Eli (Mallick Brothers 4)

I missed it.

But I couldn't foxtrot with a partner who was going to tap someone else's shoulder for the next song.

"Yeah, I know," I agreed, wondering how many sessions with a vibrator it would take to even get the edge off my frustration.

I had a feeling there weren't enough batteries in the world.

But it would have to do.

And no matter how much I told myself to think of the UPS guy, the biker, or the silver fox, oh yeah, I thought of him.THREEEliThere was some kind of ingrained, internal barrier as I took my belongings from the officer at the desk and moved toward the door.

The door that would lead me outside.

To freedom.

I actually stopped in my tracks and had to force my legs to keep moving forward.

The early fall air met me as I walked out the door wearing a beanie I had bought at commissary and clothes that I had traded with someone else inside, clothes that were baggy and nothing like I would normally wear - a dark blue button-up mechanic shirt with a white name tag belonging to the owner, Mitch, and a pair of huge wide-leg jeans that were eerily reminiscent of the JNCO phase I had luckily been slightly too old to indulge in when they were around. I left the shirt open, sporting a white wifebeater I'd never have been caught dead wearing as an outer garment before.

When I had looked at myself, I gave my reflection a nod.

They wouldn't recognize me, not from a distance, and they wouldn't be allowed to park right out front.

As I walked down the chain and barbed wire path that led to the road, there was an odd churning inside. I had been preparing for months, but it still felt surreal. I understood why so many people had a hard time staying out when it felt so strange to be free.

I spotted a black SUV with dark windows parked almost near the corner. I didn't have to see in to know it was them. Not my brothers, though. No. They would be waiting back at my parents' home. It was Mom and Pops.

I had expected - no matter how much I had prepared myself, steeled myself, cooled myself toward them - to feel a pang.

I was surprised to feel nothing but that hollow space in my chest where my heart should have been as I turned my back on them and made my way up to the waiting beat-up, rusted blue sedan that Bobby was driving.

He didn't bother to get out; he knew the deal.

I needed to get the fuck out of Dodge.

I dropped down into the white fake leather seat. Before I could even reach for my belt, he was peeling away.

"You need a decent fucking burger and a drink," he declared.

And, in a rush though I was to get to my new place, to get into clothes that didn't smell like someone else, to start rebuilding my life, well, I had to admit, I needed a fucking burger and a drink.

Thirty minutes later, my stomach almost bursting for the first time in six fucking years, Bobby and I were pulling into the cul-de-sac where the duplexes were located, all varying degrees of worn out. A couple six-packs of beer were sweating in the backseat.

"Home sweet home," he said, parking, and waving at the hunter green duplex with matching half-rotted front porches, chipped paint windows, and a shared crumbling path.

Work.

It needed some serious work.

I didn't need to live in a fancy place, but I wasn't going to sit in a house that was falling down around my feet either.

"I scoped it out for you. Two bedroom, one full bath. Kitchen is straight out of the seventies. The floors are shit. And the radiator likes it rough, but works after you go at it for a while. It's not bad. I've stayed in a lot worse. And that's me and Nat," he went on, getting out, and waving across the street at a slightly better-looking brown duplex. "I'll help you bring your shit in."

And he did.

Right inside the door.

Before handing me a burner I had requested, and the keys to my place. "Been in your place a few too many times. Know you need to settle back in alone. My number is in the phone. I'm across the street. Don't forget to call your parole officer." He moved to walk away, then turned back, whacking me on the shoulder. "Glad to see you out, man."

"You too," I agreed, giving him a nod.

With that, he was gone.

And I was truly alone for the first time in six years.

There was no such thing as alone in prison. Not even when I was between cellmates after Bobby left. Even then, I was in a fishbowl.

It was almost foreign after so long.