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“I just want you to know that there’re people who feel for you in this situation,” Mallory said, “and I’m one of them.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m not looking to upset any apple carts around here. The boys are settled and doing as well as can be expected after losing their mom. I want what’s best for them, and that’s Seamus and Carolina.”
“This may not be the right thing to say, but I’m going to say it anyway.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Quinn asked with a grin for Mallory.
She rolled her eyes at Quinn. “You’re still a young guy, Jace. There’s time for you to have more kids while you continue to play whatever role you can in the lives of your sons.”
“You’re right, but that’s not something I’m thinking about now. I’m just trying to rebuild my life and see my kids occasionally. Those are my only priorities.”
“And stay sober,” Mason added.
“That, too. In fact, that’s first on the list, because nothing else is possible without that.”
“That’s right,” Mason said. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I find myself rooting for you, too. Maybe not as cheerleaderly as Mallory, but I’m on Team Jace.”
“Cheerleaderly?” Mallory asked him, brow raised, while Quinn cracked up.
Mason waved pretend pom-poms. “Rah, rah, rah.”
Jace laughed at their banter. “I appreciate the support, you guys. It means a lot. It’s been a long time since I had friends.”
Mallory reached across the table to put her hand on top of Jace’s. “You have friends, and we’re pulling for you.”
“Thank you.”
After he parted with the others on the sidewalk outside the diner, Jace walked home to change before heading to the gym. Working out had saved his sanity in prison, and it was a routine he’d stuck to since his release. He ran into the same guys there every day, and they spotted each other through a series of lifting sequences that kept up the muscles he’d built in prison.
Billy, the owner of the gym, as well as Duke from the tattoo studio and Seamus’s cousin, Shannon, who worked on the ferries, were some of the regulars. Over the last few weeks, they’d become friends, too.
Life on Gansett was full of a rich array of people he interacted with every day, most of whom had no idea he was an ex-con. They didn’t know he’d screwed up his life so badly that other people were raising his sons, and he hoped to keep it that way.
It’d been a relief to go somewhere that no one knew about his past, which was why it had taken him weeks to share his story at the AA meeting. He didn’t want his new friends to view him differently. He was thankful that after sharing his story, he felt even closer to the meeting regulars. They’d had their own struggles and didn’t judge others the way those who hadn’t been through what they had often did. People heard ex-con, prison, felon, drug addict and automatically assumed he was a bad person. He wasn’t. He’d made mistakes he deeply regretted, but those mistakes didn’t make him a bad person.
As he was leaving the gym, his phone rang with a call from a 401 number he didn’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Is this Jace?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“Mac McCarthy. I run a construction company on the island. My sister Mallory told me you’ve done some plumbing?”
“Yes, but I’m not licensed or anything.”
“On an island, we can’t afford to be picky. Would you be interested in some work?”
“Sure, as long as I’m free by four to work at the Beachcomber at night.”
“We can accommodate that. Can you meet me at the old alpaca farm on North Point Road on Tuesday around noon? If you head out on the west side, you’ll eventually see the sign for the farm.”
“That works. I’ll call you if I can’t find it.”
“Sounds good. See you then and thank you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the call.”
