Page 81 of Provocation
Shade pulls out some loose receipts and a couple of pieces of paper that he scans. ‘Sorry. After waiting so long, it’s sort of anticlimactic, huh?’
I smile. ‘Just a little.’
Then I frown as I move a shirt to the side and see a little blue book under everything else.
‘What’s this?’
I pull it out and open it. ‘It’s my mom’s handwriting,’ I say, showing it to Shade.
‘It looks like a diary.’ He sounds a bit more excited. ‘When is it from?’
I look at some of the pages’ dates. ‘The year she married your dad,’ I say, handing it to him when he reaches for it.
He flicks through it. ‘Look. The first page. This is just over eight months. This must not have been the only one there was. I didn’t even know she kept a diary. There were probably a tonstored in that closet.’ He looks sad. ‘My fucking father. He just had everything taken and thrown away like it was nothing, likeshewas nothing.’
I take Shade’s hand. ‘It makes me upset, too,’ I murmur. ‘That day I went in there and everything was gone…’
He puts an arm around me. ‘Do you want to read it?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘You?’
‘Yeah. But you go first.’
‘I love you,’ I whisper. ‘Sometimes it might not look the way other people’s does, but you know I do, don’t you? I’ve never cared about anything as much as I do you, Mav, and Blake.’
His hands cup my face. ‘Yeah,’ he says softly. ‘I know.Weknow. And we all feel the same. You knowthat, right? We’re a family, Daisy. All four of us. Always.’
I’m flooded with a warmth inside that makes me clutch at him with a long, contented sigh.
‘All four of us,’ I echo. ‘Forever.’
God, I hope I don’t have to run without them.
BLAKE
The rain is coming down hard as I make my way slowly up the cement steps and through the double doors of the prison’s main entrance. Even the weather isn’t enough to hasten my dragging steps. I don’t want to be here. I fucking hate this place. But he’ll keep bothering me until I visit. It’s best to just get it done.
The worn linoleum floor is stained and yellow. The walls too. There’s a smell of detergent and stale smoke.
‘Number?’ one of the prison cops asks.
I give him my dad’s prison number.
‘You aren’t on the list.’
I resist the urge to tell the asshole in front of me to stop fucking with me. That’s what they want.
‘I’m here to see Harris Blake,’ I say instead. ‘I’m his son, Eric. I’m on the approved list. I just haven’t been here in a while.’
The cop lets out a loud cough and sniffs, running a finger down the screen in front of him. He has a gut and sweat patches under the armpits of his uniform, even though it’s freezing outside. I see his eyes flick to me, taking in the scabbed knuckles, his lip curling just a little.
‘There you are, kid,’ he grinds out. ‘Fill out this form.’
He hands me a clipboard with a form on it. I fill it in, and I’m told to put my cell, keys, and anything else I’m carrying in a locker. I’m patted down and walk slowly to the next room where I’m patted down again. A short alarm sounds as the inner door is released and I’m admitted into the visitor’s room. It slams behind me. My father isn’t here yet, so I grab him a couple of chocolate bars from the vending machine, putting them on the table in front of me as I sit down.
I don’t look around at the other visitors, or the guards standing around. I try not to touch anything. I hear the faint alarm that triggers when the door to the interior of the jail is opened, and I glance up to see the line of prisoners entering slowly. My father is first. Shaggy, brown, salt and pepper hair, slight build, and short stature. He looks the same as he did before he was arrested except for a long scar running down the side of his face, which happened the first week he was here. Though, as he tells it, the guy who attacked him came out worse.
He comes over once he’s told he can and sits across from me.
