She doesn’t make eye contact as she hits the landing at the bottom of the stairs, but a sweet smile forms on her pretty face when she looks down at Andy.
It’s been almost impossible not to run to him, scoop him up and hold him to my chest. He doesn’t know me. Izzy may not have even told him about me. I was a fool for coming here today unannounced.
“Dada!” Andy yells as he abandons the Easter basket he’s been playing with to run to Apollo.
“Hey, buddy.” The man scoops up my child with one arm, a move so practiced he doesn’t even pull away the one wrapped around Izzy. “Ready to hunt for Easter eggs?”
“Drew.”
I don’t know what my face looks like, but I’m certain I’m not smiling at the happy little family because Lawson grabs the sleeve of my shirt and pulls me to the side.
She doesn’t even look over at me as she leaves, but I can’t keep my eyes off of her. I watch her walk away, leaning into his touch until they disappear into the clubhouse across the street.
Gigi walks out next, precious Amelia walking beside her while she’s trying to manage a wiggling Jameson in her arms. Hound is taking up the rear.
“Good to see you, Drew.” He claps me on the shoulder before turning around to lock his front door.
“Do you want me to put these inside?” I point down at the pile of gifts, some looking a little worn and ragged from having to carrying them on a bus and then a taxi to get here.
“No.”
And there goes any hope that he didn’t know about the letter I sent Izzy. God, if I could turn back time, I’d do my entire sentence all over again just to rip that thing to shreds instead of dropping it in the mail.
“He’s my son,” I say weakly, knowing I don’t have much of a leg to stand on.
Hound turns back toward me. “And gifts are best given in person, not just dropped off. Will you be joining us across the street?”
I look to Lawson, and as a man who has never really been good at hiding what he’s thinking, I turn back to Hound.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Okay,” Hound says, accepting my refusal. “We’ll bring you a plate back.”
Lawson doesn’t say a word as we stand on the front porch and watch them leave. Amelia is wearing a sweet little dress with decorative flowers at one hip. Gigi is in a nice dress, and it’s shocking since I remember her having a preference for leggings. Although, she was pregnant most of the time I was here before my incarceration.
“Wait. Why is he wearing slacks and a tie? Is Easter that big of a deal? I don’t remember Cerberus being overly religious.”
“Oh, umm.” Lawson grips the back of his neck. “Kincaid insisted everyone dress up. They’ve hired a photographer to take family pictures.”
I nod, trying for calm and cool when the news hits me square in the chest. It’s another thing I’ll miss, another consequence of my actions from nearly two years ago.
“Pictures are good to have,” I manage. I have at least a dozen that are absolutely precious to me, so I fully understand. “Where did Delilah go?”
Lawson’s wife was here when I arrived, but disappeared shortly after giving me a hug.
“She went across the street to help hide eggs. Come on.”
He steps off the porch, making his way toward his house. I grab the presents and follow after him.
“How much of a pain in the ass would it be to catch a ride back into town?”
“Town?” he asks as he makes his way up the steps to his own house.
“Yeah. I got a hotel room.”
“You have a perfectly good room here.” I swallow painfully.
If the room is still available that means he isn’t a father. Delilah didn’t get pregnant while I was locked up.
“I think the hotel would be better.”
“Before we start arguing about that can you tell me what you’re doing here?” He raises a hand to hush me. “And before you get your feelings hurt, I’m not upset. I’m over the fucking moon, but you had a six-year sentence. You’re not wearing an orange jumpsuit so I’m guessing you didn’t escape.”
“I’m not a violent man. My uniform was blue.”
“My mistake,” he says as he steps inside his house, turning to me to take some of Andy’s gifts from my hands. “So, you didn’t escape?”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles from my throat. “I didn’t escape. I worked my ass off, stayed out of trouble, and I wouldn’t put it past Scorpion to have pulled a few strings.”
“Still sixteen months isn’t six years.”
“My meritorious good time combined with my industrial good time earned an early release.”
I still feel a little guilty that I was ecstatic when the warden gave me the news. I kept my nose clean, something I was planning to do from day one anyway, and I was able to serve less than a third of my sentence. I didn’t argue with them when I got my release date. I also didn’t tell anyone I was getting out, hence, the surprise when I showed up unannounced.
I didn’t tell anyone because I was terrified I’d get a letter back saying I wasn’t welcome. If anyone here was going to tell me to kick bricks and never show my face again, I wanted them to say it to my face.
“Well, I’m glad you’re home.”
Home.
I can’t tell him it doesn’t feel like home, but I’d rather be no other place. I don’t tell him that I swore to Izzy I wouldn’t come back here. I’m not the same man I was when I wrote that letter, but I doubt she’ll be open to hearing that from me. I knew what I was doing when I wrote those awful words—those lies.
“I can’t just take over part of your house again, but I was hoping you needed some help around the shop, at least while I’m looking for another job.”
“I always need help around the shop,” he offers. “Did you give your parole officer the hotel address?”
“No parole. I was released free and clear.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. “A free man.”
One still weighed down by the choices I’ve made, but yet technically free.
“Yes.”
“We want you here.”
“Delilah isn’t here, and I don’t know that she’d appreciate you speaking for her.”
“We always planned for you to come back here, Drew.”
“Even after writing you and telling you to forget I ever existed?”
I said as many mean things to Lawson as I did to Izzy.
“I knew you were in a bad place both physically and mentally when I received that letter. I took it all with a grain of salt.”
“I shouldn’t have… I never should’ve sent those letters.”
“Which ones are you referring to? The one to me? Izzy? Hound? Or Apollo?”
I scrub my face with both hands. “All of them.”
“I know what was in mine, and I can guess what was in Izzy’s because she was a shell of herself for months, but I have no clue what you wrote to Hound. And why would you send Apollo a letter?”
Maybe sending them all in the same package to my brother wasn’t the best thing to do. Answering questions about them now isn’t going to be fun.