Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
We don’t even talk, my cellmate and me and I certainly wouldn’t call us “friends” but without even knowing it, Kane has kept me going for the past two years—or at least, his connections have.
Speaking of my bunkie, he’s still snoring in the upper bunk, dead to the world. He prefers to sleep through breakfast and then steal several other inmates’ lunches to make up his calorie deficit later. He’s one of the few people in here who doesn’t have a job—he’s the head of a trafficking ring in the outside world and he still has enough pull to keep his prison canteen card full. He’s not hurting for money, so why work?
To be clear, I’m not hurting for money either, but I couldn’t hang around the cellblock all day—I’d go fucking crazy. So I’ve always had a job in prison. First it was the kitchen—you have to get up at 4am to start your shift in there. And then, once I got into the two-man cell, I moved to the woodworking shop so I could sleep in.
But of course, you never get really good, deep sleep in prison—you never know when you might have a shank with your name on it. Looking at someone wrong is enough to get you poked—I can attest to that, having been on the wrong end of a homemade shiv once or twice myself. It’s a damn good thing we Weres heal quickly or I’d be dead right now.
That’s another last—the last time I have to worry about getting stabbed in my sleep. Won’t that be fucking nice? I think so, anyway.
The guard reaches me at last, unlocking the door to the cell as he calls my name and Kane’s.
“Connor Lowell and Kane Black!” he bawls, like I’m not sitting right there on my bunk, looking at him.
“Here,” I said for both of us. It’s the morning count—the first of many. We get counted throughout the day to make sure no one has escaped. I get a little shiver down my spine when I realize that this is my last morning count—tomorrow they can call my name all they want, I won’t fucking be here.
The guard moves on and Kane farts and rolls over in his bunk with a loud creaking of the metal springs. I barely even notice. He’s still asleep—that’s what counts. Which means it’s safe to look.
Reaching under my own bunk, I pull out a folded envelope. I have time to read it over a few more times before I have to report to the prison office so they can process my release.
I take the letter out of the envelope—I’ve read it so many times it’s worn and creased but the words, written in a round, feminine handwriting, are still legible.
Dear Kane, (it reads)
I can’t tell you how excited I am to hear you’re finally getting out! See—I knew you could make it. I had faith in you and it paid off. I’m so proud of my big brother!
I know we haven’t seen each other since you were ten and I was three, but I hope you can make some time to stop by once you get out. I’m not that far from you and maybe I could help you get on your feet again. I’ve heard it can be hard for people getting out of the prison system to adjust to life on the “outside” and I’d really like to be there for you if you’ll let me.
These past two years have been amazing. You’ve been out of my life for so long but I feel like we’ve really reconnected ever since you started answering my letters. I want you to know how much your support has meant to me. Thank you for reading my letters and writing back—I’m so glad we finally got to know each other. Even though I have no idea what you look like, I feel so close to you. I’ve told you things I would never dare to say to another living soul and you never judge me—thank you for that!
Well, things are getting busy in The Pie Shop now, so I have to run. I don’t have anything else to say except I love you and I want to see you! Stop in and I’ll give you a piece of my famous Strawberry Streusel pie and a big hug for my big brother.
Your baby sister,
Sunny.
PS—here’s the picture you asked for. What do you think of our new uniforms?
I read the letter twice more and look at the photograph she included. A beautiful young woman with warm amber eyes and shoulder-length black hair drawn up in a ponytail smiles back at me. She’s wearing a powder blue waitress uniform with a cute, frilly white apron. There are freckles across her pert little nose and she’s curvy in all the right places.