Sempre: Redemption (Forever Series #2)(89)
Haven strolled down the street and he stayed in step beside her, his hands in his pockets and his gaze on the ground.
“So, where are we heading?” he asked.
“The library,” she replied.
“The library isn’t on campus?” he asked. “This is an art school, isn’t it? Just art? Or do they have normal shit, too?”
She peeked at him curiously. What kind of question is that? “Just art, but I like to think it’s pretty normal.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I take it you don’t go to school here,” she said. “Otherwise, you’d know that.”
“No, I’m not a student.” He laughed to himself. “I walk by here all the time for work, though. I’m working down at the construction site on Sixth Avenue.”
She eyed him curiously. His clothes were crisp and clean, an expensive watch on his wrist. “You don’t look like a construction worker.”
He smiled. “No, I’m more of the supervising type. I don’t like getting my hands dirty if I don’t have to.”
Haven loosened up as they walked. He offered to carry her things and waited as she dropped off the books at the library before asking again if he could walk her home.
“Why?” she asked, standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the New York Public Library. People walked around them, casting glares for being in the way, but she wasn’t budging. Not until he answered.
“Didn’t you already ask me that?”
“Yes, but . . .” She paused. “You’re being nice. People just aren’t nice like that unless they want something.”
“I am,” he said. “I do want something, though.”
Haven’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“To get to know you.”
“Why me?”
“Why not you?”
He was being evasive, answering a question with a question. Haven stiffened. “You’re not the police, are you? You have to tell me if you are.”
He stared at her with surprise. “No, I don’t. Or, well, they don’t. Who told you that?”
“A friend.”
“Well, they’re wrong. The police can legally lie to you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean you’re one?”
He burst into laughter, so loud it seemed to bounce off the surrounding buildings, startling people walking past. “Most girls would be worried a guy is a serial killer or something.”
“You’re not, are you?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not the police, either. I told you—I’m in construction.”
Haven opened her mouth, considering conceding, when a phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out, his smile falling as he silenced it.
“Well, you’re in luck,” he said. “Duty calls. It was nice to meet you . . .”
He paused, raising his eyebrows curiously. She realized she hadn’t yet told him her name. “Hayden.”
“Hayden,” he echoed, smiling. “You can call me Gavin.”
* * *
Ping, whack, ping, whack, ping, whack
Corrado lay in his bottom bunk with his arm draped over his eyes, listening to the sound of paddles striking Ping-Pong balls on the tier outside his small cell. Chatter accompanied their playing, the noise loud enough to make his head viciously pound. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to block out the commotion, but it only seemed to grow louder as time went on.
For the first time since arriving, he regretted requesting general population.
There was little to do at MCC, nothing to look at, and no one to talk to. Table tennis and card games seemed to be how most men passed the time, but neither activity interested Corrado. He occasionally went to the rec yard for fresh air, but he spent most of his days staring at the drab walls, blocking out the others as he counted the days. Three weeks down, God knows how many more to go.
Ping, whack, ping, whack, ping, whack
Corrado tried to take it in stride. After everything he had done over the years, a few months should be an easy punishment. The way he calculated it, it was less than a day for everyone he had hurt. A measly few hours of incarceration for everyone he killed. He would take his few months and then go right back to his life.
Today, however, he found being there insufferable. The pinging of the balls, the babble of the inmates, and the squeals of the pigs as they marched along the tiers, barking orders and throwing their weight around—it was all too much to take.
Sighing, he hauled himself out of the bed. His cellmate looked up from his book on the top bunk and eyed Corrado cautiously as he stood. They hadn’t shared more than a handful of short conversations in three weeks.
“You all right, man?” he asked, his voice and eyes guarded.
“I will be in a minute.”
Corrado walked out of the cell, no hesitation in his step as he made his way into the common area. A few of the inmates were off on their own, but the bulk of them were gathered around the Ping-Pong game. Corrado cut through the crowd, people stepping out of his way instinctively as he headed straight for the man at the end of the table. He was the loudest of the group, a large guy from the south side of Chicago doing a few years for drug trafficking. He clutched the paddle, laughing as he smacked the ball, oblivious to Corrado’s approach.