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“Mason, this is your last warning,” the guard said, edging closer to where we sat.
“That’s fine. I’m finished,” I said, standing up from the bench. But before I could walk away, I leaned over my mother, purposely intimidating her with my size and height and whatever the fuck she thought of me. “Just remember, you are alive right now because of me. Billy is dead because of you. And I’ve been the one paying for it for the past nine and a half years, and you thank me by telling me I’m not welcome in the home I fucking helped pay for?You’rethe fucking disgrace, Diane. Not me.”
The guard was beside me now, his hand on hisbillyclub, just in case. But I’d never give him a reason to use it. I quickly offered an apology for my misconduct and hurried away from the woman I’d once believed cared about me. And you know what? Maybe there had been one point when she did. Maybe that time in the hospital, when I’d had my face cut open, was the last. But she didn’t give a fuck about me now—that was for damn sure—so why did I even attempt to give one about her?
Except I did. And what she had said, I couldn’t shake it off as I slumped to the floor of the library and held my head in my hands.
My parole hearing was in a week. I’d likely get out ofhere, unlessthey really just liked my company that much.
Where was I supposed to go? If I couldn’t move back home, what the hell was going to happen to me? Did the entire town truly hate me as much as she’d said they did? What the hell future did I have in a place where nobody wanted me—not even my own mother?
Unless I never left.
I had a life here.
I had shelter, food, friends.
Why the hell would I ever want to leave?
I listened to the shuffle of sneakered feet entering the library. I dropped my hands to watch Gene—an older guy who had thought it’d be a good idea to break into a string of houses after losing his job—walk toward a shelf not far from where I sat. Without thinking, I stood up, grabbed the heaviest book I could reach—sorry, Stephen King—and made my fast approach.
I was going to bring that book down onto his head. I prayed I wouldn’t kill him, but if I did, my apologies to Gene, but at least I would ensure my spot here for the rest of my shitty life.
The book was high, ready to drop, when Gene turned to find me looming over him like the angel of fucking death. His eyes were immediately huge, his hands raised to shield his face.
“Soldier, what the—”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Harry hurried into the library. “All right, Soldier, put down the book.”
I stared right at my friend, barely able to focus on his silver glasses, and shook my head. “Harry, Ihave to. I-I don’t—”
“Soldier, give me the book. We’ll talk, okay? You don’t want to do anything to Gene.”
He was right. I didn’t want to do anything to Gene. I didn’t want to do anything to anybody—never had. My resolve crumbled quickly, and I droppedThe Standto the floor. Harry told Gene to get the hell out of there as I turned and rested my forehead against a shelf, and then I felt Harry’s warm hand against my back.
“What happened, son?”
Son.
Nobody but Grampa had ever called me son. Nobody else had ever treated me like one. I didn't know what it was like to have a biological dad, but I did know what it had been like to look up to Grampa for the first twelve years of my life. And for the last eight years, I knew what it had been like to turn to Harry. And I turned to him then, not caring that I was supposed to be this big, tough guy, and I let him hug me as I bent at the waist and shed a few silent tears against his shoulder.
“What happened?” he repeated in a hushed whisper. “You can tell me.”
I collected my damn emotions and took a step away from him, hastily wiping my eyes against my arm. “She doesn't want me coming home,” I told him, knowing he'd know exactly who I was talking about. “She said I'm the fucking embarrassment, that I ruined her life.”
Harry's expression hardened to stone as he shook his head. But Harry was also one to give people the benefit of the doubt, just as he'd done for me when we first met all those years ago. And he said, “Well, sometimes, people need time to process their emotions. Your mother has had a long time without you at home now, so maybe … maybe she just needs a little more time to get used to you being back.”
“Oh, you have a lot more faith in her than I do, man,” I grumbled, shaking myheadand stuffing my hands into the pockets of my pants. “You don't know my mom.”
“No,” he agreed, nodding. “But I do know you, and I know your mom would be a fuckin' lunatic to not want you in her life. So, give her a little time, all right? Your hearing is, what, next week?”
I nodded.
“Okay. So, that gives her a whole week to think. You'regonnaget out, Soldier; I know it. Youdeserveit. And when you do, you go home, and I bet she'll be singing a very different tune.”
My eyes lifted to the fluorescent lights running the length of the library ceiling, and I chewed at my bottom lip for a moment before replying, “Well, Harry, I hope you're right. But forgive me for being realistic.”
***
