Page 6 of Buy Back My Love

I stripped out of my uniform and stood under the harsh light in my bra and underwear, staring at myself in the scratched mirror. I was twenty-nine now. I’d gone in at twenty-four.

There were faint lines near my eyes that hadn’t been there before. My body was smaller, leaner from years of eating food that rarely tasted like anything, and my hair fell past my shoulders in the thick braids I’d done two nights earlier. Prison hadn’t killed me, but standing there looking at myself, I couldn’t tell how much of the old me was left.

I pulled on the clothes JB sent. The jeans felt strange around my legs, the sweater smelled like a department store, and the boots were so clean I hesitated before putting them on.

Everything fit, which meant Anika must’ve told him my size. Between the two of them, there wasn’t much that slipped through the cracks.

JB had done what he could while I was inside. He visited when he could, kept money on my books, and sent letters even after I stopped answering most of them. He never missed my birthday or Christmas and never let more than two weeks pass without hearing my voice.

Still, loving somebody while I was locked up was different from being outside with them. I didn’t know what me and JB would be once there weren’t prison walls between us, and I was tired of trying to figure it out from inside that place.

The final gate opened shortly after nine. I stepped forward, then paused because I couldn’t stop looking up. For five years, the sky had always come with fences and razor wire. Now it just didn’t. It stretched farther than I remembered, and for a second, it felt like the whole world had gotten bigger while I’d been gone.

I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my cheeks. For five years, I’d only gone outside when somebody else allowed it. I walked inside painted lines, surrounded by guards and fences, with even fresh air scheduled into my day. Now nobody was counting the minutes or telling me where to stand. I could’ve stayed right there soaking it in forever.

Then I heard my name.

“Lee.”

My eyes opened, and there he was. JB stood across the parking lot beside a black truck polished so clean the sunlight flashed against the hood. For a second, neither of us moved.

I’d seen him plenty of times over the last five years during visitation, always with correctional officers nearby and somebody keeping track of how much time we had left. This wasn’t that. There was nobody standing between us and no guard waiting to tell us our time was up.

He looked like the man who had visited me every chance he got, but standing out here, I couldn’t help comparing him to the JB I’d left five years ago. Back then, he kept his hair low and still had that baby face that made people think he was sweeter than he was. He’d started growing his locs after I got locked up, and now they hung around his shoulders, freshly twisted and pulled away from his face. He’d filled out too, broader through his shoulders and chest, his black T-shirt fitting close across both. His face was fuller now, his jaw more pronounced than I remembered. He looked grown. His skin was the same warm brown, his dark eyes still slightly hooded, his lips still full, and that crooked smile had been getting him out of trouble with me since we were fourteen. A diamond chain rested against his neck, and a heavy watch caught the sunlight when he shifted beside the truck.

His eyes moved slowly over my face, my clothes, and the plastic bag hanging from my hand before his smile widened.

“Come here.”

My feet moved before my mind caught up. I dropped the bag, and JB met me halfway.

The second his arms closed around me, everything I thought prison had beaten out of me came rushing back at once. I buried my face against his chest and held on. His hands pressed against my back, holding me so tight it almost hurt, and when my knees weakened, he held me up.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

A sob tore out of me before I could stop it. Then his chest shook against my cheek, and I realized he was crying too.

“I’m sorry,” he said into my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lee.”

I gripped the back of his shirt. He had apologized before, in letters, during visits, and over the phone. I never knew what to say when he did.

The drugs weren’t mine. We both knew that, but there wasn’t a phone call or prison visit where we could talk about why he’d put them there or when he’d done it. The feds were always listening.

For five years, I wondered how he’d let my dream become collateral damage. Some days I was angry enough to hate him. Other days I missed him so bad I cried myself to sleep. The government wanted me to help them build a case against him. They wanted names, connections, anything that would tie JB to what they found inside my shop.

I gave them nothing.

“You came,” I whispered.

JB pulled back just far enough to look at me, his eyes red. “Where else would I be?”

I couldn’t answer.

He cupped my face with both hands and kissed me. It wasn’t one of the quick kisses we’d been allowed during visits. This one was deep and desperate, with five years of letters, phone calls, anger, and missing each other behind it.

His hands slid into my hair and held me there like he was scared I’d disappear if he let go. I kissed him back just as hard because whatever else I felt toward JB, I had missed this. I had missed him.

When we finally pulled apart, we stayed close, our foreheads touching while we caught our breath. JB brushed his thumb across my cheek before looking down at the clear plastic bag I’d dropped on the pavement.