Cherry Pie by Samantha Kane Read Free Book Online Page A

interested but nonjudgmental. “How long did that go on?”
    “Guy I started with was a trainer for the team. When I started asking too often, he stopped answering my calls. I guess I wasn’t that good.”
    John looked away for a minute, and Conn just sat there. He’d been through worse shit than telling some stranger about his past. Whatever John said couldn’t touch him. He drummed his fingers on his thighs, waiting. He tipped his head to the side, felt a satisfying crunch in his neck, and was pissed when he felt his eye twitch as John turned back to him.
    “You didn’t say how long.”
    Conn stared at him, and John stared back. He was impassive and immoveable. He looked like he’d sit there until Conn answered.
    “Maybe another two years. It wasn’t hard to find guys who’d pay for it, one way or another. I actually had some money in the bank for a while.” He smiled grimly. “Georgia took that too.”
    “What did Wilkins mean when he said no panhandling or vagrancy?” John’s voice was tight. It triggered things inside Conn that had just started to loosen up, things that were afraid of their own shadow. Those things didn’t belong here, in this house.
    “That’s what the second charge was,” Conn explained, looking out the kitchen window. “The court-appointed lawyer and the judge were okay. They changed the charge from prostitution.”
    “How long were you in jail?” John’s voice was flat.
    “A year. It was a first offense, and I was already pretty successful in rehab by the time it went in front of the judge. Another two years’ probation for a felony conviction.” Conn could see John doing the math.
    “You waited a year before coming back. Why?”
    Conn got up from the table and walked over to the door that faced the living room. He looked out at the quiet street. “Mama was dead. I didn’t think I had a reason to come back.”
    He heard John get up behind him. “Then why did you?” The water came on in the sink, and Conn could see John in his mind, rinsing out his bottle and carefully putting it in the recycle bin. He smiled.
    “I couldn’t find who I was. And I thought maybe I was back here.”
    There was complete silence behind him for a minute or two.
    “Were you?” John sounded a little choked up.
    Conn turned to face him. “I’m still looking. But I’m finding a few pieces scattered here and there.”
    John turned to look out the back window. “You can’t break and not scatter,” he said quietly. “If you’re lucky, you find all the pieces.”
    Conn shook his head, even though John couldn’t see him. “No, sometimes you don’t need all the pieces. Sometimes you’re stronger when you glue it back together without the extras.”
    Conn could see John smile as he looked down at the counter and swept some imaginary crumbs into the sink. “As long as the glue’s strong enough, I suppose.”
    “Mercury makes pretty good glue,” Conn said. He grabbed the bag full of his new clothes from where he’d dropped it on the floor and left John looking at Digger’s grave out the window.

Chapter Eight
     
    John took another drag off the cigarette. He blew out the smoke and held the butt up, staring at the glowing tip in the dark. It was pitch-black outside, not a star in sight. Maybe it would rain tonight. He set his foot down and gave a push, setting the bench rocking again. He left his other leg over the arm.
    The front door opened, and the screen creaked as Connor opened it just enough to lean against the doorjamb. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
    John took another drag. His mouth felt like the ashtray sitting on the table next to him. “I don’t. Not anymore.”
    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Connor cross his arms and smile crookedly. “You don’t, huh?”
    John blew a smoke ring. “Nope.”
    “When did you quit?” Connor moved out onto the porch and quietly shut the door behind him. The bastard had nothing on but his jeans unbuttoned over a pair of the