other anymore. Had they ever really known each other? They’d been kids. But wasn’t Webster guilty of the same thing? Hadn’t he been researching Cy’s case off and on for years, looking for something that would clear him or, at least, grant him a new trial? He’d just…failed. Maybe he needed to do something to make it clear that he could take care of himself.
“He doesn’t owe me anything. I don’t want to make things worse for him,” Webster finally said.
Preacher scoffed. “Well, getting himself killed defending you with barely a year left on his sentence would definitely be worse for him.”
It would be a rather divine form of karma if Cyrus walked out of prison before Webster did, leaving him in there to rot…at least, until somebody killed him.
“I hear you. I’ll try to keep him out of it for as long as I can.”
“Good luck.”
Webster spent the rest of the day playing cards with Jay, Iggy, and various others who entered and exited the game as time passed, only retiring to his cell once meal time was over. There was still no Cyrus. But there was something sitting on Webster’s pillow. He picked up the cardboard and plastic package, holding it close to see what they were. Little blue foam plugs. Ear plugs. Cyrus had somehow gotten him ear plugs.
Heat spread through him at the gesture, and he ripped the packing open, stuffing them into his ears, even though the cell block was quiet. Once Webster could hear nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat, he sighed, picking up the book he’d snagged from the small stack Cy kept under his makeshift pillow.
Webster didn’t read a word of it, though. He was struggling to see a way out of his situation. If he was on the outside, if he had access to his resources, he could do it. Whoever was after him clearly understood that about him. Better to keep him locked up where they controlled everything. But why?
It still made no sense to him. It had to be related to Cy and his case, but Webster just didn’t see how. There was no new information after all these years. If anything, it had just been the next step in his long process of trying to find new evidence, a Hail Mary to see if there was some kind of pattern he’d missed with Dooley. Still, it couldn’t be a coincidence. He tossed the book aside and pinched the bridge of his nose before draping his t-shirt over his eyes to block out the light.
Webster didn’t remember falling asleep but he must have. When something brushed his leg, he sat up with a start, his t-shirt falling from his eyes. Cy crouched beside his bunk, brows knitted together, watching as he mouthed the word sorry.
Webster pulled the ear plugs from his ears. “Thank you for these. Where’d you get them?”
“Commissary.”
“They’re great. Thanks.”
Cy’s large hand was warm on Webster’s ankle even through his pants, his thumb tracing patterns over the material, making it hard to concentrate. Webster forced himself to focus on his words.
“Iggy said you had a run-in with Thor?”
Webster gave a humorless smile. “The prison grapevine works faster than TMZ.”
This time, Cy smiled, but it quickly died. “He said you were egging Thor on.”
“Iggy needs to stop being a fucking snitch,” Webster muttered.
Cy’s hand tightened on his ankle. “This isn’t a joke, Nicky.”
Once more, frustration flared in Webster’s chest, filling him with anger. “Yeah, I get that. I do. But sarcasm is how I cope, okay? What did you want me to do? Offer to suck him off in the shower? Join in on all his racist bullshit? He’s going to come for me eventually. Maybe I was just hoping he’d finally put me out of my misery.”
“Nicky…” Cy said his name like a warning but it felt like a caress.
Webster didn’t want to talk about this anymore. Hearing Cy say his name like that did things to him. Dirty things. He reached out and pulled Cy closer, causing him to lose his balance and land on his knees, his hand landing on Webster’s chest to keep their heads from knocking together. “Hi,” Webster said, their mouths almost touching.
Cy glanced furtively at the door before slanting his lips over Webster’s, tongue slipping inside to massage over his.
“You smell really good,” Webster said, his hand sliding over Cy’s nipple through his thin tank top.
“I just got out of the shower.”
Webster kept his grip on Cy’s shirt, wanting