The Terms of Release (20 page)

A sick feeling settled in the pit of Win’s belly. Not about Sage, but about his uncle. “What possible good do you think telling me this will do?”

“I reckoned you should know if you have competition.”

“Competition.” His hands felt icy cold. “Tell me something, Jim. Just tell me what I’ve ever done to you personally that you hate me.”

“What? Shit, son. I’m trying to protect you. You’ve lost your fucking mind over that asshole. Think of the diseases he could have, man.”

“He’s not an asshole.” He clenched his teeth, spitting out every word. “He’s a man who made a mistake. I wish to hell you would admit everyone is being crazy about this.” He used to like his Uncle Jim just fine. They’d clashed over politics and religion occasionally, but that was normal. God, he was tired.

“No one is being crazy. He was there when your cousin died, Win.”

“So? Angel was a drug addict flopping in a meth house!” Win stood, done with this whole thing. “Is there something work related, Jim?”

“Nope. Go on. I thought you ought to know your cowboy was somebody else’s bitch.”

“Jesus.” He turned on his heel, so disgusted he was about to explode. “Just leave me alone.”

Grace didn’t even say a thing as he stormed out and stomped to his truck.
Motherfucker
. He slammed the door and sat with his hands on the steering wheel. He stared at his white knuckles, not sure where to go from here.

Somebody else’s bitch.

Asshole.

Sage was no one’s bitch, no matter what had happened to him. Win knew that.

He did wish he’d known, that Jim hadn’t been able to ambush him. Hell, he didn’t know anything about Sage’s time inside. Nothing. Win could infer a lot, from the sore knees to the way Sage jumped when someone touched him from behind without warning, but he didn’t know the details.

He sighed, starting his truck. Maybe if he went to see Sage, got some questions out of his system, it might help.

Win headed out to the Reddings’, his mind going a million miles a minute. He didn’t know what the hell to do about his uncles. They weren’t going to let this go, and he wasn’t going to give up. Sage was worth fighting for, though, worth holding out for.

The gate was closed, so he hopped out and let himself in, grinning about how he knew the combination to the padlock now. He was the only person not named Redding who did.

He drove up to the house, parked beside Sage’s old work truck, and headed toward the barn where he could hear Sage whistling. The sound made him smile, and he pushed down his worry, hoping this whole thing was nothing. And what if it wasn’t? What could he do about someone Sage used to know in prison? Hell, what business was it of his, anyway?

Except that it was his business, a little, right? They were together. They were a couple. They were supposed to tell each other things.

He blew out a breath, trying to get rid of the negative energy Jim had brought to him. Then he went to find Sage.

Sage was behind the barn, repairing a saddle, whistling tunelessly. Win stopped and admired a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. He couldn’t just blurt out something stupid.

Sage looked up. “Hey, Adam. What’s up?”

“Hey.” He stood, shifting from foot to foot. God, he felt like an idiot.

“What’s wrong?” Sage stood up and came over to him. “You look pissed.”

“I am.” He put an arm around Sage and kissed the man’s temple. “At my uncle.”

“Oh Lord. What has the sheriff done now?”

Win wanted to smile back, to match Sage’s tone, but he wasn’t sure he could. “He was telling me shit about your time in prison.”

Sage’s head tilted. “Okay. What shit did he tell you?”

He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He was going on about someone you knew in there. Someone who still writes to you. I didn’t know you were… close to anyone.”

“They don’t call it ‘close.’ They call it being someone’s bitch.”

Win drew back, kinda feeling like he’d been slapped. “What?”

“In the joint, it’s called being someone’s bitch or a meat-wrangler. Sometimes they tell you you’re a pole sitter.” Sage’s voice was even, quiet, steady.

That almost made what he was saying worse, like it was something people said in normal conversation. Win had no idea how to reply, so he shrugged. “I didn’t know.”

“No. I don’t think about it.” Sage’s pale eyes looked right at him. “Come with me for a second.”

“Okay.” He followed Sage, feeling numb all the way to his toes.

Sage led him to the trailer and up the stairs. The TV was still gone, but there was a stack of old paperbacks there. Westerns. Some Clive Cussler books. Sage went back to the bedroom, went to the dresser, and pulled out a little stack of letters, then handed them over. “His name is Darryl Keye. He’s a lifer. Homicide. Multiple offenses. I belonged to him when I was in.”

Win stared at the letters, all neatly addressed in pencil, the name and identification number of the prisoner on the return label area. None of them had been opened. “Why would he write to you?”

“He fucked me for six and a half years, off and on, so I guess he’s fond of me.” Sage shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. You’re welcome to read them and find out.”

Win wasn’t sure what he wanted—for Sage to deny it, to scream. Something. Anything but this calm, almost bewildered expression. He opened his mouth. Closed it. “You haven’t read them.”

“I haven’t. I never will.” Sage rubbed his forehead. “I was nineteen when they moved me into maximum security. On the first day, they poured bleach in my eyes. The next week they made me choose—teeth or knees. I chose, and they broke my knees and three of my fingers. Keye worked in the infirmary that week. He liked little white boys with teeth, so I still have mine.”

Bile rose in Win’s throat. He’d seen the stupid shit that went on in the county lockup, but this was something else. “Bleach.”

“Yeah. Stings like a motherfucker, and you can’t see for days. The knees were the worst part. Still are.”

How the fuck could Sage stand there, so even, almost flat?

“You never talk about it. It’s like there’s this whole you that I don’t know.” That was the crux of it, finally. He’d been thinking about it like Sage went into cold storage all those years, that he hadn’t had a life. He’d had a life, just not one Win could even fathom.

Sage shrugged. “There is. There’s a whole me you aren’t interested in knowing. Do you want to know about how the guards would hit you if your cell wasn’t clean? I was nineteen and scared when I went in. When they let me out, I was twenty-seven going on twenty-eight, and I can make a bed, figure taxes, and tell when it’s going to rain.”

“What I want to know is why you’re not more pissed off about it.” Win clenched his hands to keep from shaking Sage.

“What do you want me to be pissed off about?”

“Losing half your life? Not having a choice about a goddamned thing?” He didn’t know. All Win knew was that he didn’t understand this… acceptance.

“I had a choice. I could have stayed here. I could have told Angel no. I paid my dues. I did my time. There’s enough anger there.”

Win searched Sage’s face, looking for something. Some tightness around the eyes, some lines around the mouth. All he got was a watchful gaze, Sage waiting for him. Waiting to see what he’d do.

He had no idea what to do. Or feel. He looked at the letters he still held in his hand. “I need to go. I’ll—” God. He’d what? Call? Apologize. Whatever. For now, he needed to go somewhere not there.

“Okay, Adam. You be careful on the road.”

He wanted to scream. Stomp. Something. Instead, he turned on his heel and left, still holding Sage’s letters.

His truck was sitting there, right next to Sage’s worn-out Ford. Win got in it and drove, only stopping to open and close the gate. He didn’t know where he was going, really. Just driving.

He couldn’t do this.

S
AGE
WENT
back outside and sat down to finish his chores, listening to the sounds of the horses whickering out by the fence, tails swishing as they fed.

The tack was in shit condition. He reckoned he’d be on this, fixing it all winter. Maybe he’d set up a stand in his little front room, work inside when it got colder.

“Bubba, you and Win didn’t come in for lunch. Momma set out plates when she saw his truck.”

“He wasn’t here for lunch.” No. Adam had come to see if he’d been ass-fucked in the joint and whether he liked it.

“Oh. I…. Everything okay?”

“Nope.” Everything was not okay.

“Oh.” Rosie picked her way over, past all the leather and metal, and dusted off a bench. “You want to tell me?”

“I was in jail. His family hates me. Mainly though, I was in jail for a long time. He’s a hero and a cop, and I’m an ex-con.”

She sat there for long moments, looking at her hands, which she twisted in her lap. “I think you’re the best man I’ve ever known. If he doesn’t, he’s not the one for you, Bubba.”

He nodded. “Whatever happens, happens, honey.”

Sage loved Adam and he knew it, but he was an ex-con. He’d let a man fuck him so people didn’t beat him up. He wasn’t a good man; he was just a man. If Adam couldn’t handle that, well, who could blame him?

Rosie snorted. “I used to say that too. Sometimes you got to stand up, Sage. Fight for things.”

“There’s no fighting the truth, baby sister. Right now I’m just trying to keep this outfit afloat. Adam will either come back, or he won’t. I can’t be more than I am.”

“Well, just make sure you’re not being less on purpose.” She patted his leg when she stood. “You ought to come on and eat.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll be in in a couple. Keep Momma off my ass? I cain’t do this with her.”

“I’ll tell her to lay off. That will buy you a day, at least.” She winked, heading back to the main house.

Sage sighed, gathered up the tack, and put it away. Sometimes he wished….

Shit, what did it matter? If wishes were fishes, they’d all swim away. Time to go eat some lunch and keep his head down.

Maybe later he’d go get a pizza for supper and read a book. That part of his life was way better than prison.

He’d take what he could get. Sometimes that was the best you could do.

W
IN
DROVE
.
He drove until he was almost out of gas, burning up the back roads. Then he got some gas and headed for Wilma’s diner. He had a feeling Sage wouldn’t show up for pie, so he could sit and decide what the hell to do. Turn off his radio and his phone and try to clear his head.

The parking lot had a couple of bikes, no pickups, so he parked, figuring he was safe enough. Shit, how crazy was it that he was worried about assault when he went out to eat in his own town?

He stomped inside and just headed straight for the back. He’d sit at the counter, have some coffee. Be by himself.

Wilma smiled at him and nodded. “Afternoon, Win. Coffee?”

“Hi. Thanks, yeah.”

He got a cup, Wilma busy enough to not stand and chat, thank God. He wasn’t wanting to be ugly, but he sure didn’t want to talk.

His reprieve didn’t last long as someone came to sit right next to him. Damn it. Win glanced over, fairly relieved it was Bulldog.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” Bulldog grinned at Wilma and nodded when she held up the coffeepot.

“Kinda having a shitty day.” He kept it short, hoping Bulldog would get the message.

“Sorry to hear that.” Bulldog fixed his coffee and asked for a patty melt. “How’s Sage?”

“Probably pretty unhappy.” He felt damned guilty, even as he was pissed.

“Ah. Okay. You… you want to talk or just grunt at each other?”

Win grimaced. “I don’t want to insult you, Bulldog, but can I ask you something?”

“Ask away. I’m not terribly sensitive.”

Win grinned a little. No, Bulldog wasn’t a delicate flower or anything. And way more of an open book than Sage. “Is it normal to be so… emotionless about prison?”

Bulldog’s lips twisted, and he looked like a whistle had sounded. “You mean, like, quiet?”

“Do I?” Win sighed. “I mean, there was some pretty awful shit that happened to Sage, and he’s not even mad about it.” He couldn’t help wanting to go hit that guy, the letter-writing guy, right in the face.

“Ah.” Bulldog nodded, like he got it. “Are you mad at your drill sergeant for making you do pushups?”

“What does that have to do with it?” That was the military. Even if you hated it, you did it.

“It’s the same thing. You do what you have to, to survive.” Bulldog shrugged. “He’s little. He was young. He had no chance. They were going to break him. That’s how it works.”

“That’s fucked-up.” Bulldog seemed just like Sage. Blasé. Win didn’t get it. “They poured bleach in his eyes, Bull. How does someone do that?”

“How does someone look at a kid and stab them just because they’re a different color than you? How does someone fist fuck a guy dry to ‘loosen him up’? These people are criminals and they’re locked up together, and the rules are basic. The big guys win over the little ones. Three big guys win over one big one.” Bulldog leaned back and gave him a long look. “What did you find out, man? That he had a protector? That he whored himself out?”

“Don’t say that!” Even if it was the damned truth, it sounded so fucking dirty when Bulldog said it. Sage was better than that. “I’m not that much of an asshole, Bulldog. Am I? I mean, I don’t even know how to tell you why I’m so mad.”

“Because he’s a good man and he deserved better and it hurts to know that he has to live with this shit, the shame of it? That’s a fucking decent reason.”

Win nodded slowly. Shame. God, Sage was ashamed, wasn’t he? He shouldn’t have to carry that, damn it. “Yeah. I guess—that’s it, huh? That’s why he doesn’t get all het up.”

“He did what he had to, to survive ’til the end, but he’s still a man. No one wants to admit that they had to bow down to someone else.” Bulldog turned his coffee cup around. “I’ll tell you, from my time in, the guys who hooked up with someone for protection, that’s survival. Everyone looks on them like they’re property. Redding was a cowboy, before and after, but inside, he was no more than someone’s bitch, because he was small and young and white. If you can’t deal with the scars that leaves, you should walk away.”