Page 112 of Come Break My Heart Again

“Yeah.” I tear more paper. “What the fuck can you do, you know? It’s just … it is what it is.”

“Cormac knows?”

I nod. “And Tuck.”

Knox jogs over to us.

“Nice hoops, buddy,” I say.

He nods. “Thanks. Can I have a Popsicle, Mom?”

“That’s fine,” Reese replies.

Knox races toward the trailer.

“Only one!” she calls after him.

“You did way worse shit than taking two desserts,” I remind her.

“Don’t you dare give Knox any ideas,” she tells me. “He needs positive male role models, not troublemakers.”

“Well, I might be fresh out of prison, but according to my parole officer I’m a model ex-con. Had a meeting with him earlier.”

“Must feel strange to be out,” Reese comments.

I nod. “Yeah, it is.”

I haven’t really discussed my time in prison with anyone since my release. Everyone—including me—wants to pretend it never happened. But I hear it in my sleep, the buzz of doors and the clang of metal bars. Wake up drenched in sweat, the claustrophobia of being contained in one space stifling.

Tucker’s too cheerful to share that shit with. My mom has plenty to worry about. Cormac is a kid who should be busy enjoying his summer.

“Were you anyone’s bitch?”

I glance over at Reese. I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s never encountered a boundary she couldn’t bulldoze.

“Seriously?”

Her lips curve around the bottle of beer. “I won’t tell anyone.”

I shake my head. “No. I lucked out, honestly. My cellmate was one of the nicest guys I’d ever met. Loyal too. He kind of reminded me of Tuck.”

“What was he in for?”

“Armed robbery. His mom had lost her job, couldn’t afford rent. He had five younger siblings who were about to lose the roof over their heads.”

Reese sucks in a sharp breath. “Shit. Is he out now?”

I shake my head. “He has two more years. Maybe a little less, if he gets released early like I did.”

“You going to visit him?”

“Yeah. I just … it’s going to be hard to go back. To be on the other side of it. To be in that building again.”

“I still can’t believe you got seven years. I mean, you weren’t even dealing?”

There’s a question lingering after the words.

Very few people didn’t nod and thinkof coursewhen they heard I’d been arrested holding two duffel bags of coke. They heard my address, and they made assumptions.

---