Page 158 of Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

How did I live in the past without him? I can’t remember. I don’t think I can part from him again.

“Gigi, we can’t,” Jarett says, gently prying me off him. “It’s not allowed.”

What?

A guard moves toward us, a frown on his face.

“We can’t hug.” Jarett leads me to the table, sits me down and sits across from me. “But we can hold hands.”

His long, strong fingers curl around mine.

Our hands, on the table between us, together.

A knot.

A bond.

“Are you all right?” I ask. So many things I want to ask him. “Are they treating you okay?”

“I’m okay.” He gives me a faint smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“I told you I’d be here.”

His chin dips, and his lashes brush low, over his cheekbones. “I wasn’t sure you meant it.”

I grip his hand more tightly, locking gazes with him. “I meant everything.”

He swallows hard. “Listen. I made many mistakes. Broke the law. Didn’t think of the consequences. It’s only fair that I’m here. But you… I can’t ask you to wait for me. A year in prison…”

“Jarett—”

“But I’ll ask you anyway,” he rushes on, and small flames seem to burn in the cores of his eyes. “I’ll ask you. Please.”

“You don’t need to ask. I’ll wait for you.” Tears burn my eyes, but I smile at him. “Don’t you see? I’ve waited for you all my life.”

I’d wait in this life, and in the next one, too.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Jarett

Every day it is the same routine.

Get up at half past seven—I always woke up hours before that, and work starts an hour later. I have cleaning tasks, and then I work in the prison metal shop, making license plates.

Boring as hell, but it keeps my hands busy and my mind from going off the rails. Not that I get to choose what to do, anyway.

Then we collect lunch, some unidentifiable stew and pasta—thank fuck Connor trained me to eat whatever I’m given—and then we’re locked up in our cells until the staff have their own lunch. Then it’s back to work. Sometimes we’re allowed out in the walled yard.

Sometimes the inmates will corner me and steal the few cigarettes I manage to bum off a guard or other prisoner. Sometimes they rough me up just enough to remind me who’s in charge.

Just like Sebastian used to do.

I missed both funerals. His, and Mom’s. Didn’t get to say goodbye. The knowledge of that failure burns inside me, knots up my stomach so I can barely eat. My mind is hazy, my thoughts heavy.

The only thing that keeps me going is the phone calls I get with Gigi, and her weekly visit. If not for those things, I may have just given up. Gone off my fucking rocker. Sunk through the floor where it’s dark and quiet and nothing matters.