Page 5 of X's and O's

“Yes, sir.”

He eyed the scratchy pen artwork stuck to the walls above the desk where I sat. “You put some of that art into a portfolio like I told you to?”

“Yes, sir.”

He wandered over to inspect a new piece I’d put up earlier that day. “You’re really fucking good. You know that, right? The parole board is going to like that you’ve used your time in here to better your skills.”

I nodded obediently and hoped like hell he was right. I’d done everything I’d been told. Showed up to every class they ran. Signed up for as many courses as they’d letme do online. Taken part in every program they brought in. Anything to keep myself busy and out of trouble. Anything to get myself out of here quicker.

I loved the art. It was what I wanted to pursue for the rest of my life, as long as they let me out of these four walls when I went before a judge tomorrow.

But my fingers skated over the words I’d written on the notepad. This was truly the best thing that had come out of all the years I’d spent behind bars.

Mail from a woman who, week by week, letter by letter, had stolen my entire fucking heart.

One I hadn’t even known I’d had before she’d come along.

A wall of noise echoed down the hallway, and Rowe leaned back, twisting to stare down it. “The cavalry is on their way back.” His gaze hardened when he turned back to me. “Listen, I wanted to give you the heads-up about something. I heard Dickson is probably getting out this week too.”

I stiffened at the mention of the other prisoner’s name. The prison gang leader was a violent thug who had intimidated his way to the top of the food chain in this place by threatening the other men, forcing them to have his back or get stabbed in theirs.

I’d somehow avoided all the gangs that ruled this prison for the past six years, but I knew it was only because I had gang affiliations myself. Everyone knew I’d been a Slayer. There was no hiding the giant tattoo that took up most of my back.

The unspoken truce between me and Dickson would cease to exist if he ever realized I wasn’t going back to them.

Pritchard glanced again at the group of men all returning from the rec room, clearly making sure they weren’t in hearing distance. “That means you’ll probably end up in the same halfway house.”

“Great,” I muttered between clenched teeth. “I’m sure we’ll both be glad for the extra time to become best friends.”

Pritchard grimaced. “Don’t let him pull you back down when you’re out there. You’re gonna be vulnerable without the Slayers to back you up.”

Like I didn’t already fucking know.

But it didn’t change my determination to leave this world behind for good.

Lynx, my cellmate, slipped past Rowe, offering me his knuckles. I returned the gesture with a bump but shifted to keep his eyes off my notepad.

He knew exactly what I was doing and called me out on it instantly. “Oooh, letter to your lover?” He motioned at Rowe. “Hey, Pritchard! You know our boy here is getting out tomorrow, and then he’s gonna go play house with his little pen pal lover girl?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not doing that.”

Lynx instantly called my bluff. “So you’re not going out to find a job, set up a house, and then ask her to come live with you?” He grinned. “That’s what your last letter said!”

It wasn’t just one of Rowe’s eyebrows that raised this time.It was both. But they quickly fell into a frown. “That true? This woman is waiting for you on the outside?”

“Old Levi over here is gonna be getting some tomorrow!” Lynx practically crowed, thrusting his hips in my direction. “He’s gonna be all over this Violet chick.Probably going to fuck her right in front of the prison gates, because they’re too horny to wait ’til they get to her car. Isn’t that right, Levi? A whole year of pent-up sexual tension with no conjugal visits will do that to you.”

I shook my head, shooting Lynx a death stare at the same time. “It’s not like that…not… exactly.”

Except it was and I knew it. Everything Lynx was saying was right.

I’d written letters to Violet every week, and lately, multiple times a week for the past year. We’d started polite. Her early letters had been cautious, explaining her roommate had made her sign up for the program because it would be a good dinner party conversation and her life was otherwise pretty dull.

I’d started the same, my letters stiff and formal.

But somewhere along the way, both of us had started opening up. Week by week, I’d begun craving her letters. I read them over and over. Could practically hear her voice in my head, even though I’d never heard it in real life.

I sent her drawings, but we weren’t allowed to send photographs. Not that I had any to send her anyway, and her seeing me while I was wearing a prison jumpsuit wasn’t exactly the first impression I wanted to make on a woman I’d somehow grown feelings for.