Page 166 of All I Have Left

“Nope.”

“Relax.” Evie leans in. “Her bedroom’s on the second floor. And there’s no tree for her to climb in and out of.”

I snort. “I’m gluing her windows shut.”

EPILOGUE: FOREVER AND ALWAYS

TWO YEARS LATER

Grayson

The distinct smell of bleach and metal invade my senses as I stare at the barren white walls. It reminds me of a hospital room but different. The stark orange jumpsuits are a dead giveaway that I’m not in a hospital. I’m in a prison.

A place I thought I’d never be.

Limestone Correctional Facility.

I told myself not to. Actually, Ipromisedmyself I wouldn’t.

Turns out, I lied. Again.

Footsteps echo in the large galley room I’m in. Every minute or so, a buzzing and more footsteps. To my left, a man is whispering, another with a raised voice.

I stare at Shane’s face as he moves toward me, the clanking of chains and constraints sliding and scraping against the concrete floor. When he sees me, he cocks his head to the side and says something under his breath. I can’t make out what he says, but it sounds like, “Fuck this.” I don’t know for sure. He’s aged years from the one who tried to end my life. His dark hair is shorter, his nose still crooked from when I broke it, but still, he looks the same. Mysterious. Troubled. Evil.

“Fifteen minutes,” the guard tells me, pushing Shane forward, our unspoken deal confirmed. He’s breaking rules here, and I’m breaking promises I made to myself.

With a shaky grip on reality, I’m unable to make the words come and fighting with myself to reach across the table and break his neck. I picture Evie in the bed of my truck, Shane above her and the need to end his life gets worse.

That day, I couldn’t do anything. Today, I can. Seven years exactly from the day he tried to take my life from me, he’s the one that’s helpless.

“Jesus Christ.” With a grumble, Shane sighs as he sits across from me, hanging his head but not before he eyes the ring on my left hand. The one given to me by the girl he tried to destroy. “What are you doing here?”

That’s a good question. One I don’t know the answer to. Maybe it’s the closure thing Evie had been talking about. I’m not sure, but on a day I should be spending with my daughter on her birthday, I’m here.

Maybe it’s revenge. Because I’m not entire sure I’m going to walk out of here without making a scene.

I also lied to get in here. Pays to know a guard at the prison. I did some concrete work for his mom and he got me in here without having Shane know who was coming to visit him. I gotta say, the element of surprise here is worth it. I bet you he didn’t wake up thinking he’d see me.

I didn’t wake up seven years ago at the lake house thinking my heart would stop beating that day. Nor did I wake up thinking I’d forever have an image in my head of my wife being raped.

But I dd. And it’s because of the one sitting across from me in this maximum security prison.

My eyes roam over his aging face. I’m curious if he knows the date and its meaning. He’s been in here seven years and by the graying at his temples and the creases near his eyes, he looks fifteen years older. Maybe that’s what confinement doesto you. Or regret because I know staring at his dark lifeless eyes, something haunts him. Maybe not what he did to me, but something.

With my head pounding in my temples, I lean forward, my elbows resting on the table separating us. That’s all that’s between us. A fucking table. No glass. He’s handcuffed, hands and ankles and sporting an orange jump suit. I fight off a smile that I could erase the space between us with a flick of my wrist and end his life. Maybe not. The table looks pretty solid and I’d be jumped by the guards, but the fact that he’s handcuffed, unable to defend himself sparks interest in me. I play out a brutal scene where I slit his throat with my Wolverine claws I don’t have. I have a four-year-old son obsessed with all things Marvel. Believe me, I know exactly who Wolverine is and wish I had his claws right about now.

Smiling, I level him a perfected fuck you stare. “You don’t look as pretty as you used to. You got a bitch in here yet?”

There’s a smirk. A condescending one but he knows what I’m doing. “What do you want? They said my lawyer was here.”

I motion to an inmate at a table next to us talking with what looks to be his dad. “I bet you’re getting use to taking it up the ass.” I nod to the inmate. “Is that your bitch?”

He doesn’t answer me but he shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. His jaw works back and forth, his eyes narrowing on mine. “How’s Evie?”

My heart drops to my stomach. Actually, to my fucking knees. I knew coming here that he’d bring her up. That’s how he plays his cards. Like hiring the best defense lawyer’s money can buy to attempt parole. He’s gotten denied every time. What money can’t buy? What he can’t have?

Evie.

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