Page 114 of Embrace

We asked the front desk if he could wait inside, but he needed a preapproved visitor’s pass and he can’t even park his car in the lot without one. There are a lot of rules, and Kian tried to convince the woman for ten minutes, but she didn’t budge. So he parked just down the street.

“Okay, promise. Now, stop stressing. You’re freaking me out.”

He throws up his hands in surrender. “I’m sure it’ll be great,” he says, though the words sound unsure and still shaky like they did when he asked if I was certain about this. He’s worried, and I get that, but I’ve stopped fearing this moment, probably because I’ve imagined it so many times.

With one deep breath, and Kian not letting go of my hand until I have to physically pull it away, I head inside to get my visitor’s badge. The clicking and buzzing with each gate startles me, and I try not to be jittery.

The deeper we go, the more I hear the loud voices, distant but still there, reminding me this is in fact a place for convicted criminals.

My palms are clammy when the guard directs me to a metal chair on the far side of a long table.

Then I see Victor, and it’s like a punch to the sternum. He’s a lot thinner than he was seven years ago, and he’s got way more tattoos than I remember. It used to just be my mom’s name behind one ear and mine behind the other. Now it’s neither, covered up by some indecipherable design, with no semblance of what used to be there.

He sits across from me, his eyes watching me so intensely, I squirm a little.

“Hi, I’m Scarlett.” I reach out to shake his hand, but he just stares at me, and not even a second later I’m startled by the loud, booming voices of the guards yelling, “No touching!” and force my hand back to my side. Right. I forgot about that rule.

I sit across from him, my sweater suddenly itchy, Kian’s voice echoing in my head:Text me and I’ll be there.

“How have you been?” I ask first because he seems to be content with just looking.

He smiles, and for a second it feels warm. I’m trying to play it cool, but then his gaze wanders my face. “You’re beautiful, Scarlita.”

My heart squeezes tight at the nickname I haven’t heard in years. He would call me that because I was obsessed with this foreign drama where the main character was named Carlita.He remembers.

“Thank you. I’m so glad you wanted to see me too.”

He nods, then softly asks, “How is your mother?”

I don’t like him asking about her. I want to keep her far, far from this. The mention of her makes me feel guilty about this whole thing.

“Good. Did you know the street we used to live on is all new construction?”

“No,” he simply says, as if to sayI’m in prison, what do you think?“Does your mother know you’re here?”

He sounds so much like the dad I knew at this moment that I shake my head and shrink.

“That’s okay. I like having time with you.” He leans forward,lowering his voice. “I always thought about having a better relationship after everything.”

“Really?” I can barely clamp down my excitement.

He nods. “I’ve always thought about your testimony. How you were so young that you probably didn’t even know what you were saying.”

I blanch. “What do you mean?”

“I just think that if we had time to think, to talk, we could figure something out.”

“How?”

“You could take back your testimony.”

My nervous smile slips off my face. “What?”

“You won’t do that for your dad?” His eyes sharpen. “I thought this was what you wanted. I read your letters, Scarlett. I want that too. I want to know you. I’m looking at you now and you’ve grown into an adult. I wasn’t there to witness any of it.”

“Of course I do. But I said that under oath, and it was the truth, Da— You know that.”Dadalmost slips out of my mouth, and I feel nearly sick from making that mistake. “We could still have this, the visits and conversations—”

He scoffs. “Is that why you’re here? To make yourself feel better for putting your own father behind bars?”