Chapter 2
I sat down heavily on the couch next to Dad.
The deed felt heavy in my hands.
The bills felt heavier.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, my voice rough.
Dad reached over and touched my arm. His hand was thin, trembling.
"You had enough to deal with in there," he said. "I didn't want you distracted. Didn't want you fighting. I wanted you to come home whole."
I looked at him. Really looked at him.
He was thinner than I remembered. His face was gaunt. His eyes had dark circles under them.
He'd been sick while I was lifting weights in the yard.
While I was counting days.
While I was dreaming of coming home.
He'd been fighting alone.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Lung," he said quietly. "Early stages. Doctors say treatable. But expensive."
I flipped through the bills.
Thousands. Tens of thousands.
We had nothing.
The trailer was paid off. That was it.
And Tyler wanted even that.
"I'll take care of it," I said.
Dad shook his head.
"Ryan, you just got out. You need to find work. Stay clean. Stay out of trouble. I don't want you—"
"I said I'll take care of it," I repeated.
I stood up. Walked to the window.
Tyler was gone. But he'd be back.
With his "friends."
With more threats.
And I had to be ready.
For him.
For the bills.
For Dad.
I looked at my reflection in the glass.
Prison had changed me. Hardened me.
But it had also given me something.
May you like
Discipline. Strength. The ability to endure.
I was going to need all of it.
