Off Limits(33)

"I think it's because he's thinking with his hips and not with his head," Shawnie added with a wicked grin.

“If I just wanted to get my rocks off, there's a lot of places I could go. But I didn't, and other than two nights out, one at a place called Roundups with my friend, Chris, I haven't been in a night spot since Abby and I met. To tell you the truth, I've seen you before. You were there that night.”

"Ah, that night," Shawnie replied, totally unfazed. Smart and collected. I liked this girl. She was a great friend for Abby. "Yeah, I went by there. What did you think?"

"Beer's a bit expensive, but the music is tolerable. But anyway, I'm doing this because I felt like maybe we had a connection. I could be wrong, but I’d like to find out.”

Abby's eyes softened. My words had an impact on her. Still, there was a lot of hardness in her eyes. Our tension was broken, however, when Shawnie interrupted. "Whoo, you're either the most romantic man in the world or the smoothest talker. Hey, barkeep! I'm going to need a beer over here to put out these flames!"

"So why didn't you tell me?" Abby asked quietly after the beer arrived. I demurred, taking just a sip from the previously ordered Coke. I didn't need any alcohol in my system. "Why didn't you tell me about your past?"

“I didn’t think it really mattered at the time. I didn’t exactly expect that to happen, and well, after it did, I didn’t really know if I should or how. I mean, was I supposed to say ‘by the way, you just slept with an ex-con’? How would you have done it if our positions were reversed? I'd feel like I was in a Carly Rae Jepsen song or a bad Internet meme. I'm a convicted killer, so call me maybe?"

Shawnie nearly snorted beer from her nose, but Abby didn't flinch, studying me with those perceptive eyes of hers. Finally, she nodded, accepting the point. "I do suppose that’s not the sort of thing you tell someone in that kind of situation. Would you have told me eventually?"

"I'd like to say yes, but hypotheticals have never been my strong point," I said. "I'll be honest. Not a day goes by that I'm not reminded of what I did, of what happened. There are times, though, that I'd like to move past it, to not wake up every morning with the thought that I'm going to spend the rest of my life with this weight around my neck."

"Tell us what happened, in your words," Shawnie said suddenly, very serious. "Abby showed me some of the old news clips about your conviction. They said you pleaded guilty after killing another soldier."

I nodded and told them my version of the events. "In the end, I pleaded guilty because I could have done something different," I said. "I could have knocked him out. I could have kicked him in the back of the leg or something, something to have let me be in control and not end up where we did. That, combined with the case and who I had as a lawyer, I decided the best thing to do was to plead guilty."

"And if you hadn't?" Abby asked, almost all of the hardness gone from her eyes. "If you'd taken it to the trial?"

"The prosecutor was asking for murder," I said. "Conviction would have been either twenty years and up, or death. Considering it was in a combat environment, I most likely would have gotten life or the death penalty."

"So why Atlanta?" Abby asked. "I know I mentioned that before, but it seems like San Francisco or Seattle or someplace like that would be a lot less dangerous for you."

I sighed and took out my wallet. Flipping through, I took out the creased photo I had inside. "Take a look," I said, handing over the photograph. "You may not recognize one of the people there, but that's me when I was twenty, about six months before I enlisted. The other people are my parents, my brother, Cain, and my sister, Denise. Once I was arrested, I've heard from them one time. My father wrote me a half-page letter that I got to read when I was in the holding brig at Fort Campbell awaiting my court martial. My defense JAG had asked my family to appear, to make a statement or something that could help my case. Instead, my father wrote back that neither he, my mother, or my siblings knew who Dane Bell was, and wanted no contact with said person forever. He disowned me, and disavowed that I'd ever been his son. It . . . it was difficult to read."

"Then why do you keep this photo?" Shawnie asked. "Isn't it painful?"

I nodded and took the photo back from Abby, tucking it back into my wallet. "Sometimes, our pain is what shapes us. I keep it because somewhere inside me is hope. Hope that some day, maybe I can redeem myself in my father's eyes, and I can be accepted back into my family. So far, though, no such luck."

"Have you tried to contact them?" Abby asked. "You were pretty determined to contact me."

"I write my parents every month," I said. "So far, all these years, every single one has been sent back marked 'Return to Sender.' I'll keep writing, though. Stamps are pretty cheap, and I don't have their email or Facebook accounts."

"And are you still living with Chris Lake?" Abby asked. "In that apartment?"

I nodded. "I am, but I have a job now, working at Lake Ford. It's not much, just sweeping the repair bay and hauling stuff here and there, but it's a start. As soon as I can, I'm going to find my own place. The amenities may not be as nice, but I'll be standing on my own two feet again."