Pining - Stephanie Rose Page 0,1

an animal.

“You said that you wished you could make this up to me.” She clutched the back of my head. “Here’s how. Come out of that place a man ready to start a new life. Be who I know you really are. I have every faith that’s what will happen, in hopefully a shorter time than we’re told today. And you need to believe it, too. Promise me.” Her hands gripped my cheeks, and all I could do was nod.

I pulled her into my arms and buried my head in her neck, taking in a sharp breath through my nose as if that would make the tears threatening to spill evaporate.

“Ti amo, Mamí.”

She laughed through the sobs rolling through her. I hadn’t called her Mamí since I was ten.

“I love you, too. Always.”

I watched as she exited my cell and joined our lawyer to head to the courtroom.

Taking in a long breath, I straightened my spine and hoped it was strong enough for what I was about to endure.

I vowed to make good on my promise. Maybe I didn’t have anything else to give to anyone, but I’d do whatever I could to give her this.

The man who left jail would be better than the boy who walked in.

Anthony

Three years later

“When can you start?”

I fell back in the chair, squinting toward the other side of the desk, a hundred percent positive I’d heard wrong. That sounded a lot like a job offer, and nothing in life—well at least in mine—was ever that easy.

“Something wrong, Anthony?” Mr. Falco, the owner of Falco Custom Bikes and possibly my new boss, met my gaze with a chuckle.

“Wrong, no. But …” I trailed off. My mother always warned me to beware of things that seemed too good to be true, and that was exactly how this felt. “All right, since I’m sure you looked at the application form, you already know. So, I’ll just come out and say it. This would be the first full time job I’ve had since I got out of jail, and you just sounded like you wanted to hire me after barely speaking to me. Forgive me for being skeptical, but can I ask why?”

I woke up this morning with a knot in my stomach so tight, it was hard to breathe. No, this wasn’t my only chance at a job, but I doubted I’d ever find one this good. I loved building things and getting my hands dirty. Well, dirty in a good way. The hours my friend Rory was able to throw me at his tattoo shop plus the odd jobs I held around the neighborhood were barely enough to make rent on my cheap studio apartment, but with this job plus the shifts at the tattoo shop, I could not only cover my bills but maybe even look into college classes at night.

At twenty-one, I should’ve had a better source of income than depending on any random shift that I could pick up, but I’d been afraid to apply for anything worthwhile and confirm what I’d already known when I got out. It didn’t matter how you tried to clean yourself up, because no one really cared about what you’ve done since, all that mattered was that you were there to begin with. I didn’t want to hope for possibilities that wouldn’t fit into my reality. This job definitely fell into that category, but my parole officer pushed me to apply when I’d mentioned the job posting at our last meeting.

Despite how I tried to convince myself that it would be only a practice interview, since there would be no chance of me actually getting to work here once they found out I had a record, I really wanted this damn job.

“You came highly recommended. I was told you could fix anything with an engine.” Josh shot me a wry grin. “Your parole officer is a family friend. If he vouched for you, I’m sure you’re as perfect as he says you are for this job.”

A laugh slipped out before I could help myself. I should’ve known Gary, my parole officer who’d become a family friend, would have called ahead, and the thought made me smile.

I’d taken mechanics classes while I was away and aced every one. Working with tools was like breathing to me, the oddly natural feeling second only to having a pencil in my hand.

“I hate to speak in absolutes, but I’ve never come across anything I couldn’t fix or rebuild. Building bikes