Page 13 of Rio's Release

I stuff the brief letter into the envelope and stare at the only picture I’ve got taped to the wall. Then I lay on the bed and glower at the ceiling.

Finally, frustrated, I climb from my rack, drop to the floor, and start doing pushups.

Pete rises to his elbow and watches. “What’s the bug up your ass? Bad news?”

“Just shut your damn mouth,” I say through gritted teeth and continue pumping until my muscles burn and my arms start to shake with the effort. Breathing hard, I drop and roll to my back.

“Impressive. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone do that many pushups.” Pete smirks. “This chick must really be getting to you.”

“She wants to visit me.”

“Most guys would be pretty thrilled about that, judging from the photo. What’s the problem?”

“She’ll be nineteen next month.”

“Pretty and young. What’s to complain about?”

“When I get out of here, she’ll be twenty-seven… and I’ll be almost forty.”

“Again, so?”

“If I give her any encouragement, she’ll…”

“She’ll what?”

“I don’t want her wasting years of her life waiting for me and maybe passing up other men and a real chance at happiness.”

“Gee, how do you fit that big head through the cell door?”

“Don’t be a dick. You know what I mean. I did a nice thing for her once, and I think she’s romanticized the whole thing like I’m some kind of goddamn hero.”

“So, don’t put her on the list.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Sure, it is.”

“It’s her birthday next month. Says it’s all she wants.”

“Then let her visit. Maybe she’ll get another look at your ugly mug, and she’ll drop you like a hot potato. Or you break her heart, and on her birthday, too. Then she’ll know you really are an asshole.”

I think about it for a week before I go against my better judgment and fill out the forms to put her on my visitor list. The prison will send her a packet, requesting information. She’ll have to be approved, and I’m cutting it close with the timeframe.

I don’t get any more letters, and the day before her birthday rolls around. It’s a Saturday. Visiting hours are Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays, so I wonder if she’ll come on Saturday or Sunday. Or if she’ll visit at all.

Maybe she changed her mind when she saw all the crap she has to go through.

I slump back on my bunk and stare at the ceiling, wondering how I got to the point of knowing I’m the one who will be disappointed if she doesn’t come.

No one from the club has ever visited me. They can’t. Everyone in the club knows that. I can’t have anyone knowing of my association. Occasionally, for something important, we’ll use a “fake girlfriend” letter to pass information in code, but it’s risky and only used in an emergency. If I ever get a letter from a girl named Teresa, I’ll know. But so far, I haven’t.

I’ve got a lot of tattoos, but my gang affiliation isn’t shown in any of them. There’s symbolism there, but nothing anyone would know about except a member.

It’s important, because that type of thing can influence all sorts of decisions the board of prison can make, from where they put me to who can visit me.

Having these letters from Shelby has been a lifeline, and I don’t know what I’ll do if she stops. I think it’ll be worse than before I read the first one. Because now I have something to lose—something precious. Though I’ve fought it from the start, it’s there—a connection we share that grows stronger by the day.

CHAPTER SIX

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