I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(12)

Downstairs, I grab my keys, then head out to my newest acquisition—a truck I bought following my return to Harmony Creek. She’s a beast, not a bitch, a good work truck, a no-frills F-150. Some guy who lives up by the Agway offered it to me for far less than its worth. He needed the money, and I needed something to drive—thanks to the court reinstating my license. Since the deal on the truck was too good to pass up I dipped into some of the money I inherited from my grandmother. The truck is a few years old, and the white paint has a few dings and scratches, but mechanically she’s pristine. And that’s really all that matters.

I depress the clutch, turn the key. She starts right up. I push the gearshift into reverse and back out of the gravel driveway. There’s never much traffic out where I live, so I’m able to back right out onto Cold Springs Lane.

I shift into first and roll up to a stop sign. Still no traffic as I turn left onto the state route that takes you straight into Harmony Creek central. I live a few miles outside the east boundary of town, where it’s all farm-on-farm. Country-styled houses, barns, and, this time of year, endless fields of newly planted corn. Since the church sits directly where country bleeds into town—where the state route becomes Market Street—it’s not going to be a long drive. But today I’m in no rush. So I take it slow, shift gears lazily, and focus on savoring this late-spring day.

Being locked up for four years has a way of making you appreciate all the little things you once took for granted. Things like how a slate-gray, rain-promising sky, like the one above me right now, really brings out the emerald green of the lowlying hills in the distance. This is how I imagine a place like Ireland must look every day. It’s stunning if you really let yourself see.

I follow the curve of the road and lightning flashes, forking behind a stark red barn in the distance. A light rain begins to fall, and, as I flip on the wipers, two bay mares in a field to my right seek shelter.

This countryside is serene; it takes my breath away. I took all of this for granted for far too long. I didn’t know what I had four years ago, what I’d had all along. I used to long to leave, but now I’m just grateful to be back. I missed this place. It’s the closest thing to home that I’ve got.

That’s why I’d be crazy to mess things up this early in my return.

So why did I do something so stupid last night?

I don’t have an answer to my silent question as I close in on the church. But guilt—the relentless bitch—punches me in the gut and forces me to delve deeper.

Why couldn’t I resist temptation? Why was I weak?

But it’s like the f*cking die was cast the minute Missy leaned over the edge of the bar. An image fills my mind, one of her low-cut red top. It left little to the imagination. So I took a chance. But nobody warned me that the die was loaded. I should have suspected. I should have turned away. Hell, I should have paid my tab, gotten up, and left. But I did none of those things.

Instead, I stayed.

I blame my poor decision a little on being caught off guard. Last night Missy looked vastly different from how she looks in church. Her dishwater blonde hair, usually up in one of those fancy twist things, hung all loose and tumbling down her back. In addition to the cleavage-bearing top that started it all, Missy had on a very short skirt, showing off her tall, thin legs. And she was wearing a lot of makeup. Missy is the same age as me—twenty-four—but with all the heavy, dark shit she’d caked around her eyes she looked a lot older. Not that it was bad necessarily. She looked good, I guess, different.

I have to admit her sultry appearance piqued my interest, in a purely lust-filled way. Still, I didn’t want to start something up with Missy, and I knew that’s what she was looking for. We’d never messed around in the past, even though she was the kind of girl—easy—I often went for back in the day.

But the last thing I need is to get sucked back into that lifestyle, which is why sticking around last night turned out to be such a huge mistake.

But it started out innocently enough—

No wait, who am I kidding? It started out dirty and it got downright filthy. Not immediately, though.

After Missy was done flaunting her cleavage in my face, I nodded a curt hello and took a bite of my burger. Maybe she’ll catch the hint and leave me alone, I remember thinking. Of course, that didn’t happen.

Missy sat down on the bar stool beside me, adjusted her skirt, and popped open her purse. She pulled out some makeup thing and proceeded to slowly apply another coat of the glittery shit that was already pretty much plastered on her lips.

“Mmm,” she hummed, smacking her sparkling lips together. “I was hoping I’d run into someone interesting tonight. It’s good to see you somewhere other than church, Chase. So, how are you adjusting to, uh, life after…” She trailed off, leaving her face in a frown.

“Prison?” I snapped, finishing what she obviously couldn’t say. “It’s okay to say prison, Missy. I won’t get mad and bite.”

I guess that was kind of a lie, since I’d done just that. And Missy made sure I knew it.

With an exaggerated sniffle and a pout, she muttered, “Jeez, I was just trying to be polite about it. I was hoping I’d think of a nice word for prison.”

I almost choked on my beer. “Don’t bother,” I shot back. “There’s nothing nice about prison.”