Why yes, yes I do.
I killed an innocent girl.
I’m sure they’d love to hire me when they found that out.
I stare at the form, and a soft female voice says, “Are you stuck?”
I look up at the lady who I’ve been dealing with. She works here and is friendly, but she has no idea about me. She just thinks I’m a girl looking for a job. I seem friendly. I’m pretty. In appearance, I look just like any other girl who might have come in here.
Only I’m not.
I’m different in so many ways.
“I’m okay,” I say, looking back down at the question. “Thanks.”
The lady studies me, and then glances at the question too, before walking off.
I’ve already put doubt into her head. If I say no, she’s guaranteed going to check. She’s not going to hire me now. I exhale and stand, leaving the pen on the abandoned paper, and walk out. What’s the damn point? I’m not going to get a job.
Not anytime soon.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
I get back to the apartment Joanne so kindly rented for us and stop when I see a man standing out the front by the sidewalk. I exhale and purse my lips at the very large, very well-built, very hard but kind man standing near the entrance. I know him well. It’s safe to say he became quite fond of me when I was in prison. We became friends. He took care of me. Took me under his wing. Made sure I got out with a clean slate.
He also kept assholes away from me.
And believe me, there were a lot of them.
He looks different at the moment, and it occurs to me that I’ve never seen him without his guard uniform on. I mean, why would I? It’s not like we’ve been on a casual coffee date together. It was a prison, for crying out loud. Of course he wore the same thing every day.
As I walk up to the front steps of the apartment building, I study him. He’s got a lot of tattoos. I didn’t pick that up, either. Nope. Honestly, I thought he would be cleaner cut beneath it all.
Tattoos run up his well-formed arms. His usually slicked-back hair is messy, and he looks more like he’s just climbed out of bed than come from work. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt and a pair of running shorts, as well as a pair of running shoes. Ugh. Who even runs? Not me. Nope. No way in hell. I’d rather go back to prison than to even attempt running. What pleasure could you possibly get out of it?
“I thought it was against the rules to talk to prisoners,” I say, and he turns around quickly, those blue eyes narrowing. He didn’t hear me approaching.
Well.
That’s not good for a prison guard, now is it?
Those bastards in there are nasty.
His dark hair is falling over his face, and he swipes it away and says in that hard voice that I’ve become so used to, “Good morning, Callie.”
“You didn’t answer my question . . .” I say, stepping past him and unlocking my door.
“Once you’re out here, I can do what I like.”
“Right,” I mutter, shoving the door open and stepping inside. “So why are you here then, Officer Corel?”
“You don’t have to call me that anymore,” he says, stepping inside and staring around Joanne and my very nice apartment. “You can call me Ethan.”
I turn and narrow my eyes. “That just seems . . . weird.”
“It’s my name. You’ll get used to it.”
I exhale and throw my bag down onto the kitchen counter, and say, “Why are you here . . . Ethan?”
His lip twitches. “I wanted to see how you are.”
I cross my arms. “Why?”
“Because I like you, Callie. You’re a good lady with a bad past. I wanted to make sure you were goin’ okay out here in the big, bad world.”
I snort. “I’m fine. I’ve dealt with far worse.”
“I know,” he mutters, walking around farther into the apartment and studying it. “This is a nice place. How’d you get it?”
“I’m not squatting or selling my body for rent, believe me. My friend got it for me . . . for us.”
He nods. “It’s nice. Now, get your shoes on.”
I blink at him and when he turns to face me, I see he’s very serious. I mean, to be fair, he always looks serious. But right now, he’s like super serious. “My shoes?”
“Yeah, your shoes. I’m not goin’ to let you wallow and sink. I’ve seen it happen way too many times. You’re goin’ to get out there, get your shit together, and I’m helpin’ you do that. So, get your shoes on; we’re goin’ for a run. Fitness is crucial for mental health.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I say, my voice a little too high-pitched for my liking.
