Page 52 of Broken Boss

Chris gives me a lazy grin. “Yeah. Just let me change, then we can get going.”

By the time we reach Beacon, NY, it’s just after 9 a.m. I dozed on the drive up and blink awake, confused, and immediately scared.

We shouldn’t be here. Chris can’t know?—

Then it all comes rushing back, and I take a deep breath to calm myself, casting my eyes around the visitor’s lot. There’s no way Kieran would show up here, right? If he was going to, I think I would’ve seen him by now.

“You’ll stay here?”

Chris nods, looking every bit relaxed in a clean shirt and jeans. But I see the tick in his jaw as he smiles.

I slip out of the seat and head toward the facility, double-checking that I have everything. I check in, give Stephen’s DIN number, get patted down and waved through a metal detector, and nod along to the brusque instructions.

Hands above the table at all times.

No hugging.

No passing anything.

The visitation room is large, a bare room with white metal tables and stools attached. Guards are stationed here and there to watch. Already some visitors and inmates are chatting, and as I enter, I see them let Stephen through a door in the back.

I smile tightly as he meets me at a table, trying to keep my eyes from watering. Twelve years and I still almost cry when he comes walking out in that jumpsuit.

“You look good.”

It isn’t a lie, not exactly, but he could look better. His head is shaved—not a cut he ever would’ve had on the outside—and he’s leanly muscled. But there’s a bounce to his step that’s new, and as we sit down, he starts to tell me about the dog training program they let him join last week.

Just as I’m starting to settle into listening to his animated story, he stops short and stares over my shoulder.

“Autumn.”

The flat tone of his voice is too similar to Orla’s this morning, and guilt sweeps through me. I already know what I’ll find when I turn around.

How am I messing up this badly? How did it all get off track?

I look over my shoulder and see Chris. He hasn’t moved into the room, but stays near the far wall, hands in his pockets and face somber.

His eyes lock with mine. Stephen breathes out through his nose and stands. I follow quickly, knee banging on the edge of the metal table with a zing of pain.

Stephen walks casually over to Chris. His legs are so long, longer than mine, and I stop halfway there, bracing for the confrontation.

Instead, Stephen just holds out a hand.

“Sharpe.”

There’s a tense moment when even a guard nearby is watching with narrowed eyes. Then Chris reaches out and clasps Stephen’s hand. They don’t shake, exactly, but it feels like there’s some kind of understanding there.

My brother murmurs quietly. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but Chris follows him back to the table and I do as well, feeling helpless.

It seems like the entire world is crumbling down around me. But it’s not going how I expected—this isn’t apocalyptic. In fact, it’s very much the opposite of what I imagined would happen.

“I’m assuming you two came together?” Stephen asks casually as we all sit. My eyes dart to Chris and his rigid shoulders, expression impassive.

The coldhearted lawyer. He’s the man I always thought he was and I can’t read him at all.

“Yes. I gave her a ride up from the city.”

Stephen nods as if that’s perfectly reasonable, while inside, I’m screaming. His eyebrow flicks up as he glances my way.

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