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Once she did, though, it was like someone set a fire up under me. Suddenly, I had this single-minded focus about looking into it, trying to plan it out, pinning quite a few hopes and dreams on it.
“Okay. Talking and thinking about what?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee to make this seem more casual, but I could see the tension in his shoulders.
He’d confessed to me once, post sex, when we were all glowy and half-asleep, that some part of him was afraid that I would wake up one day and realize that this was all a giant mistake, that I shouldn’t be with an outlaw biker after all.
“About a, ah, new career path,” I said, voice weird and squeaky.
“Yeah?” he asked, brows shooting up. “What kind of career path?”
“A prison social worker,” I told him.
I knew he was surprised by the way his brows drew low for a second before he forced them straight again.
“I know. I know. I hated the two days I spent in county jail. But that is kind of the point, I guess. It made me realize how… not great the system is. I mean, I think everyone knows that the prison system in this country is really broken. But knowing that and seeing that are different things.
“Like, a county jail shouldn’t be so crowded that people are sleeping in bunks in the common area.”
“I agree,” he said, nodding.
“And I’ve been doing research. A quarter of the women in jails and prisons are in for drug offenses. Or property offenses, usually in conjunction with drug offenses.”
“That makes sense,” he agreed, nodding.
“And, unfortunately, it’s often that their men are arrested and locked up first. So the women being incarcerated means their families are torn apart. The kids go into foster care. And because they aren’t getting proper help while inside, or support to adjust to life outside again, they just keep reoffending, and the kids keep getting pulled into the system over and over.”
“You really have been looking into this,” he said, smile and eyes soft.
“I just think if women were given the right tools to get and keep their lives on track, the repercussions would be felt for, you know, generations. Kids who grow up in broken homes are more likely to continue the poverty-to-prison pipeline.”
“You know what I think?” Detroit asked, head tipped to the side.
“What?” I asked, tensing.
“I think it’s a fucking great idea.”
“It’s going to require a lot of schooling. A Bachelor’s, at least. But I’ve been looking into it, and I can do a lot of it online before I have to start traveling to a college.”
“Whatever way it has to happen, I think it’s worth it. You seem to really want to do this,” he said.
“I really do,” I said, nodding. “I’ve always felt a little… aimless, y’know? So many people I went to school with knew what they wanted to do with their lives. And I just… never knew. So I just got a job.”
“There’s nothing wrong with waiting for life to show you what you’re meant to do,” he said.
“Maybe I should thank Gray for making me finally see what I want to do with my life.”
“Yeah, I don’t think we need to go that far,” he said with a little chuckle.
“Guess what?” I asked.
“What?”
“Della is going to do it with me,” I said, beaming.
I’d needed to talk her into it.
Even after she told me all about it, sounding a lot like she’d looked into it herself at some point.
I think, to an extent, she’d gotten caught up in that cycle too. In and out of jail for prostitution charges, but no other way to make enough money to take care of herself, so it just kept happening over and over.
