The Wrong Mr. Darcy - Evelyn Lozada Page 0,1
and then for the pat down just outside the visiting room.
“Thank God it’s you today, Roland,” she said with a friendly smile. The older guard just nodded and sent her through. He wasn’t much of a talker but at least he wasn’t grabby. Most of the guards rarely bothered with her anymore, having known her for years. She knew not to draw attention, to wear not-tight-not-baggy clothes, wireless bras, no makeup or gang colors, and keep her pockets empty. She did not give the guards a reason to complain, or worse, turn her away.
The first few months, her visits with one of the most hated men in sports history had been from behind Plexiglas. Then her father was moved to general population, C Block, and allowed to have visitations face-to-face, in a room filled with discarded school furniture. The early years had been particularly rough for him, but as time passed, the prisoners seemed to have settled down. It didn’t hurt that the Asian-American man helped tutor inmates. And was tall and built like a UFC fighter.
As she dropped onto a hard, plastic chair, she recognized some of the faces around her.
“Hiya Rita,” she called quietly to the woman at the table next to her. Rita, with her fried blonde hair and hard wrinkles, could have been twenty-five or forty, it was hard to tell. “How’s your little boy?”
The hard-faced woman shook her head. “These fuckers won’t let me bring him back in here. Jonas is going to be pissed.”
Jonas, a large black man with a bad back, was Thomas Isari’s cellmate. A few months ago, Rita had been caught bringing in pain pills tucked into their son’s diaper. Hara’s father had an empty cell for a while, with Jonas in solitary, but it looked like Thomas had his bunkie back.
“Hey, baby girl,” her father said, grinning as he slid his muscular frame into the chair across from her. Grasping her hands on the metal table between them, he leaned in and kissed her cheek, quickly, not giving the guards time to squawk. They saved a brief hug for the goodbyes. It was their routine.
“Nice bangs. My little hipster.”
“Hey!” She smiled. Thomas loved her and it poured off him, made her feel safe. Even in this place.
“I’m just kidding. I’m glad you kept your hair long, but I like you with the short bangs, I can see your face.” Before he let go, he squeezed her fingers, his dark eyes fixed on her. “Still hiding those baby blues behind specs, though.”
Hara, about to respond, noticed her father’s face for the first time. Squinting at his forehead, she asked, “What’s that?”
A bruise yellowed at his temple, fading back into his short salt-and-pepper hair. She’d seen worse, much worse, like the time his pinkie fingernail had been ripped off when he’d taken too long at the microwave. There was also the long scar running down the back of his neck, from when he’d been shivved while lifting weights. She shivered.
He tapped his head, his forehead wrinkling. “You mean this? Nothing.” At her frown, he said, “Seriously, there was a little misunderstanding but it’s resolved. I promise you, I’m fine.”
Hara forced herself to relax, letting her shoulders down. She’d learned long ago not to ask too many questions.
“I haven’t seen a paper in two weeks,” he said, “and the Norte are in control of the TV room right now. It’s nothing but soccer all day. Talk to me about basketball. How are the preseason games going? Who looks good?”
“Oh!” She’d almost forgotten, her news overshadowed by the thick fog of … well, of prison. “You are never going to believe this! One of the owners of the Fishers called. I won the contest!”
Her father beamed. “No way.”
“I know, right? I’ve got the exclusive interview with Charles Butler!” She clapped her hands in delight, like a child, but then interrupted her father before he could speak. “I know, I know what you’re going to say, it’s crazy that they chose me, a newb reporter—”
“No, I was going to say no one deserves it more than you.”
Hara let the praise warm her.
“Damn. So proud of you. This is fantastic news. Now, you’re sure no one is pulling your leg?”
“I swear. My editor says the man who reached out, O’Donnell, is legit, one of the five partners who own the team. They’re flying me to Boston! I’m going to have a face-to-face with one of the biggest names in basketball!”
“Butler … I don’t know how I