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“There you are.”
“Here I am.” The effort makes me gag then cough. My throat is on fire, but it’s even worse if I try to fight the itch. Lace reaches for a cup of lukewarm water next to my bed and helps me raise it to my lips so I can sip through the straw. Then she sets the cup down and picks up a damp washcloth that she must have been dabbing my face with, leaning over to rest the cool cloth against my skin. I know where I am almost at once; in Prison Medical. They didn’t even move me to a hospital.
“Joey…” Lace starts, and I close my eyes because I know what’s coming next.
“Don’t—” I squeeze out.
“You could have died. You almost did.”
“Is that so bad?” I struggle to sit up a bit, and Lace helps me. Pain shoots through my body, like tiny shocks of electricity buzzing through me from head to foot.
“Bad?” Lace repeats. “I almost lost you. What were you thinking?”
“You know what I was thinking.” I look away from her mostly because I can’t bear to see the pain in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything, but I know what she’s thinking. She knows why I did it. I did it for her.
“There are better ways to go about it.” Lace draws the cloth away from my head, crosses the room to the sink, and wets it down again. She rings it out and sits back down next to me. The cool water feels fantastic on my achy, swollen skin, and I’m grateful she’s here.
“No one believes me,” I say. “Ronnie just did it out of spite. They know it was someone else, which means you’re still not safe.”
“I don’t care anymore.” Lace shakes her head and crosses her arms, fuming. “Let them bash me, let them make me bleed. I deserve it, especially now.”
“Nobody deserves what’s done to them in here.” I close my eyes to try to ease the aching in my skull, and Lace reaches for my hand once more.
“I’m so sorry, Joey. It’s my fault.”
Before I can respond, the door to medical beeps and opens.
“Back to your unit, Willis.”
“Can I just stay another few minutes?” Lace asks, squeezing my hand. Jaxon shakes his head.
“It’s almost time for the count. Taylor needs to rest.”
“It’s okay,” I say, squeezing Lace’s fingers in my palms. “I’m so lucky you were here when I woke. Thank you.”
Lace smiles gently and releases my hand, then tosses the damp rag onto the counter and leaves, passing Jaxon on her way out. I turn my head to look at the guard, grateful to see a kind face.
“Thank you,” I say.
Jaxon stands near the door, hands folded in front of him. “For what?”
“For caring.”
“It’s my job.” He turns to leave.
“Mr. Jaxon,” I say, and he stops, one hand on the door handle. “I—I need you to do something for me.”
Jaxon looks over his shoulder at me, hesitating. I can’t read his expression.
“Haven’t you learned yet not to make deals with screws?” he asks.
I shrug, wincing in pain, but force a tight smile. “I like to pick and choose what I learn, you know?”
“I’m sorry, Joey, there’s nothing I can do for you,” says Jaxon. He reaches into his belt for the electronic swipe card for the door. “I cannot do favors for an inmate. No employee can.”
“You know I don’t belong here.”
Jaxon swipes the card over the door and it beeps, unlocking. But he doesn’t move through it. Not yet. He stands where he is for a brief moment and then sighs, shoving the key back into his pocket and backtracking a few steps.
