Page 3 of Heavy

“I get it, really, but I’m here to help. Do you have a place to go?”

“I’m sure some whore will let me slip into his or her hotel room for a few nights.”

He shakes his head. “No, none of that. My wife and I have a cabin just outside of Denver. It’s a little run-down, but while you get yourself—”

“I don’tneedyour help.” I'm not even into my first step when he reaches out and places his hand on my shoulder to stop me. My head slowly turns toward it, my instincts battling against my brain. Caught between wanting to punch him for touching me and maintaining control.

Noonetouches me.

“Please, let me help you. This isn’t for me, not for our family that is long gone, but for you. I failed you.” As the words slip from his mouth, I straighten my back and jerk my body from his grip. “I… If I had known…”

That pulls a condescending smile straight across my lips, my shoulders slightly slouching forward to bring us face-to-face. “Is that so, big brother? I vaguely recall telling you, and so many, in the courtroom…”

He doesn’t respond as quickly as he did before, but I expect nothing less from the kid who earned a full-ride scholarship to Dartmouth. Someone socomfortablein a place of safety and privilege.

Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders back and stand tall. Shoving my hand into my pocket, I gaze out toward the farthest point of the parking lot. I’d be walking for miles to reach the next city, a trek I made at twenty, so it wouldn’t be anything new.

But I could use a shower and to not have to fuck some bitch to get a decent place to rest my head.

“No one else lives there, right?” I ask, not looking at him.

“Correct. It’s just a property we would go for vacations. It’s gone without use for years, with everything going on we haven’t had time. Work… Friends…”

Please… tell me all about your fucking struggles.

I don’t say anything. Instead, I extend my hand and grip his shoulder. It catches him off guard, and as I squeeze, his eyes widen.

“Sounds good. Thanks, Bro.”

A nervous chuckle escapes his throat as I release him and head to the passenger side of his car. Once I slip inside, the scent of leather and fresh linens fills my nostrils. I snap my seatbelt on and cross my legs, inadvertently kicking the glove compartment.

Eamon settles into the driver’s seat and presses the button to start the car. It hums gently to life, and with a quick swipe of his fingers across the monitor above the center console, he silences the music before it can start playing. He glances over at me for a moment before turning his head forward and driving us away.

I’d have preferred to sit in silence, but no more than a few minutes into the drive, he says, “You’ll have to meet my wife, Jasmine.”

I look out the window, crossing my arms over my broad chest as I let out a grunt. I’d rather he just leave me in the cabin and forget I existed like he has since I was a kid.

My hope is to find Ken, who surprisingly wasn’t the one to pick me up, and see if he’ll fulfill his promises to me. That and get me into a line of work that keeps me busy enough I will soon swing to age sixty, or maybe I’ll get lucky and die of alcohol poisoning or an overdose. Whichever I find suits me.

“I had a son,” he continues. “He’s living with my ex-wife now, though. Remarried about ten years ago, and now I have a stepdaughter. We all live—”

“You got enough money to pick me up a burger?” I cut him off, caring so little about him and his damn life that I’d prefer to suck on the Warden’s thumb than listen to this bullshit.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Great, then the only thing I want to hear from you is ‘what would you like to order’.” I hope he's regretting showing up tosaveme.

I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone anymore.

I’d like to be left to die, whether that’s in a fucking cell or face down in the dirt. As long as it’s alone, I don’t care.

3

Calista

Ilookjustlikemy mother, and I couldn’t loathe it more.

There is nothing more that I wish than to hate this woman, but I don’t.

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