The Inmate (26)

I grab the first stitch with the forceps and snip it free. “I thought you walked into a fence.”

“Yeah, well.”

I snap the second stitch. “You know, my son got bullied a lot last year. It was really hard. The other kids even gave him a black eye.”

Shane blinks up at me. “They gave him a black eye in preschool?”

For a second, I am lost for words. I don’t know why I told him any of that. Five minutes ago, I swore to myself I wasn’t going to share any more personal information with this man. Especially not about my son.

Our son.

What would Shane say if he knew the truth? If he knew that a few weeks after that awful night, I started throwing up in the toilet. I had hoped it was a stomach bug, but when it didn’t get better, I caved and bought a pregnancy test. And when I saw the two blue lines on the test strip, my entire world shattered into pieces.

I had to tell my parents. They leaned on me hard to get an abortion, but I wouldn’t do it. But one thing we all agreed on was that Shane could never know. We carefully picked out the outfit I wore to Shane’s trial so that nobody would see my growing baby bump. And after the trial was over, I left Raker and didn’t return.

Until now.

Shane is looking at me curiously. I need to say something to fix this. So I smile and shrug. “Kids are tougher than they used to be.”

“Guess so.”

I snip the next few stitches in silence. When I lean over him to get out the last one, I notice his gaze lowering. I glance down to see where he’s looking and…

Oh God.

My shirt is hanging open just enough to give him a fantastic view of my cleavage. And boy, is he taking advantage. I clear my throat loudly.

Shane rips his gaze away from my boobs. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

He’s not the first prisoner to look at me that way, although he is the first to apologize. “Don’t ever let it happen again,” I say sharply.

“It’s just…” He scratches his neck which is turning red. “There aren’t a lot of, uh, you know, women here. And I don’t ever…”

The last stitch comes free and I straighten up. I realize what he is saying. He’ll never be with another woman again. Ever. For the rest of his life.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again. “That was incredibly rude, and… I should have controlled myself.”

No, he should have controlled himself eleven years ago. If he had, he might not be here right now. I ignore his second apology as I run one of my gloved fingers over the laceration. “Looks pretty good. There will be a scar, but hopefully not too bad.”

“I don’t care, but thanks.” He hesitates. “And I’m sorry about what I said last time. About that night…”

I put my hands on my hips. “So you admit what you did.”

“No, I didn’t kill anyone. But I understand you don’t want to hear that you got it wrong.”

He is so full of it. He’s not apologizing for the sake of apologizing. He’s apologizing because he wants to talk about it more. I remember the word Elise underlined in his chart:

Manipulative.

“I was there, Shane.” I toss the tray with the stitches in the garbage, and I put the scissors and the forceps in the sharps container. “I know what happened.”

“Obviously not. You said yourself you couldn’t see anything.”

I remove my gloves with a loud snap. “So if you didn’t do it, who did?”

“You know who it was, Brooke.”

I shake my head.

“It was Reese.” His eyes are like saucers, now that he has my attention. “It had to be. He’s the only one who—”

This isn’t the first time he has accused Tim. That was the crux of his defense all those years ago. But he couldn’t convince a jury, and he sure won’t convince me now. Does he think I’m stupid?

“Shane, stop it,” I growl.

“No, please, Brooke. You have to believe that I—”

“Stop it!”

At the sound of my raised voice, Officer Hunt bursts into the room, ready for action. He towers over me, and his face is curled into a sneer. He has little semi-circles of sweat under his armpits. “What’s going on here? Is there a problem?”

Shane presses his lips closed. I shake my head. I don’t want Hunt to know about the past Shane and I have together. “No, everything is fine.”

Hunt narrows his eyes at Shane. “Are you done here?”

“Yes, all done,” I say tightly. “Take him away.”

Hunt nods briskly. “Great, let’s go.”

I see what’s going to happen a mile away. Hunt grabs Shane by the arm to get him off the exam table, but because there is a step to get down and his legs are shackled, he can’t keep his balance. He goes toppling off the table and clocks his head on the side of my desk with a sickening thump.

I leap into action, bending down next to Shane, who is now on the floor. He groans, his eyes cracked open, but he’s woozy and there’s an egg rising just below his hairline.

This happened once on the football field during practice. I had been on the sidelines with my friend Chelsea when Shane got taken down by a brutal tackle. Just like now, there was a sickening crack as his body made contact with the ground. I raced across the field to make sure he was okay, my heart thudding in my chest. I was so scared he had been badly hurt, and I still remember the rush of relief as I slid my hand into his, and his eyes fluttered open as he squeezed my hand. It was the first time I realized I was falling for Shane Nelson.