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I have to get far away.
I won’t be able to stand this guilt—it will eat me alive.
I just hope one day, Selene will forgive me for abandoning her. Because I can’t stay in this hellhole another second, and I know she took the fall because she is well aware I would not survive here without her. So I have to take her precious gift and run with it. I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to look into her eyes and not feel the terrible unending guilt and torment.
So I won’t!
When I leave these walls, I won’t look back.
I won’t visit her.
I won’t write.
You’re a horrible person, Maxxy, and you deserve whatever comes your way in the future.
But that thought won’t stop me from leaving.
Nor will I change my mind.
There will be no goodbyes and no backward glances.
CHAPTER TWO
Maxxy
Five Years Later
Sarcasm, strength, sass.
My go-to for coping with the guilt I live with every day after what I did to Selene five years ago. It took me a year after I was released to get out of my head long enough to start working a job.
A fucking good job.
One that keeps me on my toes.
It’s demanding, long hours, but it’s damn rewarding. Being the boss at The Plantation for the NOLA Defiance MC helped me grow out of that destructive headspace I was in when I got out of prison. It was Defiance mixed with some help from a friend.
While I was in prison, I was introduced to a program where you could write to a released inmate—kind of like a reformed honor program. It was completely optional, and not every inmate opted to join the program finding it cheesy, but I knew it was something that would keep me occupied if only for a few minutes every few weeks or so. Plus, it was nice to talk openly and honestly to a stranger who had been through exactly what I was going through and had no fricking idea who I was, so there was no judgment.
Of course, the letters were monitored, but it didn’t bother me. It was simply nice having someone other than Selene to talk to.
It started anonymously—no names, just an initial ‘N.’
And I wanted to be completely anonymous, so I did the same, putting the initial of my middle name ‘G’ for Grace.
I mean, I was never going to meet ‘N’ in person, and after I left jail, I knew I would stop writing to him, so it didn’t matter if I lied about my initial.
But then, as time went on, the letters grew more personal. I started to rely on ‘N’ for comfort—for guidance.
He’d been through it all.
Gone to jail, was released, and got his life back on track.
I wanted that.
So I kept writing to him even after I was released, making sure he sent his letters to a post office box so he didn’t know where I lived. He did the same, so it was no big deal, and I needed to feel safe—after all, we’re both felons.
I feel a bond with ‘N,’ an understanding. Sometimes I think he knows me better than anyone else in my life.
