Page 41 of Thick

Allison’s knees went weak.

The judge removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. He thanked God for the justice he believed had been served. As a matter of record, and of respect, he promptly polled the jurors, asking each of them if the verdict read was the verdict they’d reached. After they all agreed, he thanked them for their service, and released them.

All but tripping over her feet, Allison shuffled along the aisle, down the steps, and to the attorney’s side. “Is that it?”

The attorney smiled. “That’s it.”

“When can he be released?” she asked excitedly. “I need to get him transferred to a better hospital.”

“As soon as the paperwork’s processed.”

“How long does it take?”

“A few minutes,” the attorney responded. “He’ll be released this afternoon.”

She wiped the tears from her cheeks and somehow managed to swallow the lump that had risen high in her throat. “God bless you.”

She lifted each foot, removed her high heeled shoes, and placed them in her purse. She then walked nonchalantly toward the door in her stockinged feet. After stepping into the hallway, she glanced over each shoulder and then rushed to the staircase at the far end of the hallway.

Breathlessly, she leaped down the steps, taking two with each long stride. Upon traveling the three flights and reaching the ground floor, she burst through the door and stepped onto the sidewalk.

She pressed the button on her key fob and sprinted toward her car. Out of breath, and filled with hope, she yanked open the door and jumped inside. She struggled to fit her key in the ignition, eventually dropping it onto the floor. After fumbling to find it for some time, she paused, tilted her head toward the sky, and said a prayer.

“Please. Let me provide this man with the gift of life. It’s all I ask of you, Lord. Becker Wallace may not be perfect, but only one man was, and he was crucified for it. Let me get to him in time, Lord. I humbly ask this of you, and nothing more.”

She reached between her knees and toward the floor. Without searching, her hand landed on the ring of keys. She lifted them to the ignition, and with a shaking hand, pressed the key into the slot and started the car.

“Thank you.”

A scene break gave me reason to pause. I set my Kindle aside and rubbed my eyes. I’d ridden with the characters of the six-book series in the Southern California sun. I’d cried tears with them. I’d stood by their side at funerals, and when the ultrasound revealed the sex of their children.

The men were real. Their Ol’ Ladies were my besties. I now understood the brotherhood. I respected their codes, bylaws, and feeling of necessity to commit crimes in an effort to protect the innocent from peril.

Becker Wallace was the best character ever written. My heart was in my throat over what might lie in the pages ahead. I felt sorry for him, because he had no other choice than to suffer his fate without the support of the men he’d grown to love.

He had no one on his visitation list. As much as the club’s men wanted to see him, they couldn’t. In Becker’s opinion, to allow them to visit would be selfish. It would place each of them under the scrutiny of the board of prisons, and quite possibly earn them a cell right next to his.

He loved them too much to take the chance.

To think that Becker and Crip would never see one another again knotted my stomach into a wad. I hated Crip at first. I’d mistakenly perceived his love and loyalty to the men of the club as annoyance and arrogance. I now saw him as a man of honor, and I respected him.

Allison had to get to Becker in time. She just had to.

I inhaled a deep breath and prayed that she made it before it was too late.

Becker Wallace awoke. Weakened from the cancer and groggy from the medication, he looked at the man who stood over him and blinked. For an instant, he believed the man was the prison’s warden.

“Mr. Wallace, I’m Mr. Price, the Warden. The men behind me are going to move you to a stretcher. They’ll be taking you out of here.”

Becker fought against his pain. He gripped the empty bunk above and pulled himself to his feet. Assuming his cell was being inspected under the prison’s lottery system for shake-downs, he stood before the warden on quivering legs.

He stood not out of a feeling of necessity, but out of respect. The warden was the highest-ranking officer of the prison, and as much as Becker detested the legal system, he’d been taught to respect authority.

“Have a seat, son,” the warden said. “These men are taking you to the infirmary. You’re being transported out of here. You’re leaving.”

Becker feared he didn’t have the energy to be moved to another prison. The thought of never seeing Allison again came to mind. He rejected the thought, and his eyes thinned in opposition. “I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here.”

“I’m sorry, son. You can’t stay. You’ve been exonerated.”