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“Easton,” someone shouted, and I whipped my head around to the main door as it unlocked, and a guard walked inside. He held a piece of paper in his hand and glanced around the room, waiting for someone to answer him.
“Me,” I ground out, trying to keep my cool and not seem too eager as I stood and moved toward him. He held the paper out and I took it with a nod of thanks. I didn’t bother reading it, playing as if I was unbothered, when in reality I was fuckin’ ecstatic to get this lone piece of paper with my number on it.
I stared up at the TV and made as if I was still watching the show playing, but I was just biding my time. Waiting for the best moment to call. The door locked shut, leaving us all in here again, and it was only a matter of minutes until someone sat at the table with me. I’d learned a lot about politics inside county jail in the short time I’d been in here, and there was one thing I knew not to do: get involved.
“So, Easton, huh?”
I raised a brow at the voice next to me but didn’t look away from the TV screen. “Yeah.”
“I knew an Easton once.” My stomach dropped at his words, and my palms started to sweat. My dad had put countless criminals away while he’d worked for the DEA, and I was just hoping to God no one would find out who he was, and in turn, who I was.
“That right?” I asked, acting indifferent.
“Yeah, man. I had this teacher when I was in high school like twenty-five years ago. He was the coach too.” He laughed and slapped his palm on the table. “Turned out he was fuckin’ his student.” He clicked his fingers and made a humming noise. “What was her name? What was it—Aria! Her name was Aria. Oh, man, it was the talk of the school.” My lips quirked on one side at his words. “He was cool as shit.” He paused. “You know him?”
I knew most people asked this and expected the answer to be no, so I took great fuckin’ pride in turning to face him and saying, “Yeah. He’s my brother.”
His eyes widened, the tattoo on his temple stretching. It was badly done and missing half of the ink in the letters. “No shit.”
“Yep. Cade Easton.”
“That’s him!” He pointed at me and stood. “Holy shit, what a small damn world.” He shook his head and stared around the pod as if he wanted to share this revelation with someone else. “Whatever happened to the student he was fuck—”
“They’re still together,” I interrupted, not wanting him to be crass about it. I could curse like a sailor all day long, but I really didn’t want that damn imagine in my head.
“Fuck me,” he breathed out. “This is some epic love shit, then, huh?”
I chuckled, not knowing what else to say. It was hurting my eyes to look at him and see his awful face tattoo. I itched to correct it or send him to go and get it lasered off.
“I’m Artie, by the way.” He held his hand out to me and I shook it. “What you in here for?”
I’d heard several people ask the newbies in the pod this, and each time they explained why they were in here and what charges they had. Even though I didn’t want any of these people to know why I’d done what I had, I knew I had to stick to the rules of county jail, so I told him, “Assault.”
“Figured as much,” Artie said, glancing down at my hands. I’d cleaned them the best I could when I had a shower before being brought t
o the pod, but what I really needed was a first aid kit. “How come?”
“Protecting my girl,” I said simply, not willing to go any further than that. It was all he needed to know, and from the way he nodded, he understood.
“Gotcha.” He tapped his knuckles on the table and stood. “We got a spare bed in our room if you want to join us.” He pointed to the last room on the bottom row nearest the phones.
“Yeah?” I liked being out in the open, but I had no idea how long I’d be here. It was Sunday evening, and although it was possible I could get in front of a judge tomorrow, it wasn’t guaranteed. I could be in here a few more nights yet.
“Yeah, man. Bring your stuff in and I’ll introduce you to the guys.”
I stood and hooked my thumb toward the phones. “Just gotta make a call first.”
“Okay, bro. Come in when you’re ready.”
I nodded and moved toward the three phones attached to the wall under the TV. I pulled the receiver off the one closest to the room Artie walked into and dialed in my inmate number and then Dad’s cell number and waited as it rang out. Two rings was all it took for him to answer, “Asher?”
“Dad.” A breath whooshed out of me. “How is she?”
There was a pause and then, “Not doing too good to be honest, son.” There was movement over the line, and I heard a door opening and closing. “We found her at the hospital.” My stomach bottomed out. “She let them do the rape kit but wouldn’t let your mom leave.” He huffed out a sad laugh. “Not that your mom would have anyway.”
I smiled at that because I knew what my mom was like when she went into Mama Bear mode, and no one wanted to get on her wrong side when that was activated. “Did they take pictures and—”
“Yeah, they took pictures.” He paused and I knew what was coming before he even said, “Tell me what’s been going on, son.”
