Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
And then he was gone. He went stumbling back, falling flat on his ass and cracking his head on the coffee table.
My father stepped in front of me, fury rolling off him in waves.
“You son of a bitch,” Mr. Stewart said, touching his temple to check for blood. There was plenty of it.
My dad didn’t say anything for a long second, but he reached back and took my hand, giving me a reassuring squeeze. I moved in close to his back, feeling his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.
Joe Hull wasn’t a fighter. He was a quiet man who owned a barbershop. But that day, he was my hero. And it had nothing to do with him physically stepping between me and Ramsey’s father.
“Nora,” he rumbled. “Get your things. You’re moving in with us.”
“What?” she croaked.
“Now, Nora,” my dad ordered. “Thea, go help her. Throw the stuff out the window and we’ll get it from the side of the house after we get her cleaned up.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth and peered around him to look at Nora. The relief in that young girl’s shoulders as she started to cry would stay with me for the rest of my life.
She didn’t have much, so it only took us about ten minutes to pitch it all out of her bedroom window. I was tempted to crawl out after it so we didn’t have to walk back through the house and see Mr. Stewart again. But my dad was still in there, and there was no way I was leaving without him.
I have no idea what they were discussing as we entered the den. Nora’s dad was still sitting on the floor, but he was holding a towel to the back of his head and my dad was squatting in front of him, whispering inaudibly. They weren’t brawling, so I took it as a positive sign.
I curled Nora into my side, and together, we hurried to the front door. We’d almost made it out the door when Mr. Stewart called out. “Have a nice life. God knows, you ruined mine.”
She choked on a sob, and then we left her father’s house for the very last time.
One week later, Nora’s dad moved in the middle of the night. He’d left Ramsey’s room untouched, so we were able to sneak over and gather most of his belongings before the landlord cleaned it out.
The very next day, my father produced signed and notarized papers granting him temporary guardianship of Nora. We all knew it was permanent though.
And the day after that, my father added Nora to his health insurance and our new family of three started therapy.
Under the crisp white lighting of my new bathroom, I leaned toward the mirror and inspected my face. Jesus. When had I gotten so damn old?
Yes, there were mirrors in prison. They were small rectangles of metallic painted plastic bolted to the wall. They would have been more useful as funhouse mirrors rather than anything else.
Drawing my eyebrows together before popping them up, I watched thin lines dance across my forehead. Had those always been there? Making a mental note to look at Nora’s forehead later, I ran a hand over the top of my hair, smoothing down the styling cream. I needed a trim. I should have asked Jared before I left, but I’d been too damn busy working my way through the line of guys I’d promised to cut one last time before I flew the coop. It was the downfall of being one of only two guys in the cell block allowed to work in the barbershop.
The day I’d been handed a pair of clippers almost eight years earlier, I’d thought it was Karma’s way of sliding my naked ass down a rusty razor blade straight into a sea of salt. The last thing I needed was a fucking reminder of Thea, much less to follow in her father’s footsteps with a set of scissors. I’d hated the man for the way he’d abandoned Thea after her mom died, but when I’d found out he took Nora in, I’d felt nothing but gratitude.
I learned to love cutting hair. The job kept my mind occupied and my hands busy. I made friends with almost everyone who sat in my chair, including a few of the guards who would come in for a cleanup when they didn’t have time to go after their shift.
Working in the shop wasn’t exactly manual labor, but it was far from a cushy job like pushing the book cart or mail delivery. We had at least four lice breakouts while I was there. People were supposed to go to Medical for that shit, but those lazy fuckers just turned them around and sent them to me. I pretended like it pissed me off, but I didn’t mind. I got extra hours in the shop when there was lice. I’d work my ass off shaving everyone’s head and then spend even more time teaching them how to pick the nits off each other with a comb. By the time I’d get back to my bunk, I’d lie down and pass the hell out.