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And, yes, I looked her up on the odd occasion when I was on the prison computer, but she kept her social media locked down tight. Which is smart when there are fuckers like me in jail, looking her up.
“So, it tells me here that you’re living back home,” she says, looking down at the file in front of her on her desk.
My file. Which lists all the details of my time in prison and why I was there, which she already knows, obviously. But I wonder if she knew when I was arrested and sentenced. I know she was in college at the time, but this town isn’t nearly big enough that everybody here doesn’t know what I did and where I’ve been for the last eight years of my life.
“Yeah.”
“With your grandpa?” She looks up at me.
A jolt of surprise and old longing rushes through me. I’m surprised that she even knew that I’d lived with my grandpa back then. Unless that’s also in my file. But then she’d know that he died.
“No. He’s dead.”
Her expression turns sad. “I’m so sorry. I know you were close.”
Did she? Did I tell her that? I don’t remember the extent of our conversations ever moving past schoolwork.
“Thanks,” I say in that automatic way that people do when condolences are given.
She looks back to my file. “You’ve gotten a job as a lumberjack?”
“Yes.”
The owner of the company, Alfie, was a good friend of my grandpa. I’ve known him pretty much my whole life. He’s a good guy, and I feel lucky that he offered me a job because I know it’s hard as hell to get a job with a criminal record. Especially one that has me down as a convicted murderer. Nobody wants to hire a killer.
“And you start on Monday?”
“Yes.”
She leans back in her chair, and a smile touches her lips. “Still as chatty as ever,” she quips.
I actually find myself smiling. “I’m more of a doer than a talker.”
“True. You always were good with your hands.”
That has me lifting a brow.
“In class. I meant, woodwork.” She sounds flustered.
I suppress a smile. “Gotcha.”
“Okay. Good. Great. Well, everything seems in order. I’ll need to see you next week, so be sure to, make an appointment out front. Oh, also, I’ll need to do a home check, but I’ll call you to arrange that. Do you have a cell phone I can contact you on?”
“Yeah.” I reach over, pick up the Post-it Notes and pen sitting on her desk, scribble down my cell number, and hand it to her.
I ignore the rush of heat I get when my fingers graze hers.
It’s been too long since I’ve been with a woman.
“Great. Thanks. I’ll see you next week, Axel.”
I push up from my seat and stare down at her. I don’t miss the way her eyes sweep down my body. Noting the flush on her cheeks and the pupil dilation in her eyes, I know she’s affected by me. I’m a different person than the kid she once knew. Different in every way.
I tap my fingers on the desk, and her eyes flash from my chest to my face. I don’t keep the smile off my lips this time.
“See you next week, Eden.” And on that, I turn on my heel and walk out of there, knowing her eyes are on my back until I disappear from her sight.
“Lastly, in today’s news, the body of local resident Wade Evans, who was well known in the community, was found in the Willamette River early this morning. Police haven’t given any more details at this point. That’s all for the news this hour. Now, back to the classics, and first up is Elvis’s ‘Devil in Disguise.’ ”
My ass perched on the ground, my back resting against a tree, I chew on my sandwich on my lunch break, digesting the news that Wade Evans is dead.
Wade Evans, the asshole quarterback Eden used to date in high school. I hated that guy—mostly because he had Eden, but also because he was a prick. But I wouldn’t have wished the guy dead.
Death is too final. I know that better than anyone.
Causing the death of another person will do that to you.
Murder. That’s what the sentence called it. Second-degree murder.
Even though it was self-defense, my legal team couldn’t prove it. They advised me to take the offer of a manslaughter charge. I declined. I knew the truth. I thought the jury would see it too.
They didn’t.
The jury found me guilty of second-degree murder, and I went to prison. I got twelve years. Served eight and got out on good behavior. Put on parole for four years.
In the blink of an eye, my life was changed forever. Every plan … every dream I’d ever had for myself, for my future, was gone. All because I had been dumb enough to sleep with a married woman. Even though I hadn’t known she was married—until her husband caught us together and pulled a knife on me.
