Breathe
Breathe
Sloan Parker
www.loose-id.com
Breathe
Copyright © November 2010 by Sloan Parker
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book
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eISBN 978-1-60737-890-7
Editor: Antonia Pearce
Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs
Printed in the United States of America
Published by
Loose Id LLC
PO Box 425960
San Francisco CA 94142-5960
www.loose-id.com
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical
events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either
the product of the author"s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be
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Dedication
To Mom and Dad. Thank you for all the love and support.
Acknowledgement
My sincerest thanks to Antonia, Treva, and everyone at Loose Id for giving this
story a chance and for the wonderful words of advice and support.
Special thanks to my critique partner, Connie, for helping polish this story. And
thank you to all of my local RWA chapter mates, especially the B-I-C gang and all
the brainstormers for sharing your knowledge, as well as the wonderful
encouragement you’ve offered this past year.
Thank you to the readers and other writers who have connected with me on
Twitter, Facebook, my blog, and other places. I appreciate your comments, laughs,
and cheers.
Lastly, but certainly not least, thank you to my Rosie for…well, everything.
Chapter One
Hope you found some peace in jail. You never will again.
Lincoln McCaw read the note one last time and crushed the paper in his fist.
The bus jerked forward as it came to a stop. No need to check. He was home. The
smell of hog manure from the surrounding farmlands and the burning steel of his
hometown"s only manufacturing plant filtered in through the crack in the window
one seat over. Funny how he couldn"t feel the coolness of the winter air hissing in
through that crack.
Maybe he never would again.
He stuffed the wadded-up note into his duffel bag, stood, and headed to the
front of the bus. The jail wasn"t far from Edgefield, but he hadn"t wanted Nancy
waiting for him outside. Who knew what sort of people lurked outside a jailhouse.
He laughed at that. Who was he afraid of? Men like him?
Six months in the county jail. His fellow inmates and the deputies probably
thought he was the worst of the lot. He"d spent more days there than most of the
guys who came and went. Some spent less time at the state pen.
But the jail was behind him now. It was over. Wasn"t it?
Not according to the latest “love letter” he had tucked in his bag.
He stepped off the bus. The driver shut the door and pulled away as soon as
Lincoln"s boots hit the pavement. Not surprising. Most didn"t want to stick around
the three-stoplight town. But Lincoln did. He had a lot of reasons to be there. A lot
of reasons he"d never leave.
Clear plastic walls surrounded the bus stop bench, cracked on all three sides
and coated in a slime no amount of scrubbing with the industrial strength cleaner
they"d used at the jail would remove. No one would wait inside the enclosure, no
matter how desperate they were for a bus out of Edgefield.
He checked anyway. Splinters covered the faded wood of the bench. If anyone
sat there, they"d get an ass full of tiny wooden daggers. Not the best way to ride the
bus. Edgefield was so damn inconsequential nobody at the Metro Transit Authority
probably gave a shit about the upkeep on the small-town stop that made up the
farthest point of the outlying community bus route.
Home sweet home.
“Lincoln!” Nancy crossed the parking lot behind the bench, waving her arms
through the air, a smile spread across her face. She quickened her stride. He did the
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same and hugged her when they met. The warm embrace reminded him of their
mom, reminded him one person in the world loved him. She squeezed tighter.
“Nance, I can"t breathe.”
“Oh sorry.” She released him and stepped back. She wore a brown and orange
waitress uniform and those heavy-duty shoes nurses wore, designed for support and
long-wearing comfort. Hers were dingy, nowhere close to the white they must"ve
started out as, and were on their last leg. They wouldn"t provide much support or
comfort. Her disheveled dark hair fell from the ponytail in several places, and she
had a hint of makeup smudged under and over her eyes. Exhausted. His baby sister
was working herself to death.
Despite that, her eyes shone at him. The smile was also a reminder of their
mom. Nancy had always taken after their mother in a physical way. Whereas he
looked more like their dad with skin tone and features that gave a nod to their
Iroquois heritage.
“Just missed you,” she said.
“Missed you too.”
“I wish you would"ve let me visit. Was it bad?”
“Nah. It was okay.” No need to tell her about the gray food that smelled of dish
soap, the foul stench from the unwashed inmates he shared space with, the lack of
privacy, the endless hard surfaces of metal bars and concrete floors, or the countless
cracks about his short-lived racing career from the two good ol" boys who"d
recognized him.
He"d hated every minute of his time there.
And he deserved far worse.
“Come on. I parked over here.” She tilted her head to the left and pointed to
the vehicle she"d driven. His black pickup. The damn thing looked huge in the
empty lot.
He missed the truck. He also hated the hell out of it. Like it was the truck"s
fault.
Nancy had parked next to the County Cooler, an ice-cream stand run by the
Drakes, the elderly couple who"d owned the place since Lincoln had been a kid.
Every winter they boarded up the stand and headed south to visit their grandkids
in Texas. When the place closed, it always had the look of a shack you"d see Bo and
Luke Duke plow the General Lee through as Rosco P. Coltrane chased them down.
In Lincoln"s day, local teens needing a dry place to hold their beerfest orgy sneaked
in during the long winter months while the Drakes were out of town.
An open window near the garbage bin was missing several slats of wood.
Lincoln smirked. Same window he"d used when he first had sex with Tommy
Vanderline during their sophomore year of high school. Nice to know some things
never changed.
“You wanna drive?” Nancy asked.
Breathe
3
His smirk vanished. “No.” He yanked open the passenger-side door, tossed in
his bag, and sat.
Then again—sometimes everything changed.
Nancy slid into the driver"s side and wrenched the seat forward until her feet
touched the pedals. “Sorry. I thought you might want to. You haven"t tried it out
since it came back from the body shop.”
He leaned his elbow on the armrest of the door and stared out the side window.
“Can"t. Restricted to work privileges. There and back. That"s it.”
They drove in silence, the darkness surrounding them in the cab, the sound of
the truck"s heater filling the void of unasked questions until he couldn"t stand not
knowing.
“Did he hit you again?”
He would"ve missed her slight nod if it weren"t for the dim display of the
dashboard. She turned away from him as though checking the side street traffic at
the next intersection.
“You didn"t call the cops?”
“I should have,” she said.
“Fuck, yes, you should have.” Lincoln stabbed at the door lock with two fingers.
Lock. Unlock. Lock. Unlock. He took a deep breath and let off on the button. She
didn"t need him being an ass. “When did he come back?”
“The Friday after you left.”
“How long did he stay?”
“Until a couple of weeks ago.”
“Jesus, Nance!”
“I needed—I couldn"t afford the hospital bills without him, or her medicine
without his insurance.”