Somebody to Hold (Tyler Jamison #2) - April Wilson Page 0,84
burn as hot tears blur my vision.
Pressing my hands to my face, I try desperately to hold back the tears. I’m supposed to be the strong one. There are people who need me to be strong—Ian, my sister, my mom. But lately it feels like it’s been one emotional event after another—coming out, Valdez going after Ian, the fight with Turner, Turner pressuring Ian for sex, Layla, losing my job, and now I’m locked in a cage like a common criminal.
Blindly, I reach for my pillow and press it to my face to muffle the agonizing sobs that take me by surprise.
* * *
During my waking hours, I plan what I’m going to do with my life. First thing I need to do is sell my condo in Lincoln Park. Since I have very few bills, the proceeds from the sale will tide me over for more than a few years. Ian’s townhouse is paid off so there’s no mortgage. My car is paid off. Really, our only bills are groceries, utilities, and random sundries. There’s also my grandparents’ townhouse in Hyde Park, which I still own. Beth lived there before she moved in with Shane. I rent it out, and it’s a great source of extra income.
I can use the proceeds from selling my condo to fund my new PI business. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. I meant what I said to Ian about taking great satisfaction in finding Layla before it was too late—not to mention rescuing eleven other young women who were destined for a life of sexual abuse.
Finally, just after lunch on the fourth day of my incarceration, a guard comes to my cell.
“Ready to go home, detective?” he says as he unlocks my cell door.
“I’m no longer a detective,” I tell him as I step out into the corridor.
He frowns. “Yeah, I heard about that. Sorry, man. That blows.”
After I make a quick call to let Ian know I’m being released, a guard walks me to an office where I’m given my own clothes and my ID. I change, and then I have some papers to sign as my release is processed. Finally, I’m escorted through a side exit and a series of secure gates that lead to a visitor parking lot where Ian waits for me, along with Cooper and Sam.
The minute I step through the final gate, Ian runs up and throws his arms around me. We stand there for a good long time, holding each other and ignoring our amused audience—Sam and Cooper, the two armed guards stationed at the gate, and a few random strangers hanging out in the parking lot.
Ian kisses me soundly, in front of everyone.
I kiss him back, relieved to have him in my arms once again. He feels like home.
By the time Sam and Cooper drop us off at the apartment building, we load Ian’s suitcase into the trunk of my car and head home. It’s raining this afternoon, so Ian and I dash up the front steps and into the townhouse. I’ve never been so glad to walk through that front door.
Inside, Ian drops his luggage and wraps his arms around me. I back him into the wall and kiss him until we’re both breathless.
For the first time in a long while, there aren’t any clouds hanging over our heads—well, except for Brad Turner. I haven’t forgotten about him. But after serving my sentence, I’m free to come and go as I please. Free to follow my own path, wherever that leads.
Ian grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairs. “Come upstairs with me right now. I need you.”
* * *
As Ian pulls me into our bedroom, I put on the brakes. “Ian, wait. I need a shower first.” I feel like I’m covered in grime and the stink of incarceration. I was only behind bars for a handful of days, but simply being there has left an indelible mark on me. I doubt one hot shower will be enough to remove the stench.
“Sure, babe,” he says, nodding with an abundance of sympathy. “Whatever you need.”
I walk into the bathroom, strip off my clothes, and step into a hot spray of water. I stand there for a good while, letting the water beat down on me, letting it saturate my hair and scorch my skin. I just want to feel clean again.
I feel numb.
I thought I could serve my sentence and come out of jail unscathed—that it wouldn’t