This Much is True - Tia Louise Page 0,83

get transferred. Nothing’s permanent here. The last thing I should do is trust somebody on the inside is on my side.

More days pass. I’ve lost count.

I’m lying on my back, looking at the iPhone Mel smuggled to me, wondering in the course of my life, where does this fall? Am I living in the space between… Beauty came before, with football and Jesse. Now I’m in the pain. Is more beauty waiting on the other side of this, or will it be more pain… or a void?

The irritating thought is in my head, when I get a message from my brother. Are you sitting down?

It makes me frown, and I peck out a reply, doing my best to use my thumbs more than my fingers. What else would I be doing?

Don’t want to give false hope, but something big just happened.

What?

Can’t tell you yet.

I’ll kick your ass.

Focus on that. I’ll be back soon with instructions.

Swinging my feet to the floor, I look at the wall, my constant companion since I returned to this fucking hole.

My chest is tight, and of course, my first thought is seeing Hope again.

It doesn’t matter if I sent her away. It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference I listened to her say she loved me and didn’t answer back. I love her.

I love her face, her pretty hair, her bright blue eyes and sweet smile… She haunts me every night.

In the daylight hours, I can keep her memory at bay. I can exercise, lift weights, walk around the yard, watch television, talk to Mel, play games on my phone, meditate…

Yeah, I meditate a little.

But at night, there’s no escaping her.

I close my eyes, and I see her beautiful body. My fingers curl against the mattress, and I feel her round ass beneath them. I crave her taste, her soft lips, her small tits, her flat stomach.

She’s the goddess of my dreams, and now I’m standing here, pacing this room, furious at the torture my little brother has conjured. Hoping against hope, the girl of my dreams might be on the other end of it.

I collapse onto the bed, dropping my face to my hands. The last time I prayed, I got kicked in the nuts so hard, I didn’t think I’d recover. What’s wrong with me?

Still, I can’t help myself.

God, please…

Hope

“It’s like I’m Dawn.” I’m lying on the lounge chair across from my dad.

I had to wait two weeks to be this close to him. Until then, I stayed at a Holiday Inn nearby and talked to him through a plastic screen like he was the Bubble Boy.

It didn’t matter. I just wanted to be near him. I needed my dad.

“Who’s Dawn?” He frowns at me, shoving his longish brown hair behind his ears.

I was right, although he’s more Road House than Deadwood, and he isn’t wearing a mustache.

“Are you kidding me?” I slap the side of the lounger and sit up. “Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons?”

“Oh.” He leans his head back and laughs, brown eyes brimming with love. “You can’t just pull something like that out of left field.”

“I’m so glad to see you, Dad.” Even though it’s safe, I lower my cheek to his chest and hug him that way.

“I’m glad to see you too. I missed your sunshine.” His kind hand smooths my hair back. “Now tell me more about this Dawn situation.”

“Oh, Dad.” I sigh, sitting up and falling against the cushions. “He’s been wrongfully convicted of dealing drugs… And stop!” I hold up my hand. “Before you ask me how I know, trust me. I know. I was there when the guy who set him up confessed. Only the lawyer said it wasn’t a strong enough confession because the liar fingered his dad as the target rather than him…”

My dad’s thick brow furrows. “That isn’t right.” His low voice rumbles slowly, and I couldn’t agree more.

“That’s where we are. I told him I loved him, and he sent me away. He said I couldn’t wait for him. I had to get on with my life.”

“He sounds like a good man.” Dad leans back on the lounge chair beside me.

We’re lying next to a sparkling blue pool at the Shady Rest nursing home, although nobody’s swimming. Still, it’s a nice ambiance. A small waterfall is trickling at the far end, and palm trees are strategically planted at the corners.

It has more the feel of a luxury resort than an assisted living facility.

“He’s the best kind of man.” Tilting my