Page 20 of Thick

“Biker falls for prison guard in this heartwarming tale of sacrifice and--”

“Stop,” she blurted. “Tell me this guy’s a prisoner.”

“He is.”

“Oh, my God. This is going to be gold.”

“Even if he dies?”

“Why does he have to die? Give me the details.”

“He meets the woman who stands guard at the hospital entrance. He’s being given second-rate healthcare for colon cancer. They develop a friendship. She learns that his legal case is a crock of shit, and she appeals it without him knowing. Meanwhile, he’s dying of cancer, and he knows it. She knows he’s being treated, but has no idea of the extent of it. At the same time they accept her appeal for his new trial, he dies.”

“What the fuck?” she gasped. “Let him live. You’re a big boy. Figure it out, and write it. If it wasn’t the last book of that series you’re writing, I’d take it to Random House. Send me a copy when you’re done.”

“Okay.”

“That wasn’t very convincing,” she said. “It all comes from state of mind, Tate. You need an attitude adjustment. Get on your bike, ride along the beach, and pay attention to everything around you. When you get home, maybe you’ll see things differently.”

“I might do that.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No. Not that I can think of.”

“Write me that manuscript,” she said. “The dystopian.”

“I will.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Talk to you soon, Michelle.”

“Bye.”

I hung up the phone and stared blankly at the computer’s screen. I’d become attached to the characters and loved the story. But. Michelle was right. I couldn’t let the hero die. If I continued to write, however, I feared that’s where things were headed. I needed to take a break and see if there was any way for me to redirect the course of my character’s lives.

There was only one place that I could find true serenity. The ocean. I went there each time I needed to think, clear my mind of clutter, or make a difficult decision. It was where I spent all my time as a kid, and where I believed heaven to be.

In my mind, it was where my parent’s souls remained.

I walked along the beach that afternoon until the sun folded behind a layer of low lying clouds. Upon realizing the day had escaped me, I sat cross-legged in the sand and watched the sunset.

In doing so, my mind cleared, and all the pieces fell into place. As if someone had flipped a switch, everything in the story made sense.

I gazed at the darkening horizon and grinned.

The book was about me.

Chapter Nine

Bobbi

Sitting in my father’s kitchen while solving the world’s problems over a cup of coffee was how I spent most of my Sunday mornings. It was something we both looked forward to. I peered over the top of my coffee cup and considered telling him how different my life had become after Tate left. Not seeing him or talking to him was troubling me much more than I would have expected.

When it came to discussing matters with my father, I needed to be prepared for a debate regarding the topics I chose. I simply wasn’t sure that I wanted to have a heated conversation about something as arguable as me having interest in a biker who was a felon.

He gazed into his cup of coffee and then shook his head. “I think this son-of-a-bitch has a hole in it. I would have sworn I just filled it.” He stood and turned away. “Have they fired that asshole, Perry, yet?”