Scarred

By Patricia A. Gray

In this gripping sequel to The Loner, self-made, pretty boy millionaire Nathan Kirkland has murdered his wife and must now pay for his crime of passion, locked behind the walls of maximum security at the Arizona State Prison.

Six years after being incarcerated with mass murderers and other violent offenders, Kirkland is paroled early for good behavior. Though his ability to empty himself of emotion helps him survive behind prison walls, it is facing a life in the outside world which proves more challenging. Nathan soon realizes he must learn not only how to rejoin society, but also how to be accepted.

In his quest to regain all he has lost, he discovers there are those who have not forgotten his past and are determined to stand in his way of moving on with his life. Nathan's determination and strength of character are ultimately tested as he wonders if he will ever live a peaceful existence again.

Only time will tell if Nathan's desire for retribution will cause him to kill again. By proving himself in ways he never imagined, Nathan realizes that physical wounds can heal, but psychological scars stay forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 4, 2008
• ISBN: 9780595609765

Patricia A. Gray

Patricia A. Gray is the author of thirteen novels including The Loner, Ridder of Vermin, and The Seared One. A graduate of the University of Alabama, she lives in Southern California with her husband, daughter, and Chocolate Lab, Reddington.

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Copyright © 2008 by Patricia A. Gray

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

C H A P T E R 1

C H A P T E R 2

C H A P T E R 3

C H A P T E R 4

C HAPTER 5

C HAPTER 6

C HAPTER 7

C H A P T E R 8

C HAPTER 9

C H A P T E R 10

C H A P T E R 11

C H A P T E R 12

C H A P T E R 13

C H A P T E R 14

C H A P T E R 15

C H A P T E R 16

C H A P T E R 17

C H A P T E R 18

C H A P T E R 19

C H A P T E R 20

To my husband and my daughter

My support and my inspiration

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to the following people, who assisted, in their own special ways, to the creation of this story:

To Jessica and Yara, whose knowledge of Spanish helped me through To Geneen and Viviane, my walking buddies, who continued to hear me out To Sandy, who spread the word

To Robin, for all those fifteen-minute breaks of listening, adding up to hours of amazing therapy

To my sister, Sue, for her support and insight

To my husband, Carlos, for always being there

To Josie, my daughter, for the love and hope she gives me

And finally, to all who experienced The Loner ... Thanks for coming back for more.

Be like the hawk; fly higher than the crows. Rise above it.

—Carlos, a profound man himself

C H A P T E R 1

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Kirkland, the warden wants to see you. The correctional officer opened Nathan’s cell, and slid the small, barred section to the left.

Nathan had been reading on the small mattress the prison called a bed. He put the book down, rose to an upright position, and looked at the officer. Why? he asked.

Smart prisoners don’t ask; they just do what they’re told. The large man smiled and reached for his handcuffs.

Only nodding, Nathan stood up slowly and walked towards the guard. He held out his arms for the handcuffs, and waited patiently until they were secured. Nathan looked down at his wrists; they were becoming callused from the many times he had to wear the bracelets as he always called them.

The officer motioned for Nathan to follow him, and they walked down the long, barren hallway. He did not acknowledge the calls and whistles from the other inmates; he was growing quite used to the constant noise they made, and had learned how to shut them out. That technique had saved him a mental breakdown on more than a few occasions.

The warden’s office was clear across the quad in the other building. Nathan was housed in maximum security, or as they called it, Security Level 5; but the Arizona State Prison in Tucson had facilities for all types of offenders, from medium to high risk. They scaled the prisoners by classification, whether they were a public risk or an institutional one. Despite Nathan’s reduced charge of manslaughter, he had still been sent to Level 5, where he spent time with some of the state’s most violent offenders.

Many of the inmates there couldn’t believe Nathan had gotten a sentence of manslaughter in the murder of his wife. They told him it was only because he was rich and successful that he had gotten away with murder.

If I had gotten away with it, I wouldn’t be here doing time with you, he would tell them.

They only smiled and slapped him on the back. They knew his good looks and wealth had helped him in getting a first degree murder charge reduced to manslaughter.

One inmate told him, "Shit, if you looked like me, you woulda gotten first degree. It’s only ‘cause you look so handsome and honorable."

And the other prisoners would laugh.

Nathan only grinned slyly. Whatever it takes, he would say.

Now, as he followed the guard to the warden’s office, Nathan looked back behind him at the high-security unit they had left. He wondered what had happened to make the most important man at the prison complex want to see him.

This way, Kirkland. The guard motioned for Nathan to enter the warden’s office.

Nathan looked over at the large man sitting behind an equally large desk, and tried not to show any emotion.

Mr. Kirkland. The warden stood up and smiled, motioning for his employee to remove the handcuffs.

Nathan watched as he took them off quickly, and winked at the officer before he left the room. Nathan heard only muttered obscenities as the man closed the door.

Sit down, Mr. Kirkland. The warden nodded, returning to his own chair. He watched Nathan carefully: his body language, his posture, the expression on his face. He could tell he was a confident man, even restrained. It was his first time meeting Nathan Van Kirkland face to face, though he knew much of his history and what had brought him to his facility. He knew all about the high profile murder, the millionaire’s attempt to cross the border prior to arrest, and the media circus which surrounded the whole case. When Kirkland had first arrived at the prison, the warden had purposely put him in Security Level 5, not because of his sentence, but because of his personality at the time. Kirkland seemed too cool and reserved, still outwardly arrogant, and the warden knew he didn’t want a personality of that caliber making trouble in his unit. That was three years ago. While Nathan Kirkland was still obviously unlike most of his prisoners, he had learned humility, and he had learned respect for others. Three years around mass murderers can do that to a person.

I’m Lee Evans. He extended his hand to Nathan. Warden, here, at your home away from home.

Nathan took his hand slowly, attempting a smile. I would introduce myself, but you already know me.

I do. Mr. Evans agreed. But still, I just wanted to meet you in person; I’ve heard good things about you, lately. Oh?

I have. I appreciate a model prisoner. And you’ve been one for the last three years. Not only is that smart thinking on a survival basis, but it’s good business for you, as well. He watched Nathan closely. I’m sure you, having owned your own company, understand the value of good business.

Yes sir, I do.

Mr. Evans looked around the room before he gazed back at Nathan. I’ll be honest with you, Kirkland. When I first heard you would be coming to our complex here, I never thought you’d last a day.

You and a lot of others.

I’m sure. Pretty boy millionaire, sentenced to ten years in prison. It was all over the news. No one thought you’d make it here. You were cocky, controlling, and ... He looked into Nathan’s dark eyes. Very intelligent. It’s that intelligence that’s saved you. Literally. You’ve learned what it’s like in this setting, and what you have to do to survive. I admire your change in personality.

Do you really think I belong in Level 5? Nathan asked him seriously.

The warden tightened his lips, trying to smile. "At one time, yes. I considered you a very dangerous man, Kirkland, despite your lesser sentence."

You don’t think I committed manslaughter?

After reading your file, I believe it should have been second degree at the least. Not to say you planned the murder, but I’m sure, knowing your personality, you knew exactly what you were doing the night you killed your wife. Am I not right?

Nathan stared into the man’s green eyes. Am I on trial again?

The warden laughed suddenly. Fair enough. Let me tell you why I really brought you here today. He got up from the desk suddenly, walked to his file cabinet behind Nathan, and came back with a manila-colored file. He sat back down behind his desk. I have a proposition for you.

Yes?

Due to your exemplary behavior you’ve exhibited at my facility, I consider you a good candidate for early parole. He looked back at Nathan. I’m sure you realize that is an option.

I do.

We have a vocational program here; I’m not sure if you’re familiar with it. But as you know, incarceration is more than just being locked up. We don’t like to look at the prison experience as solely punishment. We make major efforts to allow our inmates a chance at a better life, either through education, counseling, or any treatment program which may assist someone in starting over, giving one a chance to leave here a better man.

Recidivism rates in the prison system have never been higher, Nathan said somberly.

The warden glared. " That’s what we’re trying to change, Mr. Kirkland. As a former business owner, you can help me do that."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. How?

You have a lot of knowledge: practical knowledge—knowledge that can make the difference in some of our inmate’s lives. With your background in construction, I think you would make an excellent candidate for teaching one of our vocational courses.

Teaching?

Have you ever considered it?

No.

You should. Until you can, how should we say, get back into the real world, this might be a good opportunity to assist others in growing as people, as you learn growth yourself, as well. It could be very rewarding for you, the other inmates, and the facility.

Of course. I save you the annual cost of a teacher.

Mr. Evans tried to smile. You can look at it that way. But, that’s going back to the old Kirkland personality which needed changing.

Nathan nodded. I’m obviously a work in progress.

That’s better. He shuffled around his papers, and pulled out a standard contract. For your support of our facility, may I offer you the chance at a reduced sentence?

You may.

We work on a credit earning system here, whereas you, as an inmate at our facility, earn credits by adhering to departmental orders and rules, obtaining good performance evaluations, things like that. Currently, going by your file and things I’ve heard, I rate you as Class I. He watched Nathan’s face. Meaning, you have earned yourself the opportunity of an early parole.

How early?

Mr. Evans put on his glasses and fumbled through the papers in Nathan’s file. He pulled one out. You have served approximately three years and one month of a ten-year sentence. I think we can knock off ... three years?

"To be honest, Warden, I think I could knock that amount of time off just from being an exemplary inmate, so to speak. He winked and smiled. I know that I can be up for parole with sixty percent of my time served. He paused. That’s four years."

Mr. Evans nodded, attempting a smile. You’ve done your homework.

I have a lot of time on my hands.

Have you ever given thought to what you’re going to do when you leave our facilities? Are you off to a hacienda in Mexico, as I’m sure your wealth could afford you, or are you considering starting up again where you left off?

What, with my business?

Yes.

I’d like to.

Do you think a former general contractor with a prison record might have trouble securing another license?

Nathan swallowed hard. I do.

Would you consider working unlicensed?

He glared. Is this a trap, or are you just insulting me?

Neither. I’ve heard nothing but good things about your former business ethics and workmanship.

Thank you.

Maybe I can help you secure that license you’ll need to start up again once you leave us. Of course, it’s up to you to convince your potential clients you’re the man for the job. But I have no doubt you can do that, based on your personality and talent.

You have connections to the State Licensing Board?

I have all sorts of connections, Mr. Kirkland. Whether I choose to use them is at my own discretion. Are you telling me that would interest you?

Yes sir.

Done. He went to close the file, but Nathan stopped him.

Four years, and the license.

Mr. Evans moved in closer to Nathan’s face. We’re done negotiating, Kirk-land. You’ll start your first class on Monday.

Warden. Nathan put his hands on the desk. Please. You know with my record here, I should be eligible for four years off. I’ve really been trying. It hasn’t been easy. You have me with a lot of mean bastards in Level 5. But I’ve minded my own business; I haven’t made trouble. You said yourself I’ve improved my personality. Doesn’t that count for something?

Are you pleading with me, Mr. Kirkland?

"I don’t plead, Mr. Evans."

The warden cocked an eyebrow. No, no, Kirkland, that’s the wrong answer.

Nathan breathed in slowly. For three years he had been forced to eat more crow than he ever thought he could get down his throat. What was one more, if It meant he could be halfway through his sentence?

He watched the warden’s cocky facial expression. "Yes, Warden, I am pleading with you."

Grinning, Mr. Evans opened up Nathan’s file a second time and wrote something. You’re a smart man, Kirkland. You’re learning when to back down. That’s important in prison. And in life. Remember that. He closed the file again, and took out the contract. Sign this, and you’ll be one of our newest teachers.

Nathan took the Mont Blanc pen from his large hand reluctantly. He signed the contract slowly.

Mr. Evans looked at it and smiled. Good, Mr. Kirkland. I think you made the right decision.

My choices are so many. Nathan tried not to sound bitter.

You’ll be fine. You’ve done well so far. Your next three years—

Two years and eleven months.

The warden laughed aloud. Yes, your next two years and eleven months should go well for you. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing. It obviously has worked for you.

Yes sir.

He watched as Nathan rose from the chair, and he began to buzz for the guard. Instantly, his correctional officer appeared at the doorway, handcuffs ready.

You won’t put the skinheads in my class, right? Nathan asked suddenly, waiting for his wrists to be confined.

Mr. Evans grinned at the tall, well-built man. Your favorites?

Yes. They’re such delightful people.

Your class will only be available to those who really want to learn and to better themselves. However, if one happens to be a skinhead, I can’t stop him from the opportunity to grow.

Nathan nodded, beginning to follow the officer out.

Mr. Evans called out to him. By the way, I trust you’ve learned that what you did to get here was wrong. Right, Mr. Kirkland?

Nathan looked behind him. I won’t be back, Warden. After my two years and eleven months are up, I won’t be back.

Mr. Evans watched the man leave slowly behind the guard. He looked back down on his desk and opened Nathan’s file again. He wouldn’t be back; of that, the warden had no doubt. Would he kill again? Of that, he wasn’t so sure.

Nathan’s general construction class had started out tough; not only was he unfamiliar with teaching (only the little training he had done with his former employees), but his class was not exactly high school students eager to learn a vocation and be off on their own. While the warden had been correct in assuming the skinheads would not be in his class, he still had quite a few students who tested him at every opportunity. They weren’t used to a fellow inmate telling them how to do things, and while most did gather respect for Nathan after listening and watching enough to realize he really knew his stuff, there were still those which made every day’s class a challenge at best. Very few days went by that someone didn’t comment on his wealth, his status, his old lifestyle. Most of the inmates never failed to rub it into Nathan every chance they got that, despite his former life of riches, he was now one of them: worthless dregs on society, as they liked to call themselves to his face. He only smiled at the taunts; he knew better than to truly ever challenge a fellow inmate. Not that he couldn’t hold his own. Nathan was a damned good fighter. He always had been ever since he was a kid. But for him to take the chance of ruining his good behavior record, and lose that four years they would subtract from his sentence, didn’t make it worth it to beat someone’s face in just because he got tired of the verbal abuse. He just learned to ignore the banter. Most grew tired of taunting and actually began to listen to him teach.

One student who seemed especially interested in what he had to say was a young man named Armando Dominguez, who, unlike the others, did not join in on the testing of the teacher, but instead tried to listen carefully to Nathan every day and learn what he could. One day after class, he approached Nathan.

I like your class, he said, walking behind the others to leave.

Nathan looked up from his makeshift desk. Thanks, he answered. He studied the boy: close-cropped black hair, equally dark, intimidating eyes, scars up and down his body, and tattoos on every visible space of his tanned skin. Normally, he’d be the kind of person Nathan would spit on in his previous life, but now that he was basically one of them, his perception of outside packages had changed greatly. You’re Armando?

Yeah. Dominguez. But everybody calls me Mando. He looked at Nathan. It’s a nickname, I guess.

Nathan smiled, sorting through his papers on the desk. It’s a good one.

Warden make you teach?

His abruptness surprised Nathan, but he tried to remain cool. Yes, somewhat. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Nathan mimicked The Godfather.

Mando smiled. And you’re Italian, too, huh?

Nathan nodded. Half. What you’re made up of means a lot here doesn’t it?

Oh, yeah. This is probably the most prejudiced place you’ll ever find. Mando watched as Nathan got up to erase the chalkboard. How come you never go with the gringos?

"The skinheads? They don’t like me. I’m not pure enough for their taste."

If you were, would you hang with ‘em?

No.

Why?

They’re not my types. He turned around to face Mando. How come you ask so many questions?

I’m nosy.

Nathan grinned. Good enough.

How come you’re in Level 5?

Warden put me there.

I’m in 5.

I know; I’ve seen you. You haven’t been here long.

No. Couple months.

You like it?

Mando stared. Love it. And then he laughed out loud, looking back at Nathan. You’re the millionaire, huh?

You’d think people would forget that already.

Oh, no. We don’t get too many celebrities in prison.

I’m not a celebrity.

You might as well be. You’re rich. Ain’t none of us ever gonna see that.

You don’t know that. Just work hard. That’s what I did.

And don’t kill. Mando watched as Nathan returned to gather up his papers from the desk. You screwed up, there.

I think we all did.

I screwed up three times, Mando said softly, looking down at the floor. Three life sentences, one for every life I took.

Nathan’s eyes widened slightly. Wow. And you’re so young. Yeah, well. I was even younger when I did it. I’ve already served three years up in Winslow. They just transferred me here.

Nathan smiled. Well, I’m glad you like the class.

Yeah. If I ever get out, which I doubt, I’d like to do this stuff for a living. It’s pretty cool.

Nathan motioned for him to walk out with him. You’ll get out. Someday. Just don’t lose sight of that.

Gabriella:

I know it is probably futile to write to you. I haven ‘t seen you since the trial, and everyday I don’t see you reminds me of something I don’t want to imagine. What happened between that day and now? Why have you chosen not to answer my letters, or come and visit me? I’m not dead, Gabriella. I’ll be out in just a couple of years. You can’t wait for me, like you insinuated you would? That was the feeling you left me with the last day I talked with you before the sentencing. You told me you loved me, and you know I loved you too. What’s happened in the meantime to make you totally ignore me and my letters?Areyou afraid of me now? Has serving time in prison somehow changed me? Am I not the man you thought I was? How could you think I’ve changed when you haven ‘t bothered to contact me? If you no longer wish to be associated with me, at least have the dignity to tell me to my face. The thought of seeing you again is what gets me through every day here. But each day that passes that I don’t hear from you makes me think more and more you do not wish to be part of my life when I get out. Is this the truth? If It is, at least do the honorable thing and tell me. Don’t keep me guessing, Gabriella. Please tell me. I can ‘t keep wondering where I stand with you.

No matter what you have decided, know that I have always loved you, and I always will.

Nathan

Nathan put the pen down hard and folded up the notebook paper in thirds, shoving it in the small envelope. He brought it to his lips and licked the envelope, only to stop suddenly. What good would it do to write her again? She hadn’t responded to any letters he had ever sent her. Why did he keep trying? Obviously she had no desire to see him again. She must have lied to him. Fucking bitch. That whole crying scene she’d pulled in the visiting room and then in court—

It was all an act.

He crumpled up the envelope and threw it down to the concrete floor in disgust. All this time he had figured he could get through prison as long as he could be with her when he got out. He had told her that. And now, she was blowing him off.

He lay back onto the thin mattress and looked up at the cement ceiling, stained from leaking pipes. For a moment, he visualized her that first day they had met at her uncle’s barbeque. He could never forget the instant attraction he had felt for her, and the sudden urge to know her. She had proven herself to be more than her outside package, and everything about her had turned him on. She could stimulate his mind like no other woman had, including his now-dead wife.

Breathing in and out deeply, he tried hard to control his emotions. Never before had he needed anyone as much as he needed her. She had done it to him. She made him dependant on her, and he hated that feeling. He was getting weak and needy. Nathan closed his eyes tightly, and tried hard to see her face the last time from the courtroom. She was a naturally beautiful woman; she always had been. And once he got through all of this, they could finally be together, or so he had thought. What had happened to change her mind? Had she met someone else? Who had taken her away from him?

The bell sounded to signal lights out for the night. Nathan looked over and clicked off the small light by his bed. He remained in the darkness, mentally cursing the power she had over him.

C H A P T E R 2

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You got a visitor.

Nathan looked up from his book at the guard in front of his cell. He never had visitors. In the near three and a half years he had been in prison, only Charlie, his best friend, had visited a couple of times. Nathan knew it was an awkward thing, to see the guy who used to have everything in life, pining away, incarcerated. It was hardly the day trip one dreamed about taking. He could totally understand why Charlie didn’t like to visit very often. Who would? After all, Nathan had few friends. Charlie was probably his only one. And since Nathan had killed his wife, relations with her family had obviously fallen by the wayside. Gabriella was the one person left who might still visit. He glared slightly, chastising himself internally for even thinking it might be her.

He got up quickly from the stiff chair in his cell, and threw down the book. He glanced back at the small mirror over his lavatory and smoothed his straight, black hair quickly. It had grown much longer than he was used to, and fell in his face easily, hiding his dark eyes. He supposed that was a good thing, given the capability of those eyes; the looks which radiated from them often got him into trouble. As he examined his face, he noted the discoloration under his eyes fading, and his complexion smoothing out again. That prison food was hard on the body. And the gray attire he wore daily did nothing for his coloring, but he figured it was better than the damned orange he had had to wear while he was in the county jail awaiting trial.

Always the beauty, you are, Kirkland, the officer said sarcastically. Now, get your pretty ass out here.

Nathan looked back one more time in the mirror, his hope that Gabriella had finally come still alive in his head.

He followed the officer to the visitor area, and acknowledged as the man motioned for him to take a seat by the bullet proof window. Nathan’s eyes widened when he saw his visitor. It wasn’t Gabriella.

He picked up the phone as did his guest. "What are you doing here?"

Nice to see you, too.

Nathan tried to smile. Sorry. I’m just surprised you came. It’s been such a long time.

His visitor nodded. It took me a while to build up the nerve to see you.

Nathan watched him carefully. He looked as good as he remembered him: still on the thin side, well-dressed, impeccable dark hair, deep brown eyes, well-manicured brows, and those high cheekbones.

You look good, David.

"Ah, a compliment from the mouth of Nathan Kirkland. You have been humbled by your stay here."

Shut up, Nathan grumbled, but secretly missing his old friend’s sarcastic ways. Seriously, why’d you come?

To see you.

"Don’t lie. I know damn well you’re here to act out one of your prison fanta-

sies."

David laughed. Well, no, that’s not why I came, but now that you mention it ...

I knew it. Nathan grinned. You’re such a whore.

No, I’m not. Really, I came to see you. How are you?

How do you think?

David looked his friend over slowly. Well, you look pretty good for a guy who’s spent three and a half years behind bars.

You’re keeping track?

Of course. Ever since the trial. I followed it very closely. Everyone did. You were all over the television.

Great.

Don’t tell me you didn’t love it.

I didn’t. You know I don’t like attention.

You better get used to it. Once you get out, you may be the talk of the town.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

When are you getting out?

Two and a half years.

Wow! That’s quick.

Speak for yourself. Every day here feels like a fucking eternity.

David nodded sympathetically. I can imagine. He looked towards the other visitor stalls. Are you coming back to Phoenix?

Nathan thought for a moment before he answered. I had wanted to. It’s like my only home. Now, I’m not so sure I’ll be welcome there.

When have you ever cared what people thought of you?

There’s a difference between being arrogant and having a prison record. I can’t have people thinking they can’t do business with me because of my past. I have to get my company back. I just have to start over.

You will. You’ll make it. I have faith in you.

Nathan looked into David’s eyes as best as he could through the glaring glass. He always saw a genuine quality in David’s face, a true sincerity. I missed you, he said quietly into the receiver.

You did?

Nathan thought for a moment. "Yes. I guess I always missed you. Even when you left me for your lover," he added sarcastically.

David laughed. Now don’t lie, Nathan. You know why I had to leave. You’re the one who couldn’t handle my feelings for you.

Shut up! Nathan hissed into the phone. I don’t need every guy here thinking I’m gay, damn it.

There you go again, homophobia setting in.

Look, in this place, being a fag is as low as the guys who do kids. Neither of them last long here.

David smiled that half-approving grin. I understand. It’s a different mentality here.

"There is no mentality here. That’s the problem."

David nodded. It must be hard for a man like you to live in an environment like this.

Nathan looked down at his free hand, noticing the callus on his wrist from the handcuffs he wore constantly. It is. But I’m just not me while I’m here. I’m someone else. It’s the only way I can get through alive. They’d knock the real Nathan Kirkland down. Way down. So I have to blend. It’s the only way. And even with that, I still stand out. They constantly try to get me to fight by talking about my money, my dead wife, my pretty boy looks—

Well, you are kind of pretty.

Fuck off, Nathan growled, and then smiled slightly when he saw his friend grin.

But you’ve held your temper?

I have. He stared at David. Are you proud of me?

I am. And I’m impressed. He looked down at the counter and traced an imaginary line with his forefinger. I wish you could’ve held your temper the night you killed your wife.

Nathan rolled his eyes. Great. Here comes the lecture.

No, I won’t lecture you. I think you know what you did was wrong. Let’s just say I was quite surprised when they linked you to her murder. You seemed so happy together that last time I saw you and her at the symphony. What happened?

Nathan was quiet for a few moments. Everything. I grew tired of her, she with me. She changed, I changed. I found someone else ...

Hmmm. The other woman .

It’s not like that. All I wanted was a divorce. Honestly. She didn’t want to give me one.

Do you blame her? You were quite the catch. He stopped. Until you became a murderer.

Is that what you really think of me now? Nathan glared. I’m not a fucking murderer, David.

Fair enough. I’m not judging you.

Shit, it’s hard to tell.

Look, Nathan, I have to be honest with you. I’ve been thinking of you ever since you got arrested. I wanted to visit you when you were in the county jail, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see you like that. I didn’t want to remember you looking like a prisoner. David looked away from his friend. I always visualize you like the first time we met at the concert: you had on a gray suit, looking so classically conservative, but with an edge about you ...

Nathan observed his friend in silence, remembering the night along with him.

"I saw that tanned body of yours. I knew from the way your suit fit, how great a physique you had. Then, there was your jet black, straight hair slicked away from your face, making you look really Italian, and your eyes ... David returned his focus to Nathan. You looked like a lost soul who hated the world. Those eyes just got me that night. It’s like you never have to say anything; your eyes tell it all.

Sad, mad. Hot. David cocked an eyebrow. But mostly sad. I instantly fell for

you.

Nathan was experiencing feelings he thought long gone. Shit, shut up, already, would you? he whispered hard into the phone. I’ve gotten through three and a half years, here; I don’t need to be butt-fucked now.

David grinned. I’m sorry. But I have missed you. When I saw you with your fiancee that night, I really was happy for you. I was hoping everything would work out for you, if that was what you wanted. Apparently it wasn’t.

Nathan was silent, unable to look at his friend.

So, after your arrest, I couldn’t stand to see you not at all like yourself. I stayed away, even though I followed every twist and turn in your case. Congratulations on the verdict. Manslaughter. Wow. That was quite an achievement on the public defender’s part.

Yeah. I owe him a lot. Nathan looked back up at David, anxious to change the subject. "So what about you? Where’s your lover? Outside in the car making up prison games you two can play later at home? Who gets to be the guard? You or him?" Nathan sneered.

David shook his head. Oh Nathan, you have so much to learn. He paused for a moment, and then spoke solemnly. We’re not together anymore. Oh?

David nodded. "I came home one evening after work, and he had a friend over. They were in bed. He looked away, a sourness coming over his face. He told me he was tired of being monogamous, and said he wanted out of the relationship. So he left."

Nathan didn’t know what to say. He had never consoled a guy before on losing a guy. I’m sorry?

David chuckled. No, you’re not. You’re typical, selfish, Nathan Kirkland. How does this all relate to me, you’re thinking.

I’m not.

You are. He paused. Anyway, I’m alone again. And I thought of you the other day, and believed I was strong enough to see you again.

You know I always enjoyed your company, David. I just couldn’t take it where you wanted it to go—

Yes, yes, I don’t need a repeat performance.

There was an awkward silence between the two, before Nathan finally spoke up. Hey, I’m teaching.

What?

"Teaching. Here. The warden talked me into it. Vocational. Beginning Construction 101." He laughed.

"That’s great! Maybe you’ll enjoy teaching like me. Maybe when you get

out—"

Never. I’m just doing it to knock time off my sentence.

Two and a half more years.

Two and a half more years, Nathan repeated. Not like I’m counting or anything.

I am, David said seriously. I’ll circle the day you get out. And I’ll drive you back home to Phoenix.

Nathan looked at him strangely. You’d do that?

David tried to smile. Yes, he said softly.

Watching him carefully, Nathan spoke. Tell me the truth. It doesn’t bother you that I killed someone?

David rolled his eyes. Look, I’m not crazy about what happened, but I can’t stop how I feel. I still care about you. And I still like you. I guess I’m the fool.

Even though his friend was gay, Nathan felt good knowing someone besides Charlie (who was as heterosexual as they came) was out there for him. You’re not a fool, he said seriously. You just have good taste in men. Nathan grinned suddenly.

David smiled wide. I’ll be here in two and a half years. Don’t forget me.

Oh, I won’t. You’re one of the few who hasn’t forgotten me. He thought of Gabriella for a brief moment and felt himself grow angry.

Just wear a suit when you leave. David winked.

Nathan shook his head and grinned. "And give