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“Yes, she’s stalking my soon-to-be fiancée. Cornered her at her condo, spitting all kinds of vitriol and lies. I’m fucking done, Amos.”
“Well, congratulations,” he says.
I smile like an idiot. “Well, she hasn’t said yes yet. Still gotta propose, but I need this trash taken care of so I can do it with a clear conscience.”
“Okay. I’ll need all your girlfriend’s personal information emailed over to me and I’ll have my paralegal file the paperwork this afternoon.”
I sigh in relief. “You da best.”
“I got you,” he says with a smile in his voice. “I’ll have the court documents emailed over as soon as the clerk puts their seal of approval on them.”
“Thanks.”
I end the call, feeling relief on so many levels.
Next order of business: The ring and a hopefulShe said yespost I could make on social media.
EPILOGUE
Taryn
Five Months Later
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We drive down the streettoward Mom’s house. Eric’s quiet in the car and has been for most of the hour and a half ride from the prison. We’d hugged and I’d cried my eyes out when I saw my brother walking out of that prison holding a small bag and wearing a pair of jeans and a blue tee shirt. He informed me the clothes were going straight into the trash when we got home.
Other than that, he’s been quiet, just taking in the scenery of the gray and dreary November Colorado sky passing us by, just occasionally commenting on all of the construction happening on the interstate that seems to have been going on for the past ten years.
I pull my little Audi into the driveway of Mom’s house and put it in park.
“It looks the same,” he comments with his hand on the door handle.
“The inside is a little different,” I say. “Let’s go, get you settled.”
He nods and gets out with his little bag containing everything from the last six years of his life.
