Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Ayen

My hand felt like it burned for the rest of the night.

I tried to not take it as a sign of the days to come—ones where I'd be left coming back to my cabin with more bruises and burns than I'd left with that morning. Sometimes, it felt like a penance; usually during my darker moments while I laid away in bed, staring up at Tyson's bunk as he tossed and turned above me while the distant sounds of the jail settling down for the night echoed around me.

That sort of thing happened a lot when I'd first gotten sentenced. The adjustment had been hard and not just because I wasn't used to having my every move watched or to follow a strict schedule that deviating from got me thrown in the hole for a few days.

I'd never felt such profound loneliness as I did those first couple of weeks. I no longer had my beautiful house, or my annoyingly noisy neighbors, or the garden I'd worked so goddamn hard to tend to while I'd been left for weeks on end playing my dutiful house-husband role.

That small slice of utopia that I'd created for myself had been the only thing that I felt was really mine. And yet, I'd flushed it all away in a matter of thirteen minutes.

Some would say it was justified, but the courts had thought differently.

Self-defense only counted if the person who was trying to hurt you was a stranger breaking into your house and not the man you vowed to stick with through thick and thin.

At least I had Tyson to keep me company here, too, or rather, to help with keeping my busy mind occupied and not stuck on a certain handsome fireman and his sweet-as-pie dog.

"How's your hand?" Tyson nodded to my bandages as we sat down at one of the tables inside of the mess hall. He already was digging into his plate of food by the time we both got comfortable.

"It's fine. Still kind of hurts but I'll manage."

He nodded again, shoving another fork-load of eggs into his mouth. Honestly, I couldn't really blame him. We got shit for food back at SAC, so freshly cooked eggs and bacon felt like we'd somehow reached heaven without even realizing it.

I sliced a bite onto my own fork and ate slowly.

While it was true my burn hurt less than it did yesterday, it was still all I could focus on during the night along with watching my back.

The cabin Tyson and I were staying in was also occupied by two other guys, Alvin Richards and Lucas McMurphy. They had been fine enough last night after lights out but I knew better than to trust anyone with my eyes closed and my back facing away from the door.

If there was a bigger lesson in prison than not letting your guard down when you least expected it, I didn't know what was.

Sure, we were all considered non-violent, but desperation made you do crazy things. This was the first time any of us were actually all out on a program like this. Outside of the cabin was a long stretch of forest that was acres deep that, given the right circumstances, anyone could get lost in before our COs were any the wiser.

All of that was purely speculation on my part, of course. But it didn't hurt me to consider all of the possibilities. I was not strong, nor was I adept in any kind of physical combat, so if some kind of fight broke out, I'd be a sitting duck waiting for someone to punch me stupid.

Suddenly, I felt something wet against my ankle.

Jumping away from it, I clutched the side of the table and looked over to see what it was. I spotting a familiar dog wagging her tail as she watched me curiously.

"Yo, what the fuck?" Tyson said.

Relaxing back into my seat, I brushed a hand over Roxy's head a few times, smiling when her tongue began to loll to the side of her mouth.

"Sorry about that," said a voice from behind me. "She doesn't usually run off like that."

My entire body stiffened, but not uncomfortably. No, this was much different as I felt an electric pulse race up my spine.

I felt him before I managed to look up, Jackson's looming presence hovering over me.

"How's your hand?" He nodded down at it.

"Fine," came my automatic response.

I could feel Tyson giving me a weird look, but he kept his comments to himself while shoveling the rest of his food on his plate into his mouth. He was smart to do so or else he'd soon find my shoe kicking him in the shin.

"You sure?" To my surprise, Jackson swung around to my left side—opposite of Roxy—and sat on the stool. "Let me take a look at it."

I didn't fight him when he grabbed my wrist in a firm hold, flipping my hand over until it was facing palm up. My cheeks suddenly felt flushed as my fingers twitched, trying to suppress them from shaking at the contact.

How sad was it that the mere touch of an attractive man was practically making me melt in my seat?

Carefully, Jackson peeled the bandages off of my hand and tossed them onto the table. Roxy's face dug into my lap until her head was comfortably resting nuzzled against my stomach, much like the last time we'd met. I grazed my free hand over her soft fur, letting it distract my mind while Jackson continued to poke and prod at me.

"This doesn't hurt?" he asked, pressing along the outside of the burn where it was still bright pink. "At all?"

I never was any good at lying, especially when it came to pain. And I was sure my wince told him as much. But the alternative was to admit that I'd been up with it all night, and that was a little too embarrassing to own up to by now.

He chuckled at me and shifted his body to the side to pull something out of the pouch at his hip. "Good thing I brought this with me this morning."

Jesus, am I that transparent?

He took out the tube of burn cream that he'd used a day earlier and uncapped it with a quick flick of his thumb. The dollop he squirted onto my hand was generous, much more than the one he'd given me yesterday.

Did it really look that bad?

Sure, it hurt like a bitch, but I'd had broken bones that felt worse.

It then occurred to me that he probably wasn't up for dealing with any of the paperwork that would follow me complaining to the work program board if I let it go untreated. I wasn't too aware of what the long-term effects of an untreated burn were, but I doubted he'd want to get questioned by the board about it. Not like they'd ever do anything for me but it could cause Jackson and the rest of his crew a headache of paperwork.

Unfortunately, as government property went, we were expendable to only a certain extent. When it came to ‘damaging' said property, the kind that could result in some kind of lawsuit, that's when things down the pipeline moved rather quickly in our favor.

It wasn't ever much, but prison healthcare beat the unforgiving nature of being out on the streets without it.

After capping the tube and setting it down onto the table, Jackson shifted my hand between both of his. His thumbs rolled gentle swirls around my skin, massaging the cream into it thoroughly.

It felt nice as I watched his fingers work, enraptured by them gliding over my skin again and again.

Physical touch was always my weakness, even with my ex. I loved to be touched and not just sexually. To have fingers coarse through my hair, to have a pair of arms wrapped tightly around me, to have a body fit perfectly against the curve of my back.

I missed a lot of it, now that I wasn't allowed to have anything in prison. Tyson had offered a few times to relieve the tension that every man in that facility felt at some point, but I never liked the idea. Sneaking around behind the guards watching in order to get in a quickie felt dirty to me. At least in the way that being used purely for sexual gratification did.

My ex had been my first lover and had spoiled me rotten when we first met. There was a time in my life where I wanted for nothing and those had been the best, most blissful years of my life.

Until he somehow got it into his head that I owed him. That's when the real downfall began.

Jackson worked his fingers up slowly from the tips of mine and down to where the burn in the center of my palm was, coating all of it in a nice thin layer of the cream that began to slowly soak into my skin.

His touch was gentle as he worked, taking the kind of care that I wasn't used to receiving.

"Wow, didn't know this place came with VIP service," Tyson teased.

I shot a glare at him, praying that it would be enough to shut him up. One of these days, Tyson was going to get us both into trouble for spouting off nonsense to the wrong person. If he so much as insinuated anything to the COs about Jackson and I, we'd be pulled from the program faster than either of us could blink.

"How's that feeling? Better?" Jackson fanned out my fingers, completely ignoring Tyson's remarks.

Truth be told, it actually did feel a lot better. There was no more of that uncomfortable pinch that lingered every time I moved it or that dull ache of pain that seemed to flare up right when I finally stopped thinking about it.

I forced myself not to pull my fingers together, wary of spreading the cream too much or getting it caked onto other parts of my skin where it didn't need to be.

"Thank you," I mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

For some reason this entire act, while ultimately innocent on the surface, felt so much more than that. It felt intimate in a way I hadn't been with anyone else since my ex. My touch-starved nature was rearing its ugly head and making me feel things that I really didn't need to be feeling at all.

Let alone toward the head of the damn Cal Fire Inmate Program.

I wasn't sure what Jackson's deal was with seeking me out personally like this—he could've just as well had someone else, a CO most likely, come and get me to bring me to the infirmary to make sure my hand wasn't getting infected.

Instead, he'd gone out of his way to come all the way over to the mess hall and check on me.

At least, that's what it was feeling like. Although, who knew. Maybe he was just there to grab breakfast before training began. My over thinking this entire situation was probably just me blowing out a kind gesture way out of proportion.

The guy was just trying to be nice, probably even pitied me.

I was sure all he saw was some kid who had gotten himself involved in something stupid and wound up behind bars. That's what I would've thought looking at me. I wasn't the typical run-of-the-mill criminal with a hardened past and the faint wrinkles embedded into my face to prove it.

I looked like the kind of person that would have a simple 9-to-5 at a local convenience store and occasionally have trouble reaching the top shelf to stock products. Not have a rap sheet that was fifteen charges long.

Not to mention this guy was most likely married with a gaggle of kids at home. That's what hot guys like him always had waiting for them.

Me lusting after someone like him because I'd been starved of any form of human contact that wasn't in exchange for commissary wasn't his problem. It was mine to deal with and get under control before I did something stupid—like flirt back.

Jackson let go of my hand finally, grabbing the scraps of gauze he'd used on me yesterday.

"You shouldn't need to get that wrapped again. We won't be doing anything strenuous today, just a few demonstrations and then some prep work. But if you feel like you need it to be wrapped for that, stop by with your CO to the medic station and someone will patch you up again."

I nodded, my lips pressed together tightly.

"Just let that cream soak in before touching anything, though," he went on. "It's best to let your body do what it naturally does."

"Thank you," I mumbled again, not knowing what else to say.

Roxy huffed against my stomach when her owner rose from his seat. Her big brown eyes flitted between us both while she continued to stay comfortably stuck on my lap.

Jackson let out an amused chuckle before recalling her back to his side. "You boys have a good breakfast."

My gaze locked onto his back as he left, heading over to the buffet where the spread of food was still laid out and one of the prep workers was standing behind the plate display.

Without realizing it, I let out a slow breath.

"Next time, let me get burned," Tyson said. "I want a hot daddy to rub cream all over my hand."

I wrinkled my nose. "You're disgusting."

He laughed loudly.

It had me thinking, though—just who was Jackson and why did it feel like every time he came around me, there was this weird tension there?

It had to be in my head.

There was no other explanation to it. This guy was nice and was trying to be a good host while we were on his turf.

What else would he want from me, anyway?

Right?