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Ronan

Three Days Later

P eople don’t know freedom until it’s taken from them. Still, I made plenty of choices on my own that stripped me of that liberty.

Now that I have this freedom, it doesn’t necessarily feel liberating. Behind those metal doors, where I was the king , I felt the safest. Now I’m being released from somewhere I called home for the past fifteen years.

Valley Den Penitentiary, just outside of Durango, has been my twisted sanctuary. Few would see it that way, but for me, it’s been all I’ve known for nearly half my life.

The iron gates screech open, and as much as I’d like to turn back and ask them to rebook me for another quarter of my life, I won’t. I’ve served my full term but that doesn’t mean I won’t be back. The judge ordered no parole, which is just another way of saying, ‘See you later, asshole.’

Whatever .

Without even a bag to my name, I step across the threshold into the real prison: Colorado. I’m grateful they at least provided me with real clothes. Even if they don’t quite fit, it’s better than walking out in an orange jumpsuit. I can’t imagine anyone would approach me anyways, but at least they won’t call the cops.

I'm standing in a parking lot now, where only a few scattered cars are visible, including a black Mercedes idling a few feet to my left. I tuck my hands into my pockets and take a step forward just as the door to the vehicle swings open.

Shock no longer resonates with me. Even if one of the towering mountains looming over this place erupted like a volcano, I’d still finish the shit I was taking. Yet, seeing the man emerge from the driver’s side in an all-black tux, complete with matching dress shoes, makes me square my shoulders and raise an eyebrow.

“Eamon?” I say, watching as my older brother of eight years stares at me like I’m a ghost. The same tawny skin as myself pales at seeing me standing here, I guess, or maybe hearing my voice. One he hasn’t heard since I was sixteen.

“Ronan…” I haven't seen him outside of a courtroom since I was eleven, and honestly I didn’t expect to see him again unless it was in a casket or an obituary, buried somewhere in an online article.

He closes the door and slowly paces toward me. I always hoped I’d reach his height and seeing I've surpassed him is a nice boost to my ego. Eighteen-year-old Eamon was already tall and broad, but forty-six-year-old Eamon looks more like a businessman who takes care of himself. I’m glad for it, but fuck him all the same.

As he stops about a foot away, he looks me up and down before meeting my gaze. He inherited our father’s brown eyes—the color of shit, fitting for what he is. Thankfully, I got my blue ones from our mother.

“You look good,” he says while smiling at me, pulling out the wrinkles in his cheeks.

I don’t say anything, just slowly tilt my head.

“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I had no idea you went back into the system. After you got out the first time, you just… disappeared.”

Blinking slowly, I lift my chin. “Family moved from where I’d last seen them, no phone to ring you at. Ain’t going to drive around looking for people that abandoned me in the first place.”

He struggles to swallow, his throat bobbing with the intensity of his guilt. “I had no idea—”

“I don’t give a shit, Brother . What are you doing here?” None of my real family had ever come to see me in the past fifteen years, and even if they had, I would’ve turned them away. They would only be disturbing my time; my peace.

A half smile curves on his lips. “My wife is an attorney. I guess your file came across her desk. Byrne isn’t too common, and she knew I had a brother that had been in prison once before.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I remark dryly before moving my hand up and through my freshly cut hair. “What are you doing here?”

He sighs but keeps giving me that sweet, safe smile. One he earned from the protection I was never provided. “What I should have done before. Been there for you. I’d have been there the first time you got out, Ronan, you have to know that.”

I tsk. “Is this your way of cleansing yourself? Using me as the tool to right your wrongs and forgive yourself for everything that happened in the past? Are you a God bearing man now, Eamon?”

With a grimace, he shakes his head. “No…” He pauses, swiping his hands down his jacket, likely trying to brush away the sweat that has gathered.

Do I make you nervous, Brother?

“I get it, really, but I’m here to help. Do you have a place to go?”

“I’m sure some whore will let me slip into his or her hotel room for a few nights.”

He shakes his head. “No, none of that. My wife and I have a cabin just outside of Denver. It’s a little run-down, but while you get yourself—”

“I don’t need your help.” I'm not even into my first step when he reaches out and places his hand on my shoulder to stop me. My head slowly turns toward it, my instincts battling against my brain. Caught between wanting to punch him for touching me and maintaining control.

No one touches me.

“Please, let me help you. This isn’t for me, not for our family that is long gone, but for you. I failed you.” As the words slip from his mouth, I straighten my back and jerk my body from his grip. “I… If I had known…”

That pulls a condescending smile straight across my lips, my shoulders slightly slouching forward to bring us face-to-face. “Is that so, big brother? I vaguely recall telling you, and so many, in the courtroom…”

He doesn’t respond as quickly as he did before, but I expect nothing less from the kid who earned a full-ride scholarship to Dartmouth. Someone so comfortable in a place of safety and privilege.

Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders back and stand tall. Shoving my hand into my pocket, I gaze out toward the farthest point of the parking lot. I’d be walking for miles to reach the next city, a trek I made at twenty, so it wouldn’t be anything new.

But I could use a shower and to not have to fuck some bitch to get a decent place to rest my head.

“No one else lives there, right?” I ask, not looking at him.

“Correct. It’s just a property we would go for vacations. It’s gone without use for years, with everything going on we haven’t had time. Work… Friends…”

Please… tell me all about your fucking struggles.

I don’t say anything. Instead, I extend my hand and grip his shoulder. It catches him off guard, and as I squeeze, his eyes widen.

“Sounds good. Thanks, Bro.”

A nervous chuckle escapes his throat as I release him and head to the passenger side of his car. Once I slip inside, the scent of leather and fresh linens fills my nostrils. I snap my seatbelt on and cross my legs, inadvertently kicking the glove compartment.

Eamon settles into the driver’s seat and presses the button to start the car. It hums gently to life, and with a quick swipe of his fingers across the monitor above the center console, he silences the music before it can start playing. He glances over at me for a moment before turning his head forward and driving us away.

I’d have preferred to sit in silence, but no more than a few minutes into the drive, he says, “You’ll have to meet my wife, Jasmine.”

I look out the window, crossing my arms over my broad chest as I let out a grunt. I’d rather he just leave me in the cabin and forget I existed like he has since I was a kid.

My hope is to find Ken, who surprisingly wasn’t the one to pick me up, and see if he’ll fulfill his promises to me. That and get me into a line of work that keeps me busy enough I will soon swing to age sixty, or maybe I’ll get lucky and die of alcohol poisoning or an overdose. Whichever I find suits me.

“I had a son,” he continues. “He’s living with my ex-wife now, though. Remarried about ten years ago, and now I have a stepdaughter. We all live—”

“You got enough money to pick me up a burger?” I cut him off, caring so little about him and his damn life that I’d prefer to suck on the Warden’s thumb than listen to this bullshit.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Great, then the only thing I want to hear from you is ‘what would you like to order’.” I hope he's regretting showing up to save me.

I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone anymore.

I’d like to be left to die, whether that’s in a fucking cell or face down in the dirt. As long as it’s alone, I don’t care.