Chapter 35

Iwatched Archer from the corner of my eye. His easy laugh and how he managed to blend into our group made me happy. It was a relief after the incident with Jameson. I'd been nervous about introducing him to my friends. His past wasn't exactly spotless, but then again, whose was?

We were all drunk. I laughed so much my face hurt. My stomach as well. Eventually, Lauren yawned, signaling the night was coming to an end.

While everyone else was making their way to their rooms, Archer and I picked up half-eaten bags of potato chips and some empty glasses.

"We can leave the rest for morning," I told him.

"I can call a cab if you're not comfortable with me staying the night," he said softly.

"Archer, no. I want you to stay. No way am I kicking you out."

"I don't want to push you too fast. I have a tendency to go full throttle, so just tell me if it's ever too much."

I walked into his arms and cupped his face. "It's not too fast or too much. It's not like we haven't been together."

He smiled and leaned forward just enough to kiss my forehead. "Alright then."

I led him to my room, closing the door behind us. I could hear the soft laughter from my roommates coming from behind the other closed doors.

"I'd give you a shirt to sleep in, but I think that only works one way." I giggled.

"If it won't embarrass you, I'll sleep in my underwear if that's cool," he said.

"It's totally cool." She groaned and shook her head. "Well, not cool, but you know what I mean."

His smile widened as he pulled off his shirt, revealing the chest I just loved to ogle. Then he shucked his jeans. I couldn't help but stare. Seeing him like this was always such a turn-on. I quickly changed into one of my oversized T-shirts and climbed into bed next to him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, propping himself up on one elbow as he looked down at me.

"Of course," I replied, although my heart was beating wildly in my chest. I reached out to touch his cheek gently. "I'm just happy you're here."

He smiled softly, the kind of smile that made my heart flutter. "Me too," he whispered before leaning down to capture my lips in a tender kiss. His hand brushed delicately down my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

He held me, not pushing for anything. The intensity of our connection was undeniable, but amidst the passion and desire, I felt a need to pause and have a real conversation with him. We had chemistry, but I wanted to know if there was more.

"Archer," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath. "Can we talk?"

He shifted slightly beside me, his arm tightening around my waist as he nodded in agreement. "Of course, Mary Ellen. What's on your mind?"

I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. "I've been wanting to ask you something, but I'm afraid you might take it the wrong way."

He kissed the side of my head in a gentle, endearing way. "I'm an open book, Mary Ellen. You can ask me anything."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest as I debated how to best broach the subject. I didn't want to embarrass him or make him uncomfortable. "What was it like for you, being in prison?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard. "Wow."

"I'm sorry," I said, suddenly feeling horrified.

"No, I just mean no one has ever asked me that straight up. My family doesn't want to discuss it. Hell, they would prefer we never mentioned it. If they could erase it, they would."

"If you don't want to talk about it, I won't push."

"No, I'm cool. It's not that I don't want to talk about it. It's just not something I'm proud of. Honestly, I also wish I could forget it happened."

"I'm sorry," I said again.

He took a deep breath and I suddenly felt very bad for even bringing it up.

"Don't be sorry," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "It wasn't easy. Of course. The isolation from the real world for a full year and a half made adjusting back to normal life on the outside strange. Everything felt uncomfortable, even something as simple as wearing a pair of jeans. When you're inside, everything is a routine. You're told when to eat, when to sleep, when to exercise. But then you're released back into the world and everything is in your control again. The choices are almost suffocating. It can sometimes feel like chaos instead of freedom."

His words were sobering. I'd heard stories about prison, seen shows on television, but hearing it firsthand from him gave it a whole new depth. I couldn't imagine what he had been through.

"You spent a lot of time reading," I said.

He smiled. "I did. You asked what I was trying to escape from. Now you know."

"I get it," I said. "I've spent a lot of time escaping into books too, although it wasn't nearly as dramatic as getting locked up."

"I don't regret it, though," he continued after a moment of silence. "Not anymore. It was a wake-up call that I needed, a kick in the ass to get my life back on track. Since then, I've been making it a point to live responsibly, to be better. And my love for reading continues. It helps me center myself and keep my head on straight."

His confession was heartbreakingly raw and honest. It took me a few moments to process his words before I finally found my voice. "Archer, I'm sorry I brought it up."

"No, really, it feels good to talk about it."

"Did people ever try to start trouble with you?" I asked hesitantly, my mind racing with concern. How dangerous had it been for him? I had seen movies that painted prison as a pretty dark place.

He nodded solemnly, his gaze distant. "Yeah, in the beginning. It's hard because no one knows you and they want to figure out who you are. They want to test you. They seriously want to make you their bitch, but not in a sexual way. They just want to use you to do their dirty work. They'll take your food, make you take things from others, and just prison shit. This may surprise you, but there's a lot of jerks in prison."

I laughed. "Yeah, I guess there would be."

"And before you ask, no, I wasn't anyone's bitch," he said with a small laugh. "I never saw anything like that. And I had a friend from day one."

"Really?" I asked with genuine surprise. "You made a friend? Like at summer camp?"

"You don't think people make real friends in there?"

"I'm afraid to say what I was thinking," I muttered.

"Tell me."

"Well, it just seems risky to make friends with criminals."

He nodded. "I didn't make a lot of friends. I minded my own business. I kept my head down and my cellmate looked out for me. Cole had a bit of a temper. I think he enjoyed starting shit. He would often stir the pot, dragging me into fights from time to time. But nothing too serious."

I couldn't help but feel a pang of worry at the thought of Archer being in harm's way, locked behind bars with unpredictable inmates. "Were you ever scared?" I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up at the ceiling, his expression contemplative. "When I was charged in the courtroom, I was only twenty-one," he admitted, his tone raw. "I remember looking to my mom, thinking she could save me. But even if she'd wanted to, there was nothing she could have done. My brother cried, and my father looked at me like he didn't know me. That moment scared me more than anything."

"Why?" I pressed gently, my heart aching at the pain in his words.

"Because I was terrified they'd never forgive me," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"And have they?" I asked softly.

He turned to look at me, his eyes glassy with emotion. "No," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Without hesitation, I curled into him and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. "I'm so sorry, Archer."

He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. I thought about what he said and suddenly something clicked.

"Wait, did you say your cellmate was Cole?" I asked.

"I did."

"The guy I met at your place. His name was Cole."

He chuckled. "Yeah."

"Your roommate is your cellmate?"

He laughed again and then immediately went still. "Shit, I should have told you that. Fuck. I'm sorry. I guess I'm so used to him just being Cole, I didn't think I needed to introduce him as Cole my old cellmate."

"Don't worry about it," I said, laughing lightly to ease the atmosphere. "It doesn't change how I see you or him. Everyone has a past, right? What's important is who you are now."

"Just be careful around him, alright?" Archer's tone was serious again. His grip on my hand subconsciously tightening. "Cole's not a bad guy, but he still has his bad days. I know you probably wouldn't do it, but don't come by my place if I'm not there. I don't really want you alone with him."

"I understand," I assured him, placing my free hand reassuringly on his.

"Thanks. He's not a bad guy, but he's been in and out of the joint for a while. It messes with a man. I don't have a problem with him and I don't think he would ever be an issue, but you know, just maybe not the best idea."

"I get it."

"Anything else you want to know?" he asked. "I'll tell you anything."

"Was the food terrible?" I asked with a smile.

He laughed at the change of topic. "It was absolutely, undeniably horrendous. I've never tasted anything like it and hope to never again." He scrunched up his nose in a way that made me giggle.

"I suppose the cafeteria food at college wasn't so bad then," I teased, nudging him playfully with my elbow.

"Compared to prison gruel? It was pure gourmet. And that dinner you served tonight, well that was next level good. A woman who can cook and make me laugh?" Archer said, feigning shock. "You're practically a unicorn."

I laughed lightly, tousling his hair playfully. "Oh, stop it, you flatterer."

"No, I mean it," he said, grabbing my hand and pressing it to his chest. His heartbeat was steady and strong beneath my fingertips. "You've been a ray of light in my life, after all the darkness I've seen. I've just been kind of getting through one day at a time. My family doesn't want anything to do with me. Not really. And even if they try to pretend they want me around, I can feel their shame. Maybe it's my shame. I don't know." His eyes dropped to where our hands were joined, his thumb mindlessly stroking. "But with you, I don't feel the weight of that shame. I feel like a man who's done wrong, yes, but also a man who has a chance to do right. To make amends. To start again."

I cupped his cheek, his stubble pricking my palm, as I looked into his eyes. "You are not your past," I told him firmly. "I'm so sorry I reacted the way I did before. You are not a bad person. You are a good man."