I look away before he can read the expression on my face. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they bring you a tray of food.”
“Great. Thanks so much, Brooke. Really.”
“Yeah…”
He reaches behind his head for the pillow he’s leaning against, which is almost flat as a pancake. He’s trying to adjust it to make himself more comfortable on this hard hospital bed mattress. I watch him struggle for a moment, then I lean in and fix the pillow for him.
My face moves close to Shane’s as I adjust the pillow—closer than I was when I stitched up his head. I brace myself for the scent of sandalwood, but all I can smell is soap and shaving cream. The last time I was so incredibly close to him was over a decade ago. The night I lost my virginity to him. And he lost his to me.
When it was over, I felt so good. I had been so happy that this was the boy I gave myself to. I was so in love with him.
For a split second, our eyes lock together. And it occurs to me that we’re the only two people in this room. There’s a guard, and if they were a problem, he would be here in an instant, but he wouldn’t hear something quiet.
Like if Shane leaned in and kissed me.
I jerk my head back, shocked by the thoughts going through my head. What’s wrong with me? Shane Nelson tried to kill me. He’s a monster. He’s spending his life in prison for murder. Even if I could ever forgive him for what he’s done, I could never…
I cough loudly—the sound echoes through the empty, dark infirmary. “I think we’re done here.”
“Great. Thanks so much.”
“I’ll make sure you get your dinner,” I tell him in a squeaky voice that barely sounds like my own.
A smile plays on his lips. “My tacos.”
“Right. Tacos.”
“Thanks, Brooke.” His eyes stay trained on mine. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“No problem.”
I somehow manage to rip my gaze away from his. But as I walk out of the room, my sensible flats clacking against the linoleum floor, I can feel him watching me.
Chapter 19
I can’t seem to stop shaking after my encounter with Shane in the infirmary.
I have spent over a decade now hating him. Glad that he was rotting away in prison because it was what he deserved. And even when I saw him last week and confirmed that he didn’t have horns sprouting from his head or a devil's tail, I still thought of him as the man who tried to kill me.
Today was the first time since that night when I thought of him as the boy I used to love.
By the time I walk out to my car in the parking lot of the penitentiary, I want nothing more than to go home, eat one of Margie’s delicious dinners, and crawl into bed. Ooh, and maybe take a hot bath. When Josh was little, taking a bath was impossible because I couldn’t leave him alone for that long and there was no backup parent to watch him. But now that he’s more independent, I’ve become addicted.
When I’m six feet away from my car, a large hand closes around my arm. I instantly go on high alert, whipping myself around to confront whoever grabbed me. But when I turn, I come face-to-face with Officer Marcus Hunt.
Outside of the prison walls, he looks even more imposing. He towers over me, his lips curled into a perpetual sneer, and his biceps are about the same circumference as my thighs. He doesn’t have any weapons on him at the moment, but he doesn’t need them. He could crush me with one hand.
And we’re the only two people in the parking lot.
“Brooke,” he says. “I need to talk to you.”