said, his voice shaking. “Please. Let me just do this, OK?”
“Do what?” My heart pounded harder. A million things ran through my head. He was going to tell me Rosalie was done with me. My daughter was never going to be in my life. That they really were hurt or worse. That I was never leaving here. Fuck, so much went through my head that my legs bounced too.
Evan stood and paced the small area like I’d been doing. I watched him, my heart in my throat.
“Just fucking say it, man. We don’t know each other, but this shit freaks me out,” I said. “Especially when I’ve been locked up down here for god knows how long, worrying about Rosalie and Ellis. If it’s bad, just-just tell me. Please.”
He stopped in front of me and went to his knees, facing me. I crinkled my brows as I stared at the big fucker.
He reached out and pulled his hat off to reveal his black hair, which had been shaved to a low level, but looked like he was due for another shave.
He looked down before pushing his face gaiter off and removing his glasses.
I stared at him, not understanding.
He breathed in and out for a moment before finally looking at me.
I blinked in confusion, searching his face. An ugly, jagged scar ran down one side of his face. His eye was milky white on that side. I let my eyes wander to his lips.
Plump. Pink.
Familiar.
Then I looked at his other eye.
Vibrant blue.
Eyes I once knew.
“What?” I whispered. “F-Foxy?”
“Hey, brother,” he greeted me in a choked voice.
I blinked rapidly and reached out, gripping his face in my hands, tears stinging my eyes.
“What the fuck?” I sobbed softly.“Foxy?”
There was no way.
