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Jessie was right. I was going to jail, and it was time for me to goddamn survive.
With one last longing look at Jessie, I allowed the policeman to pull me to the patrol car, shoving me into the backseat as he read me my Miranda rights.
Jessie
“Jessie!” Lincoln shouted as he opened my front door.
I looked up at him from my spot at the kitchen table. I had a half-empty liquor bottle in front of me, but I hadn’t drunk out of it yet.
I had finally gotten my fucking moment with West, and she got ripped away from me again. My fucking heart felt like it was ripped the fuck apart. She had felt this shit between us all along, and just when she got brave enough to say something about it, she got carted off to jail.
“What the fuck, man?” Lincoln asked as he stepped into my kitchen. “You didn’t come back to work. Where’s West?” he demanded, looking around, taking note of her absence.
“In a holding cell,” I grumbled, looking at my phone. She had gotten one phone call about two hours ago to let me know she was being booked, and tomorrow, she would be moved to county jail. Because she had violated her probation, she wouldn’t be granted bail.
“What?” Lincoln demanded, his face paling a bit. “What the fuck happened?!” he barked. “She was staying out of trouble, Jessie. She didn’t fucking do anything to violate her probation!”
“Her mom showed up,” I told him. Lincoln quieted, probably realizing how that had gone down. “She and West got into it, and West lost her shit. The fucking neighbors called the police while I was busy trying to get West to get the fuck off of her.”
“Fuck,” Lincoln swore, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table. He reached forward and grabbed the bottle of liquor and my glass, pouring himself two fingers. “Now what?” he asked.
I shrugged as I looked down at the screensaver of my phone when it lit with a notification. West was laughing at something I’d said to her—it was a rare moment these days—but she looked so fucking beautiful and carefree at that moment.
“We wait until she finishes her sentence,” I told him gruffly. “She violated her probation on numerous counts. She won’t be getting bail.”
And I knew if the fucking assholes in this town had their fucking way, they would make West spend as long as possible behind bars.
I’m so fucking sorry for letting you down, West.
8
West
Six years later, I found myself driving down the street that led to my childhood home. After I was released from jail two years ago, I cut off all ties to this town, including my ties to Jessie. It had hurt so fucking much to go cold turkey on him, especially when he had gone out of his way to visit me every single week for four years, but this whole fucking town had it out for me, and I vowed that I would never fucking come back.
But that all got fucked up when I got a call from an attorney. I was my mother’s only living relative, and since she overdosed on heroin, I had to come deal with her damn body and all of her belongings.
I really never wanted to come back here. It held way too many bad memories for me that I just wanted to leave behind.
I sighed as I pulled in behind her brand new white Camaro, shutting the engine off to my beat-up Chevy truck. With a record like mine, it was almost impossible for me to get a decent job. Bartending and waitressing were it for me right now until I could afford to juggle school on my plate. But school for me was a distant dream, one I might not ever be able to obtain.
Yet, she’d been here, living her best fucking life while being a shitty human being.
I slid out of my truck and met the attorney on the front steps. He held his hand out to me. “West Thompson?” he asked.
“Unfortunately,” I grumbled, making him smile lightly as I shook his hand before quickly letting my hand drop back to my side.
“Want to take a seat inside?” he asked.
I shook my head instantly. “Sorry, no offense, but I really don’t want to go in there yet.” I wasn’t ready to deal with all of the memories this house held for me. “Do you mind if we go over everything out here?” I asked him.
“Sure.” He took a seat at my mother’s glass outdoor table, setting his briefcase down. “She’s left you everything, West.” I blinked at him, not sure I’d heard him correctly. “What you decide to do with it all is entirely up to you, but everything is yours. The house, the land, the car, her bank accounts—it all goes to you,” he informed me.
