Coming Home(183)

“The following people have been requested at the visitor’s center: Benjamin King, Daniel DeLuca, Michael Moroney, Steven Logan, Kevin Driscoll, and Duane Tanner.”

Danny stood from his chair, putting his playing cards on the table. “You just got lucky,” he said, revealing his hand.

Theo lifted his brow at Danny’s straight flush. “Well, shit. Thank your visitor for me.”

Danny smiled as he turned to exit the rec room. If Jake had shown up just five minutes later, Danny would have undoubtedly won the pot.

Thirty-seven postage stamps.

It was their only real form of currency, and something most prisoners took very seriously. Rory, the inmate-turned-barber, charged five stamps per haircut. Terrence, the guy who ironed prisoners’ jumpsuits on visitation days, charged three stamps for his services. Any favor asked, any bet made, typically involved an exchange of stamps. After two months in this place, Danny still felt like a kid playing with Monopoly money.

He approached the inmates’ entrance to the center, noticing that Marco was the guard outside today. He nodded a hello to Danny before he opened the door and gestured for Danny to enter.

“Arms out, please,” he said, and Danny lifted his arms.

“You catch that game last night?” Marco asked as he patted Danny down.

Danny gave a short laugh. “Yeah. I wish I didn’t.”

“Unbelievable,” Marco said. “Highest payroll in the MLB. Sure as shit didn’t look like it yesterday.”

“A lot of those guys haven’t been hungry for a long time,” Danny said, turning so Marco could pat down his other leg. “These owners throw money at their best guys, forgetting that money makes some people complacent.”

Marco lifted his brow before he inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Very well-said.” He straightened, and Danny dropped his arms. “Alright, who you got today?”

“A buddy of mine,” Danny said.

Marco nodded as he checked his watch and then recorded the start time of the visit on his clipboard.

“Alright then, Mr. DeLuca,” he said, reaching forward and opening the door for him. “Enjoy your time.”

“Thanks,” Danny replied as he stepped around him and through the door.

He walked into the visitor’s center and turned toward the table and chairs set up near the vending machine where Jake typically preferred to sit, only to find an older couple seated there, waiting for an inmate.

Danny smirked as he realized Jake would have to walk a full fifteen feet to get his Skittles now. He typically went through four or five bags per visit, as if they were a luxury he could only get there and not something he could pick up in twenty different places on the way home.

Danny turned, scanning the other side of the room for him.

And then he froze.

She was sitting at the far table against the window, her eyes on him as she rolled her mother’s bracelet between her fingers.

It had been over a month since he’d seen her—over a month since he’d had any contact with her whatsoever—but the sight of her hadn’t even come close to losing its potency.

He couldn’t afford this kind of test today. His daydreams of her, when they were furtive enough to creep in uninvited, were bad enough.

Ironically, his worst days in this place were the days he found it the easiest to be without her. At his lowest points, Danny managed to find solace and comfort in being alone—in knowing that the only person he stood to hurt was himself. The days he felt demeaned to the point of detachment, the days his thoughts ran rampant through dark corners and bleak paths for hours at a time, unable to resurface, the days he struggled to even remember a life outside these walls—those were the days he was so grateful she was out of his life. In a way it was pacifying, knowing he could spin as far out of control as he wanted with absolutely no consequences for her.