Page 89 of All I Have Left

TWO YEARS LATER

Grayson

T he distinct smell of bleach and metal invade my senses as I stare at the barren white walls. It reminds me of a hospital room but different. The stark orange jumpsuits are a dead giveaway that I’m not in a hospital. I’m in a prison.

A place I thought I’d never be.

Limestone Correctional Facility.

I told myself not to. Actually, I promised myself I wouldn’t.

Turns out, I lied. Again.

Footsteps echo in the large galley room I’m in. Every minute or so, a buzzing and more footsteps. To my left, a man is whispering, another with a raised voice.

I stare at Shane’s face as he moves toward me, the clanking of chains and constraints sliding and scraping against the concrete floor.

When he sees me, he cocks his head to the side and says something under his breath.

I can’t make out what he says, but it sounds like, “Fuck this.” I don’t know for sure.

He’s aged years from the one who tried to end my life.

His dark hair is shorter, his nose still crooked from when I broke it, but still, he looks the same. Mysterious. Troubled. Evil .

“Fifteen minutes,” the guard tells me, pushing Shane forward, our unspoken deal confirmed. He’s breaking rules here, and I’m breaking promises I made to myself.

With a shaky grip on reality, I’m unable to make the words come and fighting with myself to reach across the table and break his neck. I picture Evie in the bed of my truck, Shane above her and the need to end his life gets worse.

That day, I couldn’t do anything. Today, I can. Seven years exactly from the day he tried to take my life from me, he’s the one that’s helpless.

“Jesus Christ.” With a grumble, Shane sighs as he sits across from me, hanging his head but not before he eyes the ring on my left hand. The one given to me by the girl he tried to destroy. “What are you doing here?”

That’s a good question. One I don’t know the answer to. Maybe it’s the closure thing Evie had been talking about. I’m not sure, but on a day I should be spending with my daughter on her birthday, I’m here.

Maybe it’s revenge. Because I’m not entire sure I’m going to walk out of here without making a scene.

I also lied to get in here. Pays to know a guard at the prison. I did some concrete work for his mom and he got me in here without having Shane know who was coming to visit him. I gotta say, the element of surprise here is worth it. I bet you he didn’t wake up thinking he’d see me.

I didn’t wake up seven years ago at the lake house thinking my heart would stop beating that day. Nor did I wake up thinking I’d forever have an image in my head of my wife being raped.

But I dd. And it’s because of the one sitting across from me in this maximum security prison.

My eyes roam over his aging face. I’m curious if he knows the date and its meaning.

He’s been in here seven years and by the graying at his temples and the creases near his eyes, he looks fifteen years older.

Maybe that’s what confinement does to you.

Or regret because I know staring at his dark lifeless eyes, something haunts him.

Maybe not what he did to me, but something.

With my head pounding in my temples, I lean forward, my elbows resting on the table separating us.

That’s all that’s between us. A fucking table.

No glass. He’s handcuffed, hands and ankles and sporting an orange jump suit.

I fight off a smile that I could erase the space between us with a flick of my wrist and end his life.

Maybe not. The table looks pretty solid and I’d be jumped by the guards, but the fact that he’s handcuffed, unable to defend himself sparks interest in me.

I play out a brutal scene where I slit his throat with my Wolverine claws I don’t have.

I have a four-year-old son obsessed with all things Marvel.

Believe me, I know exactly who Wolverine is and wish I had his claws right about now.

Smiling, I level him a perfected fuck you stare. “You don’t look as pretty as you used to. You got a bitch in here yet?”

There’s a smirk. A condescending one but he knows what I’m doing. “What do you want? They said my lawyer was here.”

I motion to an inmate at a table next to us talking with what looks to be his dad. “I bet you’re getting use to taking it up the ass.” I nod to the inmate. “Is that your bitch?”

He doesn’t answer me but he shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. His jaw works back and forth, his eyes narrowing on mine. “How’s Evie?”

My heart drops to my stomach. Actually, to my fucking knees. I knew coming here that he’d bring her up. That’s how he plays his cards. Like hiring the best defense lawyer’s money can buy to attempt parole. He’s gotten denied every time. What money can’t buy? What he can’t have?

Evie.

But he knows if he brings her up, it’ll set me over the edge. At least he thinks it will. And I admit, it definitely sends a wave of nausea through me having her name pass through his lips again .

Despite the war raging inside me, I lean back and wink at him. “Happy.”

Sweat coats my skin as the summer humidity clings to the back of my neck.

I give him a one-word answer. I’m not telling him that we just celebrated six years of marriage where I took her back to Costa Rica, the same place we went on our honeymoon.

Same place she got pregnant with Taliyah.

I’m not telling him that we have three beautiful children that are a spitting image of her.

Green eyes, blonde haired babies. A piece of her he will never get, I have in my arms every night.

I won’t tell him that despite all the therapy and years of healing, Evie still has nightmares and screams for Shane to stop.

She still can’t look at a bat without her face paling, even though our son loves everything baseball related.

I won’t tell him that I see a therapist once a month, but the pain is still there.

Present in our everyday lives. Hell, I can’t hear out of my left ear and my headaches, I’ll suffer with migraines my entire life thanks to the one across from me.

He doesn’t need to know that I told everyone I was okay so I could move on, so Evie and I could move on, and that I try to convince myself of that too.

But it’s a lot harder to sell truth to yourself.

He doesn’t need to know I’m not okay. Evie’s not okay.

She tries to act unbreakable and me, unshakable.

It’s an act, one we’re really good at because we have babies now and they deserve parents who aren’t going crazy.

And we might feel shitty for the rest of our lives.

I’m angry. Even angrier now that I see his face.

No matter how much I try, I can’t forget it.

I can’t stop seeing him raping my wife. I can’t stop reliving it.

He doesn’t get to know any of that. What he gets is this . Me. Sitting before him. Surviving.

“I know she came to see you once… and at first, I was pissed that she went without me.” I swallow, my throat dry, my words harsh but calm.

My tone is even though inside, I’m raging, fighting with my racing mind.

“After a moment of anger and resentment that she wasn’t honest with me, I understood.

Now, st aring at the you, the man who tried to destroy us, I understand. ”

His jaw clenches and he looks anywhere but at me. There’s no remorse. No begging for forgiveness. I sit up straighter, his silence is deafening. Frustrating. Downright disrespectful.

I kick his foot under the table, the chains on his ankles clank against the metal table and draw the attention of the guards.

“Look at me you piece of shit,” I snap, my words sharp but my stare even deadlier.

Without caring what happens, I lunge my upper body on the table and reach forward.

So lost in my anger, consumed by the rage, I grab a handful of his jumpsuit and slam him forward until he makes contact with the table, our faces inches apart.

Scowling, he winces and jerks his legs back.

Slowly, he slides his eyes to mine. He studies me, picking apart the glimmer of emotion I let seep out.

He’s looking for a weakness. An opening to deliver a blow he knows will hurt me.

Drawing in a deep breath, he grits out, “What are you looking for, Grayson? An apology? Is that what you want?” His dead eyes lock on mine as he fights to move back.

I eye the guard to my right and he looks the other way, as if he hasn’t seen anything.

“You want me to say I’m sorry for raping her?

” His nostrils flare, his shoulders stiff.

He lets out a dry laugh. “You want me to say I’m glad you’re still alive? ”

My breathing picks up and though I wanted to remain calm and not cause a scene, my temper gets the better of me.

I shift forward, my chest against the table.

Tilting my head, leaning further toward him, I pause and smile, my grip on his jumpsuit tightening.

Our faces are inches away when I growl, “I don’t need anything from you. ”

“Yet you’re here,” he spits, uninterested as he sighs. He lifts his cuffed hands and holds them steady in front of him. “I’m here. Locked up for life.” He glowers at me with more fury than I’ve seen in a while. “Isn’t that enough revenge for you?”

I’m not sure what to say. How to respond. I sit there for a moment, unmoving. Revenge? I thought it meant payback. Eye for an eye. It’d feel so good to act out revenge, but what would that get me? Besides missing my daughter’s birthday party.