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“We only had ten minutes in the chow hall. I’m conditioned to scarf it up as fast as I can. Only, nothing in the chow hall tasted that good.”
“Yep. Best burgers around. Even if I have to run into Katrina.”
Mitch placed money on the table, and they stood up to leave. Michael still felt like everyone was staring at him and whispering about him, but he also considered it was partly his imagination. He was judged long before he was sent away – Michael Brennan, son to Janet Brennan, prostitute, and drug addict. He was labeled before he ever did anything bad.
The sun was hot when they made their way out to the parking lot, and he took a deep breath, thankful to get away from the crowd. He had to work on his social skills, especially since he was required to go to meetings.
“Mikey?”
He knew the voice before he even saw her face. The hair on the back of his neck raised, and he turned to see her standing near the entrance of the diner. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun, her green eyes set on him. She looked just like she had four years ago when he was transported to prison, standing in the parking lot, waving at him as tears streamed down her face.
“Marilyn.”
“I didn’t know you were back.”
“Here I am. I guess when you don’t talk to someone for over four years, you don’t know too much about them.”
He felt Mitch’s hand on his forearm, pulling him toward the truck. She cringed at his harsh remark, and he felt a sense of satisfaction.
“I guess I deserve that,” she replied. “You look good. Healthy. I’m glad you made parole.”
“You deserve a lot more than that, but since I’m on parole and being watched, we’ll just leave it at that. You’re not worth getting sent back over.”
“C’mon, Mikey. Let’s go.” Mitch held onto him but wasn’t pulling hard enough to get Michael away.
“We need to talk. I have some things to tell you,” Marilyn said, glancing toward an SUV and back to him.
“Things you probably could’ve told me over the past four years, yeah?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“I don’t wanna hear them. I guess I’ll see you around.” He allowed Mitch to pull him to the truck, where he climbed into the cab and glared at her through the window as she went inside the diner. “She looks good. She looks really good.” He couldn’t deny it and he felt the arousal grow in his pants. Despite what she had done to him, the physical attraction was still there.
“There’s a lot you don’t know, Mikey. You need to talk to her.”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
“Because it’s not my place. She needs to be the one.”
Michael glared at his brother. “We’re not getting back together, no matter how much you want us to. She obviously didn’t care enough to keep me in her life. She’s not gonna get me back now that I’m out.”
Mitch put the truck into gear and backed out of the parking lot. “You need to talk to her. Trust me on this.”
Chapter Three
Michael woke up the next morning with a headache. He had tossed and turned all night, thinking about all the stuff he had to get done. He needed a job. He had to find an AA meeting. He needed to schedule an intake meeting with a counselor. And he also thought about Marilyn. Not because he wanted to get back with her, but because Mitch was so set on him talking to her.
He had to admit, she looked great. She hadn’t aged much and still had a fantastic figure. The sex had always been good between them, but past that, their relationship had been hollow. He was drunk or high all the time and always felt he was bringing her down with him. She looked clean and healthy, which made him feel better about the past.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he raked his hands through his hair and yawned. It was a little after seven in the morning and he had read about an early bird AA meeting at a local church he was going to try and go to. He wasn’t excited about the meeting – he was going through the motions since it was a parole stipulation and he needed documentation from the meeting leader to show his parole officer. It’d be something marked off his to-do list, until the next time he had to go to one.
The bed was full-sized in Mitch’s spare bedroom. The room was so small the bed took up almost the entire space, with a place to walk to get out into the hallway. He didn’t care. He hoped staying there would be short-term until he could get on his feet.
Stepping into the bathroom, he stripped out of his boxers and got into the shower, enjoying the warm air cascade over his body. In prison, they didn’t have much time and had other men around. Now he could take his time without being watched by prisoners and officers.
His mind went to Marilyn again. Soaping up, he felt the blood rush between his legs. The warmth and steam of the water accentuated his arousal, and he reached down, stroking himself as he thought about the times they had messed around. Over four years ago, he could still remember how she felt. How she tasted.
His hand moved up and down, the soap so soft against his skin. He wanted a good connection with someone. The female officers helped him get off, but it was nothing like taking his time with a woman.
