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CONNOR

T he trip to Sunny’s hometown of Singing Rock takes me about two hours. It’s not far from the prison—close enough for a visit, but those were strictly denied to the inmates of Cellblock C . Rogue Alphas are considered too dangerous to have any kind of contact with the outside world. Which is actually a good thing because Sunny would have come for a visit in a heartbeat if she’d been allowed.

The non-visitation policy allowed me to keep up the fiction I built through my letters—the idea of a kind and caring older brother. If she’d ever been able to come and see the real Kane in person, that idea would have been blown up in the first five minutes.

I drive through the Appalachian Mountains , marveling at all the beauty…and the freedom. It’s been a long time since I’ve been behind the wheel but the truck handles surprisingly well and I’m able to enjoy the nature around me. Spring is just fading to the first hints of summer, so everything is green and growing or bursting into bloom.

I roll down the window and inhale deeply, taking in the scents of the forest on either side of the road. The Wolf inside me howls in delight to scent the wild lands around me instead of being constantly surrounded by concrete and cinderblock, smelling the stink of fifty other men who could use a shower and the disgusting odor of what passes for food in the chow hall. Oh fuck yeah—this month’s Shift is going to be amazing.

Speaking of the chow hall, I skipped both breakfast and lunch today— I was too excited about my release to be able to eat. But now my stomach is growling. I think about stopping along the way to get something, but I’m almost to Singing Rock now, so I figure I’ll save my appetite for some of Sunny’s pie—if I decide to stay that long.

I hope I look all right for this meeting. The jeans Branson bought me are a little too tight, as is the plain black t-shirt. But of course, he was buying for the man I was when I went inside and I’m not that guy anymore. Like I said, prison changes you.

At any rate, the work boots with their steel toes fit great, as does the leather bomber jacket he got me. I’m not sure where he bought it—definitely not Walmart . It’s made of buttery brown leather and it fits me perfectly. I already love it—it feels like freedom to wear something with a metal zipper which is something we were denied in prison—(you can turn almost anything metal into some kind of weapon.) I’ve got the cell phone stowed in one pocket and my wallet, which Branson thoughtfully loaded with cash, in the other.

At last I reach Singing Rock —so named because it’s not far from a rock formation that seems to “sing” when the wind blows through it. That’s what Sunny told me anyway, in one of her letters.

It’s just a wide place in the road—one of those “blink and you’ll miss it” towns. I see a tiny post office that’s sharing room with a small rural library, a gas station with a single pump, a convenience store that advertises fresh vegetables and groceries! on a faded banner hung out front, a tiny Baptist church with a miniature steeple, and—sure enough— The Pie Shop diner.

There’s parking around the rear of the building—the parking lot has nearly been swallowed by the encroaching trees, but I find a place for the truck and park it. It’s late for lunch and early for supper, but there are a few other cars and trucks scattered in the lot.

I get out of the truck and glance in the side mirror. A scarred and tattooed man stares back. I hope I don’t scare Sunny . She often said she wished she could get a picture of me, but of course I had no way to take one for her and cell phones are strictly forbidden in Cellblock C . That didn’t stop some inmates from smuggling them in, but if you got caught it meant a month in solitary— I wasn’t willing to risk that.

Solitary is fucking brutal, especially for a Were . When a regular human man gets thrown in, he’s only got himself to worry about. But the Wolf inside me craves stimulation and sensation like a drug addict craves Heroin . Being locked in a dark concrete cell with no lights, no bed, no windows—no fucking nothing—was torture. The sensory deprivation nearly drove me insane during the months where I had to endure my monthly Shift down there. That’s why even being crammed into a three by five cage was better.

I try to put such thoughts out of my mind and shake off the bad memories. I’m free now, I remind myself. I know that lots of convicts get PTSD from their time in prison, but I hope I’m not one of them. I’m going to focus on the here and now and try to forget the past. And right now my mission is to see Sunny and play the part of the perfect big brother.

Taking a deep breath, I head for the door of The Pie Shop . I’m going to keep this short and sweet and then I’ll be on my way, back to my old life.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I have no idea that this one meeting with Sunny is about to change my life forever.