We could have easily looked at these photographs for the next several hours, but then Hunt knocks loudly on the door. “You wrapping things up?”
I shove my phone back into my pants pocket. Shane’s face falls. “Sorry,” I say.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Thank you. For showing me those pictures. I know you didn’t have to do that.”
“You’re welcome.”
His brown eyes are so sad, it almost breaks my heart. “I’m glad you never brought him here. I wouldn’t want him to see me like this. I wouldn’t want him to know that his dad is…”
“Yeah…”
Shane stares at the wall. There’s something in his expression I can’t quite read. “You know,” he says, “sometimes I almost get used to how much it sucks being stuck here, especially for something I didn’t even do. I accept the fact that I’m going to have to ask permission to use the bathroom for the rest of my life, I’ll never get to hold a real job, I’ll never get to drive a car again, I’ll never get to be with… with a woman again. That every meal I’ll eat for the rest of my life is going to taste like slop. That once a month, a bunch of guys will jump me in my cell and beat the shit out of me for no reason except maybe I looked at one of them wrong.” He takes a shaky breath. “But then I find out about one more goddamn thing being in here has taken away from me, and it’s just… it’s…”
He presses his lips together hard, even though it must hurt like hell with that cut he has on his lower lip. It takes me a second to realize that he’s trying not to cry.
“Shane,” I say. “Why don’t we get that chest X-ray?”
“It’s fine,” he mutters. “Don’t bother.”
“You just told me you have a broken rib. We at least need to make sure you don’t have a pneumothorax. That could kill you.”
“I doubt it. I’m not that lucky.”
“Shane…”
“I’m allowed to refuse, Brooke,” he says sharply. He drops his voice. “At least give me that.”
Our eyes lock. For a moment, he’s the boy that I used to watch playing football when I was a cheerleader. He was so great at it. And he looked so hot in his football uniform. But most of all, I loved how excited he used to be when he would spot me on the field and wave to me.
I would never have believed that boy was capable of trying to kill me.
The truth is, I still don’t believe it. There was something else that happened that night—something important I’m missing. Something tugging at the periphery of my memory. I feel like if I could think hard enough, I would figure it out. But the harder I try to remember, the more it eludes me.
Shane breaks eye contact first. “I’d like to go back to my cell now.”
“Are you sure you don’t want—”
“Yes.”
I do as he says—I ask Hunt to bring him back to his cell without getting the tests he needs. He’s depressed—that much is obvious. Suicidal? I don’t know. We have a psychiatrist who allegedly comes here once a month, but I’ve yet to see him once during the months I’ve been here. I consider calling Shane back to ask him more about it, but I don’t want to torture him.
I’m not sure I’m going to see Shane again while I’m working here. He’ll probably do his damnedest to avoid any medical visits, and if the primary care practice offers me a job, I’m out of here. It’s been too hard seeing him. It has been nothing like I thought it would be.
I’m glad this is almost over.
Chapter 40