Page 103 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

His smile is malicious. “All this time, I could never figure out why you were sent here,” he says. “Mister do-gooder who always follows the rules. But it finally makes sense. You were never the perfect little church boy after all, were you? Never in a million years did I think you were sent here because you knocked up some slut.”

My hands are fisted in his shirt the next second, slamming him into the wall behind Joel’s bed. But he manages to raise the test result over my head. The only proof I have left that there ever was a baby. My baby.Ourbaby.

“Where’s your bastard baby now, Prentiss? Huh? Where’s your whore?”

The anger seems to boil me alive, and something inside me snaps. I wrap my hands around his throat, his eyes bulging as I squeeze. It’s a strange feeling. It hardly takes any effort at all for his face to turn red. I’ve never considered killing someone before, and it frightens me how quickly I make the decision to do it. It’s only the sound of something clicking above that pulls me out of the bizarre rage.

He has my letter in one hand and a lighter in the other. I have no idea where it came from, but the lighter bursts to life and he holds it close to my letter.

“No, don’t!” I beg, releasing him with a shove, but I see it in his eyes as he gasps for breath. See the hurt he feels. The hurt he wantsmeto feel. I sink to my knees before him, silently begging him not to do this. But he shakes his head as he coughs and walks toward me, still holding the letter hostage.

“It . . . didn’t have . . . to be like this,” he gasps out, standing over me. “We could’ve been . . . a great team. All three of us. But you had to go and . . . fuck that up.”

I’m vibrating with rage and sorrow when I look up at him. “You better watch your back,” I say in a low voice. “There’s only so many places in this godforsaken hellhole you can hide.”

He tilts his head. “You think I’m staying? Oh, Keith, you’re stupider than I thought.”

My eyes narrow. What the hell is he talking about?

He kneels so we’re level. “You think I’d go through all this just to stick around? No. I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

At my confusion his eyes lock on something over my shoulder.

“There’s my ticket out of here,” he says, that sick smile appearing again, and before I can move, he sets the letter ablaze.

The air around me is silent. All I can hear is the crackling of paper. I reach for it, crying out as I desperately try to stem the flames. But it’s no use, and as I watch the remnants turn to ash, a part of me dies. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I must be drowning. I don’t know what to do. Do I fight him, or try to repair something I know is futile? My body is locked into an internal turmoil that seems to both happen over a millennia and in a fraction of a second.

Joel’s voice pierces my consciousness, raised and shouting at Logan. His fist makes contact just once and he’s down, the spray of blood arching into the air.

Time passes like sand through an hourglass as the officers stomp into the bunkhouse. As they take in the scene and wail on us with closed fists. As they scream at us aboutinsubordinationanddisciplineandchoices.

The ashes of the letter rain down on my scarred hands and face, the pain so incredible I think it’ll drag me under, but through all of it, I can see Joel. His light keeping me from sinking beyond all hope into a never-ending darkness.

“It’s going to be alright, Key,” he shouts at me over the commotion. The name acts like a defibrillator. Restarting my heart and keeping me alive. “I’m here, Key. Stay with me.”

CHAPTER26

Head Over Heels

JOEL

Ilook around the conference room, avoiding the eyes of James and Dave. They’ve never heard this story before, and I know they probably have a million questions, but it’ll have to wait until later.

“I realize I acted like a barbarian,” I admit. “But I was seventeen and already troubled and I saw that my best friend was in pain. I did—I did what I thought I had to do at the time.”

Everyone is quiet and the air is thick with discomfort.

“Do you know what it was that led to the final conflict between Mr. Prentiss and Mr. Samuels?” Judge Horowath asks.

I shake my head. “No, he never told me. And I never asked. I just knew it was important. Life-altering. I’ve never seen him more distressed than at that moment.”

He twists his mouth thoughtfully. “You mentioned in your testimony here today, Mr. Thanger, that you believe Mr. Samuels had never heard these songs prior to when you yourself heard them? What makes you think that’s true?”

I shrug. “Mr. Samuels seemed confused. Unable to follow along. Didn’t know when the verses would end—the lyrics, or the chords. Either he’s an exceptionally bad and forgetful guitarist, or he had never heard those songs before.”

I’m delighted when Logan’s face turns a delicious shade of crimson.

The judge nods. “I see.”

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