But I won’t be falling dick-first into anyone ever again. Especially not Eden. Who I have a date with in an hour.
It’s not a date, asshole. It’s an appointment with your parole officer.
I open my front door to Eden’s beautiful face.
“Hi.” She smiles.
That smile hits me right in the solar plexus.
Her hair is fastened up in a clip. Some of those red strands are loose and framing her face. She’s wearing a green silk shirt and black pencil skirt that hits just above her knee, and on her feet are black heels.
She’s fucking stunning.
And she’s your parole officer. Here to do a check of your house.
“Hey. Come in.” I step aside, and she walks inside. I get a whiff of her flowery scent that has me wanting to grab her and kiss the hell out of her.
I need to shut that shit down now.
I close the door and take a fortifying breath before turning around to face her.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” I push a hand through my hair, which is damp from the shower I just took after I rushed home to get cleaned up before she got here.
I see her eyes go to my bicep and then drift across my chest before flitting back to my face.
Her cheeks redden, and she looks away. “Coffee would be great.”
I bite back a smile, knowing that she was checking me out. “Do you want to have coffee before or after you do the house check?”
“After.”
I show Eden around my place and let her do the necessary checks while I stand around like a spare part.
I grew up in this house with my grandpa. He raised me. My mom was an addict. She dumped me off with my grandparents when I was a baby, and they never saw her again. She could be dead for all I know. My grandma died when I was three, and I barely remember her. I just remember life with my grandpa. He was the only family I had.
He died while I was in prison. I wasn’t even allowed time out to attend his funeral.
And now, this house is all I have left.
Watching Eden move around my home is weird. I know it’s her job, and I was used to having my cell turned over on a regular basis, but it’s strange, having Eden here, looking at my stuff. Teenage me would have come in his pants at the thought of having Eden Briars in his house. Adult me isn’t far off that, but I’m also relieved when the house check is over, and I’m in the kitchen, making us coffee.
I take the mugs and place both on the coffee table. Eden is already sitting on the sofa, so I take a seat across from her in the armchair that my grandpa always used to sit in.
She opens up a folder on her lap, holding a pen in her hand. “So, everything seems fine here.” She gives me a smile of encouragement. “How are you doing since we last spoke? Have you settled into your job okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
She makes some notes in her folder. “And how are you adjusting to the outside world?”
“Okay. Things are different from what I remember but also the same. If that makes sense.”
“It does.” Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles and nods.
“Also, not having someone tell me when I can eat, sleep, and wake up is pretty damn good.”
“I can imagine. And how are you sleeping? I know for other parolees who have spent a substantial amount of time in prison, they sometimes struggle with sleeping. The change in environment, although better, can be jarring.”
I glance down into my coffee. “When I was lying on that cot in that prison cell at night, all I would pray for was silence.”
The wails and cries from my fellow inmates throughout the night were like a living nightmare. And when I did sleep, my own nightmares would haunt me. Peace was all I thought of. Being back home, safe in my own bed.
And of her. I thought of Eden most nights. Just picturing her pretty face, remembering the conversations we had in class, would get me through.
“And now, you have the silence?” she asks softly, and I look up at her.
“It’s almost as bad as the prison noise,” I admit, but I omit that my own nightmares came home with me.
When I shut my eyes at night, I see the blood … his blood that covered my hands.
I can’t bear to sleep with the light off, and I can’t sleep with it on. And the silence here is fucking deafening. I lie in bed at night, and all I can hear is the echoed memories of those nights I spent in prison.
I’m out of that place, yet I still haven’t quite escaped it. And I know that I will never escape what put me there. That’ll be with me for the rest of my life.