Warmth floods my cheeks as I try to come up with an actual question.
“Well … that’s good. Mr. Parker—”
“Wes.”
“Wes.” I blush. “I saw your sentencing on TV yesterday. It was the first one ever televised. Personally, I was shocked by the lack of evidence and eyewitness testimony presented by the state as well as the lack of deliberation before you were found guilty. Do you believe you were given a fair trial?”
I exhale, relieved that I managed to ask a professional-sounding question without bursting into tears.
Wes snorts. “A fair trial? No. I was given a speaking part in The Governor Steele Show.”
“Had you been given a fair trial, do you think you still would have been found guilty?”
Please say no. Please say no.
“The only thing I’m guilty of is trying to help somebody I love,” Wes responds, the word love wrapping around me like a ghost blanket.
He reaches through the bars and takes the microphone from my hand, letting his fingers graze mine in the process. The callused tips leave a trail of fire in their wake, and the moment they’re gone, I have to twist the sides of my skirt in my fists to keep from reaching for him so that I can feel it again.
Wes faces the camera and gives the people of Georgia his best smolder. “I want everyone out there to picture the person they care about most. Your mother. Your child.” Wes looks at me. “Your best friend. Your wife. Now, picture them injured or sick. Would you give them medicine if you thought it would save their life? Bandage their wounds? Because if so, it’s just a matter of time before you’re standing where I am.”
I catch the sight of Michelle out of the corner of my eye, making the sign for cut with her hand across her throat. I guess Wes’s little speech might have gone a bit too far. I reach up to take the microphone back, but he holds on to it, forcing me to stand there with my hand wrapped around his. Electricity courses through my veins as he tilts it toward my mouth so that I can speak, but I can’t.
I’m touching Wes.
He’s here.
He’s alive.
And the only question I have left for him is one I can’t ask out loud.
How do I get you out of here?
Wes
She’s here.
She’s actually fucking here.
I touch her again just to make sure. I can’t stop touching her.
She’s so fucking beautiful—camera-ready with that slicked-back hair and red lipstick. Her big blue eyes are framed by a million jet-black lashes, but the tears welling up inside them are already starting to make her mascara run.
I want to reach up and run a thumb over her cheek, but the blinking red light on the camera five feet away keeps me from doing it. I don’t know how Rain got in here or what kind of trouble she’ll be facing if I blow her cover, so as much as it fucking kills me, I let go of the mic.
I let go of her.
“Mr. … I mean, Wes.” Rain drops her eyes as a blush creeps up her neck.
I count her breaths—one, two, three—before she lifts her eyes to me again. When she does, a black tear slides down the side of her face that the camera can’t see.
“You don’t seem scared,” she says with a worried wrinkle in her forehead.
“I’m not,” I answer honestly.
“Why? Have you just … accepted what’s gonna happen to you?” Her perfect reporter diction falters as her voice rises in frustration.
“No.”
Rain straightens her spine for the camera and regains control of her Southern accent. “Then, can you tell us what’s going through your mind right now?”
Her eyes plead with me to give her hope. To promise her that I have a plan. But all I have is the knowledge that I’ve survived every shitty fucking thing this life has thrown at me so far, and somehow, that feels like enough.
It has to be.
“Right now?” I say, staring into her eyes as if my gaze alone could dry her tears. “Right now, I’m only thinking about right now. About how a beautiful woman can walk into your life when you least expect it. About how quickly things can change.” Rain drops her eyes again, and I can’t help but smile. “And I’m also thinking of about a million and one ways I can try to escape.”
Elliott snatches the microphone away from Rain with an awkward laugh and faces the camera, forcing his way in between us.
“Ha! My man Parker’s got jokes, y’all! Tune in tomorrow at six to see him, and yours truly, walk the Green Mile! Stay safe out there, and may the fittest survive!”
Elliott holds his serious TV news anchor face until Flip indicates that the recording is over. Then, he lights up like a Christmas tree. “Am I a natural or what? Listen”—he steps forward and places his hands on Flip and Michelle’s shoulders, turning them toward the hallway—“if y’all ever need another guest reporter, I’d be more than happy to …” His voice trails off as he walks them down the hall.
It’s suddenly just me.
And Rain.
And about two-dozen steel bars in between us.
“There’s a camera,” I spit out before she has a chance to do or say anything incriminating.
“Don’t you worry about that,” Elliott’s voice sings from the doorway, making Rain jump.
“Boy, when you said you had friends in the TV industry, I didn’t know you meant you had friends in the TV industry. Haaaay!” He snaps his fingers.
“Did y’all see me? I killed that shit! I … murdered … that … shit!” Elliott claps his hands to punctuate every word. “Ooooh lawd, that felt good. Did it look good? Don’t answer that. I know it looked good! Ha-ha!”
Rain gives me a nervous glance.
“You came through, handsome. I don’t know how, but you said you was gonna help me out, and you did that shit. I’mma have me my own show in no time!”
Then, like a switch being flipped, he goes into cop mode as he turns to face Rain.
“But it’s real obvious that your little friend, Ms. McCartney, here ain’t who she says she is.”
My jaw clenches shut.
No, you motherfucker. Leave her alone.
“Y’all couldn’t keep ya damn hands off each other during that whole interview.”
At the mention of hands, mine ball into fists.
I will fucking kill you.
“Stand-in reporter? Please. This bitch has about as much charisma as a mug shot. The second she walked in, I knew you two was fuckin’.”
Elliott reaches into his pocket, and I try to gauge whether or not he’s close enough for me to choke him through the bars.
“So I’mma do you a solid, lover boy.” Elliott pulls his hand out of his pocket, producing a set of keys, and sticks one in the lock on my cell.
Then, with a wink, he yanks open the squeaky door and gives Rain a shove. Her heels click against the concrete floor as she stumbles forward, landing directly against my chest.
“Consider this your last meal.” He smirks. “You got twenty minutes.”
Slam!
My heart thuds in time with his footsteps as they echo down the hallway, and Rain’s heart beats even faster where it’s pressed against my chest.
She’s here.