Chapter 21

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

Margot was cleaning the kitchen when Anthony got up.

She did a double take at his pajamas. “I didn’t expect you home until later.”

“Eh…” He made a coffee. “His scene is not mine. I’m not a fan of experimental art.” The art had been interesting, and the music had been great. He was hungry for experiences, but he needed to fake disinterest. “So I bailed and came home.”

“Oh. Well, I have friends coming over?—”

“I know. I’ll be gone. Planning on heading out and catching a movie.” He had no idea what was showing, but it would be nice to see something. “Did you need me to do anything once I’ve eaten?”

“Can you vacuum and dust the dining room and lounge room?”

There wouldn’t be much to dust as a cleaner came in every other week, but he agreed to the jobs. Hopefully, she’d report back to Hayden that things with Cillian had fallen apart.

When he returned to his room to get dressed, he flicked open the curtain and found an envelope between the glass and the fly screen. He stared at it. It had not been there last night when he’d closed the curtains, of that he was certain.

That it was between the fly screen and the glass meant someone had popped out the fly screen and then popped it back in—not hard to do, but not silent either. Had it been placed while he was out?

He flicked the catch on the window and opened it, grabbing the envelope. There was no address or name, but it must be for him.

Which meant someone knew where he was staying and in what room he slept. A trickle of ice ran down his spine as he stared out into the sunny garden, searching for threats.

There was no one lurking. Whoever it was, they were long gone. But they had been watching him, and that was unnerving.

His hand trembled as he opened the envelope and unfolded the slip of paper. While it wasn’t addressed to him, he recognized Liam’s neat, slanted lettering as easily as his own tight scrawl. He exhaled and some of the tension eased, but not all.

There was supposed to be no contact between them because the parole board thought if they were chatting, they might accidentally commit a crime. So why had Liam risked the letter? He was the one with plans and a family to go back to, though Anthony doubted it was salvageable.

The short note told him to continue enjoying his runs and reminded him to stop and stretch and gave a particular location. That meant Liam had seen him and wanted to talk to him.

Once, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Rafe and Liam were the brothers Hayden should have been. Now Rafe was on his own inside, and all Anthony could do was hope he was okay. He tried not to feel guilty about getting out and leaving him behind, but Rafe had been denied parole. Probably because of the fighting.

He and Liam should’ve done more to help him, but getting involved in a fight, even to pull Rafe back, had only gotten them in trouble—so they’d only done it once.

While Anthony didn’t think his parole officer, or anyone else, was watching him run, now he worried they were. If Liam had found it that easy to track him down, who else might? He didn’t want to give Mick a reason to be suspicious, nor did he want to be arrested for breaching the conditions of his release.

And as much as it hurt to admit, he didn’t want to revive a friendship that couldn’t be. Seeing Liam would be like ripping open stitches to find the wound was as fresh and as unhealed as when it had been made. He’d questioned the need for the condition but hadn’t been willing to refuse his freedom. He’d wanted out too badly. Liam hadn’t fought either. They’d said their goodbyes in jail to each other and to Rafe. They should’ve been celebrating their freedom. Instead, there’d been tears that had burned as he’d held them back.

Anthony closed his eyes.

If he could go back in time, he’d have some harsh words for his nineteen-year-old self. He’d shake his twenty-three-year-old self until his teeth rattled, and he’d punch his twenty-six-year-old self in the face. Just because other people got away with it didn’t mean he was going to. It rankled that there were still people getting away with everything that he’d been punished for.

Oh yeah… He’d absolutely looked up a few of his old colleagues to see if they were driving expensive cars with even more expensive women in the passenger seat. They were, but they no longer made a pretty picture. His old colleagues were still dating twenty-year-olds. They hadn’t grown up. Would he have grown up if he hadn’t been forced to? He liked to think that he would have, if only because Liam wanted to change.

Listening to men who were back for their second or third stint inside talk about their lives on the outside had made him realize he didn’t want to be like that. Nor did he want to go back because he had no place better to be, and nothing and no one to live for.

Liam didn’t want that either. Inside, they’d talked about their plans for the future, but they’d never expected to have to sever ties. After surviving nearly ten years inside, being told he had to cut off all contact with his friends had been the worst punishment.

He scrunched up the note and drank his coffee, staring out the window and cursing Liam for breaking the conditions of their parole.

Liam was like a dog with a bone, and if he wanted to contact Anthony, he’d keep trying until Anthony responded. He wanted to respond. He wanted nothing more than to talk to Liam, but he didn’t want to ever hear the locking of a cell and the holler of “Lights out” again.

For several minutes, he stood unmoving, arguing with himself. He considered running somewhere else or changing his route, but Liam would probably just drop another letter, or he’d grow bolder and knock on the door. As much as Anthony hated admitting it, it was better to see what Liam wanted than to risk him getting too bold and getting them both in trouble. He also didn’t want to fuck up his second chance and go back in for another year.

Cillian wouldn’t wait. And Anthony couldn’t ask him to. He deserved better.

So Anthony ultimately decided to stick to his usual run, and if he ran into Liam, he’d claim it was an accident and nothing more. Then he tore up the paper and flushed the evidence down the toilet.