23. Chapter Twenty-Three Nathan

Chapter Twenty-Three: Nathan

S omehow, time passed even slower in the federal pen.

At first, it passed fast…day to night, wondering when my people would come for me. I’d seen Abby there, seen some of the insurgents, seen some of my father’s men. Diane was dirty—but she was in the wind now, shot but escaped as far as I knew.

And I was in a federal penitentiary.

Diane’s death—or disappearance—was good for me, though. It meant I finally got access to a public defender…and I finally got my call.

I sat there, the cold metal chair biting into my back, waiting for the ringing to stop. My hand gripped the phone tight enough to make my knuckles white, but I forced my face to stay as still as stone. The ring echoed in the tiny room, bouncing off the cinder block walls.

"Hello?" The voice wasn't Abby's. It was Lily's. "Nathan? Is that you?"

Damn it. I was glad to know my sister was okay, yeah…but I wanted—needed—to hear Abby’s voice.

"Yeah, it's me." My voice came out level, but inside, my gut twisted up tight.

“Thank god,” Lily breathed, and I could hear her voice tighten, like she was trying not to cry. “I was…I was starting to think we’d never hear from you again.”

"I’m okay, Lily." I forced the words out, trying to keep my cool. "But where's Abby?"

"Keep your face straight," she said quick and low. "We've been working on it, she's coming to see you. Abby's on her way now, that's why I have her phone."

I barely nodded, keeping my features in check. The thought of seeing Abby again lit a fire in me, but I stamped it down.

Can't show anything. Not here. Not now.

"Wait, how's that even possible?" I asked.

"Your lawyer pulled some strings," Lily said. "After what they did to you in the county jail, he got you some allowances."

"Allowances like…?" I pushed, trying not to let the rush of hope mess with my head.

"A private visit with just you and Abby—we got a marriage license, don’t ask how.”

"Time's up," a guard barked from across the room.

"Thanks, Lily. Keep your head down, alright?" I said, keeping my voice steady.

"Always do, Nathan. Stay safe" she replied, and then the line went dead.

The guards were on me before I had a second to collect my thoughts. One grabbed my left, the other my right, and they clamped the cold cuffs tight around my wrists. The familiar weight of shackles settled over my ankles, and I shuffled forward, flanked by the muscle.

"Easy," one grunted as I stumbled, my legs not quite keeping up with their pace. I bit back a retort, my mind racing ahead of my halting steps. Abby was close; every jarring clink of metal reminded me of that.

They didn't haul me back to the grim box that passed for my cell. Instead, we veered toward the processing area, a zone humming with the sterile scent of bleach and the low murmur of authority.

"Strip," the same guard said, his tone flat. No sneer, no joy, just routine. A lot of the guards at the county jail had been my father’s men; here, they were true cops. They weren’t intent on torturing me, at least. I shed my prison garb under their watchful eyes, feeling the chill of the room raise goosebumps on my skin.

But it wasn't the cold that got to me—it was the wait, the damn wait to see her.

I stood there, skin bare to their scrutiny, as they patted down every inch like I might've stashed something in places I didn't even want to think about. It was degrading, sure, but what did I care?

They could strip search me a hundred times if it meant getting through to Abby.

"Move," the other guard ordered once they were satisfied I wasn't hiding any contraband. I pulled on the set of clean-ish clothes they tossed at me—a thin concession from that lawyer of mine.

I kept my face blank, betraying nothing. My ribs didn't ache anymore, at least not like they used to; they'd healed crooked but strong. I was past caring about a little discomfort, though. There was only one thing that could get to me now, and she was waiting on the other side of whatever hell they wanted to put me through first.

The clank of metal echoed as the cuffs fell away from my wrists. The guards stood stone-faced, nodding at the door ahead. I rubbed my wrists, but there was no time to savor the freedom. They nudged me forward. I stepped into the room and scanned it quick. Four walls, a table, a bed. Nothing else.

My gut twisted.

Was this some kind of trick?

"Sit," one guard said, his voice flat.

I did as I was told. I’d only gotten this far by behaving myself, ever since I’d gotten out of the hell of Diane Hayes’s watch.

The silence hung heavy until it was sliced by a distant buzz. One that meant doors were opening somewhere out of sight. It happened again, closer this time. Then footsteps. Not the hard soles of guards' boots—these were softer, hesitant.

My palms got sweaty, my heart pounded like it wanted out. Every noise ramped up the buzz under my skin, a mix of hope and raw nerves. Abby was close, she had to be. I forced myself to breathe even, not letting on how much this moment was doing to me.

The door swung open.

Abby stepped in.

I couldn’t breathe.

Sunlight from the hall framed her like she was part of some dream I had no right to have. Her cheeks were rosy, her green eyes bright, lips red.

Fuck…she was my perfect, fucked up angel.

"Abby," I managed.

She paused, just a step inside, and our eyes locked. It was like the first time all over again. She hadn't changed—same fire in her gaze, same way of holding herself like she could take on the world and win.

"Hey, Nathan," she said, her lips curving into that smile that always knocked me sideways.

We stayed there for a moment, drinking each other in. The room fell away until it was just me and her and the space closing between us. My chest tightened, heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted to break free.

Then I was up.

I couldn’t stop myself.

She met me halfway, moving toward me, any pretense of calm cast aside. My arms came around her and it felt like coming home, like nothing else would ever be as right as having her in my arms. She was warm, soft…I needed her.

And I already knew that soon, I would lose her again.