Page 1 of Fracture

CHAPTER 1

STELLA

Stop pullingon your damn dress. The guards are gonna think you’re doped up or something.

With a deep breath, I clasp my arms across my chest to stop my restless fingers tugging at the waistline of my dress. The dress I spent three damn hours picking out. I try not to think about the state of my bedroom right now, clothes strewn across the floor and my bed, like the ladies’ department at Nordstrom’s after being torn apart on Black Friday.

Why did it even matter what I wore today?

I don’t even know. But every single outfit I put on was wrong. One dress was too short, another made me look like a Mormon preschool teacher (that one ended up in the Goodwill bag). I wanted to look the part - what part that was, I still don’t know.

I was trying to prove something, that I was sophisticated and trustworthy. I’m a lawyer after all, the responsible little sister who’s letting her stepbrother and his best friend stay with her while they get their lives together.

But the thought of Levi and Dylan seeing me in my silk blouses and pencil skirts after 10 years apart made my cheeks burn. I wanted them to see me,me, not a lawyer, not jumped-up trust fund baby Stella Langford.

I just wanted them to see me.

So the silk blouses ended up on the floor with the rest of my wardrobe. I’m standing outside the prison on Governor’s Day in a black and white knee-length dress and ballerina flats, my hair loose, because Dylan always liked it that way.

I hate that I hope he still does.

I pace back and forth, past all the other groups of anxious folks, waiting for their loved ones to pass through those gates. It’s a mass release, celebrating 15 years since the prison opened. It’s been all over the news, the governor crowing about how these men are all rehabilitated now thanks to the prison’s stellar programs. Even the two murderers who killed Harold Langford are being released.

And moving in with his daughter.

My eyes dart to the perimeter of the parking lot. I’m sure a van followed me here, and I wait for the reporters to jump out and start taking pictures. It’s been several years since they stopped hounding me, but I have a sick feeling they’ll be here just to get an exclusive scoop on this day.

I release one of my trembling hands to run it through my hair. That’s why I’m nervous. It’s the reporters, not the fact that I’m about to see these two men again after 10 years. 10 years of nothing but letters that were never answered.

But it’s still us, right?

My stomach drops as I consider that they’ll be disappointed, and mad. That they’ll demand to know why I never visited, why my letters were so bland, telling them nothing about me or my life, nothing meaningful at least. Maybe they’ll lay their eyes on me and hate what I’ve become. They’ll see my pretty little Cape Cod house on the good side of Bellford Heights, and laugh at me.

But their bikes are in the garage. I made sure to take those from the old house when I sold it. They’re in there with a pool table and their pock-marked dartboard, and the bar I had builtespecially for them. I stocked it with beer and whiskey, all in preparation for them. For us to start our lives again.

Surely they’re going to be happy about that, right?

I give myself a mental slap.Goddammit, Stella. You’re a grown-ass woman and you’re acting like you want to impress two little teenage boys. Get a fucking grip.

There’s movement behind the gates, and the guards start shouting commands. The families around me all seem as tense as I am, watching and waiting for the men we love to emerge from behind that endless razor wire.

My throat goes dry as I wonder if I’ll even recognize them? Will Levi still have that floppy blond hair I used to tease him about? Will Dylan still have that lip ring that was warm against my mouth whenever he kissed me? They were barely men when I last saw them, all those years ago, that last moment when their eyes met mine in the courtroom.

And now…?

The gate rolls back, and a woman in a tight red dress and sky-high heels races past me and into the arms of the first man to walk through. He scoops her up and she wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him like no one else is around.Good for them.

A young man walks out hesitantly, he can’t be older than 22. He pushes his dark curls from his forehead, his eyes darting around at the people gathered outside the gate, when suddenly someone screams, and a group of people rush at him. He bursts into tears as the people encircle him, crying and cradling his face in their hands, all of them caught somewhere between sorrow and joy.

One prisoner after another emerges, and I count them all out,five, six, nine, fourteen.Twenty prisoners are being released today.

My throat becomes tight. Shit. Did they rescind their parole? Did I get the date wrong? Maybe not everyone is getting releasedtoday? I pull out my phone and check my emails. No, it’s definitely today.

Where are they?

My hands begin to tremble again, just as two figures emerge from the gray building and start walking towards the gate. Both are dressed in dark wash jeans and tight black t-shirts, duffle bags slung over their shoulders.

One has messy dark blond hair, both arms and hands heavily tattooed. The other has a close-shaved head, shadowed with dark stubble, his brown skin glowing in the warm summer sun. They stop at the guards’ house, shaking the guard’s hands and laughing heartily, before turning back to the gate and walking towards me.

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