Chapter 1
I got off the prison bus and walked straight home to the trailer park in Texas—just in time to see my brother Tyler choking our dad to make him sign the house over.
I froze at the screen door.
Dad's face was turning purple.
His hands were clawing at Tyler's wrists.
The sale papers were spread out on the coffee table, a pen lying next to them.
"Sign it, old man," Tyler snarled, shaking him. "Sign it and I'll let you breathe."
I'd been in prison for five years.
Five years of thinking about coming home.
Five years of promising myself I'd stay out of trouble.
That promise shattered in a heartbeat.
I kicked the screen door open.
It flew off its hinges.
Tyler looked up, shocked.
His grip loosened just enough for Dad to gasp for air.
"Ryan?" Tyler whispered, his eyes going wide.
I didn't say a word.
I crossed the room in two strides and punched him in the jaw as hard as I could.
He went flying backward, crashing into the kitchen counter.
Dishes shattered everywhere.
I stood over him, my fists still clenched.
Five years of prison workouts.
Five years of anger.
All of it behind that one punch.
Tyler groaned, holding his face.
"You're supposed to be in there until next year," he mumbled through blood.
"Good behavior," I said, my voice cold. "Now get up."
He scrambled to his feet, backing toward the door.
"This is family business," he said, trying to sound tough. "Dad's too old to take care of this place. I'm doing him a favor."
I looked at Dad.
He was sitting in his chair, coughing, holding his throat.
Tears were running down his face.
He looked at me and mouthed "thank you."
I turned back to Tyler.
"You were gonna let him die for a trailer?" I said.
Tyler reached into his jacket pocket.
I tensed, ready to strike again.
But he pulled out his phone instead.
"You think you're tough, Ryan?" he sneered. "You think you can just walk back in here and take over? I got friends now. Real friends. Not like the losers you ran with."
He dialed a number and held the phone to his ear.
"Yeah, it's me," he said, never taking his eyes off me. "We got a problem. The ex-con is back. And he's being difficult."
I stepped toward him.
He backed out the door.
"This isn't over," he yelled from the yard. "That trailer is mine. And you're going back to prison where you belong."
I slammed the door and locked it.
Then I turned to Dad.
He was reaching under his chair cushion.
He pulled out a small metal box.
His hands were shaking so bad he could barely open it.
Inside was a deed.
And a handwritten letter.
Dated two weeks ago.
"I knew Tyler would try something," Dad whispered. "That's why I put the trailer in your name while you were inside. All of it. Every last piece."
I stared at the paper.
My name was right there.
And then I noticed something else in the box.
A stack of medical bills.
Thousands of dollars.
Dad was sick.
May you like
And he hadn't told me.
Because he didn't want me to worry in prison.
