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I’d never been inside a federal penitentiary. Honestly, the whole experience was moving in a kind of deliberate slow-motion movie. Like, I was there, and yet I wasn’t there. Through the whole process of being searched and escorted through the massive facility, it felt like an out-of-body experience. As if my conscious self was floating around behind my body, tethered somehow with this flimsy sort of otherworldly string. A soul kite, dipping and weaving on a blustery spring day.
Noah was at my side, terrified of just about everything he was seeing but insistent on being there as my support person. He’d adamantly refused to wait in the car or back at the hotel.
I was deeply touched by his bravery. He had his own demons to deal with, but he was being all kinds of John Constantine today. Knowing he was there, even though he could say nothing or participate in any way, bolstered me. Hell, maybe it was Noah holding the string of my soul kite. I hoped he had a good grip on it.
We were led into a stark room by two correction officers. My stomach was working on the scrambled eggs and toast I’d made myself eat. Noah reasoned that having food in my belly would give all that anxious acid something to do instead of climbing up into my throat. Made sense. We’d see if I could keep it down. The room was small. A prick of claustrophobia poked me. There were tables set up, three of them. Two facing the front of the room where a long table was backed with the American flag on one end and the state flag of North Carolina on the other. Four people sat at that long table, three men and one woman, all in business clothing. Placards with their names and their occupation—parole commissioner—in front of them.
There was also the state seal on the wall behind the table of parole board members. A TV sat in the corner, attached to a DVD player.
“You’re the victim?” the woman in the dark blue suit asked, shuffling some papers. “Sander William March, here to speak on the parole hearing of inmate number 107698, Wade Clemens Hillgrove?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied in my best respectful Southern boy manner.
“Have a seat at the table on the left. Your attorney will not be in attendance, but he has forwarded to us a video tape from the other victim, Kimberly Ann Hillgrove.”
That fucking lawyer was so fired. “Yes, ma’am, that’s my older sister, and she was also a victim of Mr. Hillgrove.”
She nodded, slid some glasses onto her flat nose, and started reading again.
I sat down at the table, my letter in my hand, damp and crinkled. My tie was too tight, my dress shirt too small, my jacket too hot. Noah was seated behind me, in a small gallery of sorts that held maybe fifteen chairs.
Time ticked by. A tall, older, black man entered, introduced himself as the DA, and then sat down beside me. I had a vague memory of him from the trial. Clayton Diggs. Yeah, he had been nice to Kimmy and me.
“Do you have your victim impact statement?” Mr. Diggs asked, pulling out papers from a well-used briefcase.
“Yes, sir.” I patted my letter.
“Very good.”
“I’m not sure why my lawyer’s not coming.”
“Death in the family,” the DA informed me. “We’ll be fine without him though, so don’t worry. When you read your letter, just be honest. Speak from the heart and tell the parole board how the crimes committed against you have impacted your life. Also, make sure you tell them how your life will be impacted if Mr. Hillgrove is released on parole.”
The door opened and another man in a suit walked in, talking on a cell phone. He was short, handsome, and confident. “Who’s that?”
“The inmate’s attorney.”
I looked back over my shoulder at Noah. He was on his phone, probably telling Mat what was going on. My gaze moved from Noah in his black suit and perfectly knotted red tie to the man who was now representing Wade.
“Why do prisoners get a lawyer?”
“Inmates have the right to counsel. Don’t worry. We’ve got your testimony as well as your sister’s. Those will be powerful keys in assuring this man will stay behind bars until he’s completed his sentence. If not for budget cuts and prison over-crowding, we’d not even be sitting here today, but...”
He shrugged. I swallowed. The door opened yet again, and Wade was escorted into the room, shackled, a prison guard on either side of him. I must have sucked in a loud breath because the DA on my right was whispering to me that I would be safe.
Wade sat down at the table next to ours. I could not look away. He was still tall, still powerfully built. The standard tan pants and button-down shirt took nothing away from him. His brown hair had a few more silver streaks in it, and his face was a bit more lined. For a man of forty-five, he was still striking. Ha. Striking. Good word for him. Oh God, I want to puke.
The fucker never looked at me, not once. He whispered with his lawyer, his eyes downcast and resting on the handcuffs on his wrists. I wished I had some water. My throat was dry, my toast and eggs not sitting so well.
“Can I get you anything before we begin?”
I blinked at the DA and shook my head. He gave me a pat on the arm, and when the clock hit nine exactly, that lady in the blue suit started talking.
A lot of what she said went over my head. I was touching on some centering exercises, getting them lined up in case I went off the deep end. Rolling and flattening my letter, the parole officers droned on and on. They talked about parole laws, obligations, and rehabilitation. My gaze flittered around then landed on the lady in the dark blue suit when she spoke my sister’s name.
A guard stepped up and fidgeted around with the tape/DVD player and TV forever. Finally, they gave up, and it was announced that my sister’s victim impact video would be entered into the proceedings later due to technical difficulties.
“Are you ready, Mr. March?” one of the male parole commissioners asked.
“Just speak from the heart,” DA Diggs reminded me. I stood up, quaking inside and out, doing my best to focus on the words I’d written and not on the man five feet away who had so scarred me and my sister with words and fists.
“Lady and Gentlemen, my name is Sander March. I’m a victim of assault and battery, emotional and physical abuse. The mental and physical abuse started when I was young, around six, but the emotional abuse from that man...Wade Hillgrove...” God, it was hard to say his name while looking at him. Was he crying? No. No way. Yes. Yes, he was crying. What the hell?
“Sander?”
That was DA Diggs whispering my name.
“Sorry, right.” I coughed to dislodge the wad of fear and hatred from my throat. “I’m ah, I’m not a writer; I’m a hockey player, so I know this impact letter is all over the place. Kimmy wanted to be an author. She made up great stories when we were kids. Then our mother died, and we moved in with aunts, bouncing around from one family to another, until Kimmy met Wade and married him. He started hitting her before they were married, but she was desperate to get me and her out of my uncle’s house. And you know, abusers are always really sorry, and Kimmy wanted to forgive him, so she did.”
I turned the wrinkled paper over.
“From the time I was six, Wade hit her and me. He bullied and threatened. Because of his abuse, my sister is only able to work part-time. She’s been under the care of a therapist since they got divorced, and so have I. Because of Wade and his fists, we’ve both suffered in ways that I think we’re still discovering. Kimmy will never be able to really trust another man. I uhm ...” I snuck a glance at Wade. A tear hung off the end of his nose. “I have anxiety attacks. We’ve paid out all kinds of money for medication, doctor visits, therapy bills, and ongoing PT for injuries inflicted by that man.”
I waved my paper in Wade’s direction.
“If he is released, he’ll be a danger to society and to us, me and Kimmy. We already know he hits kids. I have the scars and hospital records to prove that. Can we trust him around his daughter? Around other children? What if he goes after his ex-wife? He’s a terrible man, violent and cruel, and does not deserve the reward that parole would give him. He’s a monster. A sick, twisted sociopath that feeds on fear and blood, and if you turn him loose, he’ll continue to feed. Maybe not on my sister, niece, or me, but on some other woman, some other kid whose only mistake was... was...hoping for a father figure.” I stopped because I had to. I couldn’t see or breathe well. “Thank you.”
I sat down a bit too quickly. The chair squealed loudly. I’d had no choice but to sit down fast. My knees had buckled as my head swam. I pulled in a few calming breaths, cursing myself for locking my knees. The DA had his say, citing the many offenses and Wade’s sentences, as well as a shitload of other things that were probably important. Most of it floated off because I was working all the calming, centering, grounding, coping techniques I could think of. I refused to crumple here, in front of that motherfucker.
Touch the paper. Feel the words. The table. The pencil. Just focus on those and do not lose control, Sander. Do. Not. Lose. Control. Do not let him win again.
Noah was sitting back there, sniffling. I could hear him but didn’t dare turn my head to look for him because now, it seemed, it was Wade’s turn to talk to the parole board. He pushed to his feet, shoulders bowed, cheeks wet with what I was sure he hoped looked like repentant tears. Wade also had a letter, it seemed. His voice was deep, cracking, but still able to chill my spine.
“Honorable members of the parole board, thank you for agreeing to hear my request. I’m here to ask you for your support in my efforts to rehabilitate myself and possibly be accepted for parole. I have completed all the required regional treatment programs. I have never missed work time and have been as good an inmate that I could possibly be. I’ve learned through counseling and anger support groups what brought me to this place I am now in. I am able to admit that I have a problem, that I will never be able to go without my support groups, and that I accept full responsibility for the crimes that I committed against my beloved wife and her brother, a child that I thought of as my own.”
“Ex-wife and bullshit,” I snarled and was immediately hushed by the DA seated next to me.
Wade wiped at his face with the back of his hand, his gaze remorseful and pained.
“Honorable members, I feel that being incarcerated for this crime has saved my life. I know that I’d have never been able to stop using my fists and words as a means to batter people without the guidance and skills learned inside this facility. Because of my time here, I am a new man, with a sound understanding of how my own insecurity led me to lash out at my darling wife and her brother. Through my time in this prison, I have found the Lord and am sitting now awaiting his final judgment of my soul on the day of atonement.”
“Easy,” DA Diggs whispered when I gagged a little. Right, sure, he had found God. And I was fucking Peggy Fleming. Lying, miserable, motherfucking abusive animal.
“My goal, should I be granted parole, is to continue to better myself, with the guiding hand of God, and open a small chapel where I can preach the word of our Lord, and offer support to inmates who are now on the outside and seeking guidance. Now that I have spent time in prison, I am more aware of the need for programs for parolees, and those who suffer with anger management issues. I want to be a law-abiding citizen, and perhaps, with the glory of God, someday be a kind and loving husband to my wife and daughter.”
“Oh, fuck you!” I shouted, shoving to my feet so hard my chair flew back into a guard who was already sliding an arm around me. “Like I will ever let you near my sister again! You broke her bones, spit on her, kicked her, and hit her with belts. You aimed a gun at her! At me! While your daughter hid in the closet. You think I’m going to let you near us again?!”
I was then removed from the parole hearing and shoved into a cool cinderblock wall by a guard the size of a Peterbilt. With his hand smack in the middle of my heaving chest, I did nothing but stand there, gasping, filled with hate and violent tendencies, my fists balled tightly at my side.
Noah slipped out of the room. “He’s my boyfriend,” Noah said to the guard as he took my fist and pried my fingers open, slipping his in between mine.
“You two see that bench there?” Correctional Officer Smith asked. I tore my gaze from his nametag and looked over at the long wooden bench. I nodded. Noah nodded. “You will sit there, and you will wait for the parole proceeding to end. I will remain out here with you. If either of you think to shout, yell, try to reenter that room, blink, or fart I will be forced to take you down. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir,” we both mumbled and sat down. Noah wriggled into my side as closely as he could. I held him tight, my arm around him, resting on his lower back, my fingers tight on his hip.
“I fucked that up,” I whispered as the sounds of a prison rolled past. Shouts and slamming doors, locks closing, and dreams dying.
“No, you did not,” Noah told me, repeatedly, as we waited. The DA coming out after a painfully long and guilt-ridden wait brought us both to our feet.
“Did they let him go?” I asked, falling into step beside DA Diggs and CO Smith.
“We won’t know for perhaps several weeks.”
“Did I mess things up? With my outburst? Did I make them think he was the good guy?” Not grabbing his lapels and shaking him was tough.
He stopped midway down a long corridor that ran past several offices. The smell of meat wafted down the hall. Lunch was being made.
“Sander, you did well. No one on that board would grant him parole simply because your emotions overtook you. You’re not the first victim to yell and scream, and you won’t be the last.” He put his hand on my shoulder, right where it joined my neck, and squeezed. “We’ve done all we can. It’s in the hands of those four people now. Hopefully, Lady Justice will prevail. I’ll see you when his next hearing comes around. Make sure you contact our office and talk to our new victim witness advocate. We’re revamping our computer systems and we do not want you and your sister to be forgotten among all that data we’re moving over. She’ll be able to guide you in setting up a request for parole notification so that you’ll be informed if Mr. Hillgrove is released. Your sister should do so as well.”
“Okay, yes, thank you,” I mumbled. Noah took his hand and shook it. We followed behind the DA, CO Smith escorting us outside, where we all parted ways. The rain was still falling, but it was lighter now. I leaned heavily into Noah, spent.
“I feel like I just pulled a triple overtime game,” I moaned, the rain speckling my face with cool droplets of water.
“Let’s go back to the hotel and crash. I want to tell Mat all about your amazing letter and how you got all in that fuckwad’s face.” Noah threw his arms around me, kissing me on the lips right there in full view of God, the prison guards, and everyone. “You were so valiant, facing down the person who had been so awful to you. I could never do that.”
I felt anything but brave or heroic. I felt drained and wobbly, scattered, angry, and scared. Waiting to find out if he’d be sprung or not was going to be sheer fucking torture. I pulled Noah closer and breathed in his cologne and the rich smell of rain hitting his warm skin, water collecting on our hair and lashes.
“Let’s just go home,” I murmured against his jugular. And Noah being Noah, he gave me whatever it was I needed or wanted from him.
“Okay, we’ll go home.”
We were about an hour into the drive, and I’d not said one word. Noah shuffled and fidgeted, casting furtive glances my way.
“Are you mad at me?”
I slid into the passing lane and flew around some old dude in a Buick.
“I’m not mad at you.”
Another few minutes went by. Noah’s anxiousness was fueling my own.
“Mat and I don’t fuck much,” he threw out as he picked at the safety strap across his chest. I stared straight ahead, gripping the wheel, and wondering what in the holy ass this confessional was supposed to do. “I mean, he doesn’t fuck me often. I kind of...”
“Noah, really, I’m not sure that this is any of my business.”
“It is. You’re part of us now, and I think that maybe you think I’m giving Mat something that I’m not giving you. I’m not.” He continued to pluck on the seat belt. I stared at traffic, cold and worried, my skin feeling like hot honey had been poured on it and the fire ants were mere inches away. “Since the rape, I can’t...I mean, not often. We try on occasion, but it usually ends with flashbacks and Valium.” His joke fell flat. “I know he likes it, I mean, I know he does, but I just...it’s not. Hell.”
“Noah, sugar...” I looked over at him. His lips were pressed tight, his eyes on the strap keeping him safe. Pity there was nothing we could do to keep our souls protected.
“This new us, I love it. I adore you, and I want us to be us forever.”
“But.”
“But it hurt me when I heard him fucking you.” He pulled in a trembling breath. I hit the turn signal and pulled off along the side of the road. “And I know that it shouldn’t because we’re us now, but it hurt then because you could give him something that I can’t without tears and pain.”
“Noah, if it hurts you, we’ll never do that again.” I reached for him, for his quivering chin, and gently turned his face toward me. His blue eyes were wet with unshed tears. He shook his head as he battled to stay in control. I cupped his face with my right hand, the tick-tick-tick of the turn signal steady in my ear.
“No, no, that’s not why I’m telling you. I want you to know because I want us to be able to be there for the other when one of us can’t.” He nodded bravely, a tear tracking down his cheek. I caught it with my thumb. “I think jealousy is going to happen because it’s a new us. I want to make sure we talk about it—the upsetting things—so we all understand where our heads are. We have to talk to make us work.”
“Right, sure, I totally agree. I will never take him from you. Ever. If push came to shove and our new us was making things bad for you and Mat, I’d back out.” He started to argue. A semi flew past, shaking the car with a massive buffet of wind. I never looked anywhere but into his eyes. “No, I would because you and Mat, you two are the base of us. I’m so grateful to be a part of your relationship, but that’s just it, see, it’s your relationship. I was invited in.”
“It’s not our relationship anymore, it’s our relationship.”
“I really fucking love you,” I whispered and gave him the most undemanding kiss I could give.
“Promise me you’ll always strive to make Mateo happy. No matter if I get bitchy or not.”
“How about I promise to strive to make both of you happy?”
A timid smile played on those kissable lips. “I think that’s a vow we all should make.”
I could not have agreed more.
* * *
We pulled into the slot designated for Noah’s neighbor’s car at ten after ten that night. The reason being that Mat’s Jeep was sitting in its spot, coated with snow, as was Noah’s old beater.
“He’ll come home and get mad,” Noah said, his tone worried, his words small puffs of steam as we made our way from car to front door.
“Then he can come see me, and I’ll alleviate his worries.” I was too weary to worry about some stupid middle-aged jerk with a comb-over and an attitude.
“Okay,” Noah muttered, turning the key in the lock and flinging his front door open. A squeal of delight bounced out of the apartment into the cold wind. I was missing North Carolina’s temperate weather already. Noah dashed off, leaving his rolling suitcase right in the way. Using my toe, I kicked it all the way indoors and stalked in, more than a little aggravated at his nonsense. Maybe Mat might put up with lazy shit like that but—
“You’re home! You’re home! You’re home!” Noah gushed between every kiss he placed on Mat’s smiling lips. The two were wrapped around each other like grapevines. I bumped the door shut with my ass, stunned into stupid to see our baseballer here. Mat’s gaze met mine over Noah’s shoulder. He whispered to Noah, and they both looked at me, opening their arms so that I could join in on the hug. Which I was happy to do. Mat took my face in his hands and kissed me hotly, the slow burn of his mouth and the rasp of dark whiskers almost erasing the concern eating at me.
I pulled back a bit, just enough to look deeply at him, and saw the silent plea not to ruin this moment for Noah. I bit back the burning question, the one that Noah would get to when the glee of Mat being home wore off. Sometime tomorrow probably.
“You look like hell,” Mat informed me. I wanted to say that he did as well, but I merely stole another kiss, and then we all kind of snuggled into each other, touching and caressing, giggles and sighs coming from Noah as we peeled off our coats and let them fall. “Let’s just go to bed and talk in the dark.”
Right. Like when the three of us hit that mattress, talking would be what happened. But, maybe that was what we all needed. An hour of mindless, amazing sex where we could shut down our brains and simply feel, thrust, and sweat. Fuck knows I was unable to rehash the past few days right now, and perhaps Mat was feeling much the same.
So, we fell into the bedroom, clothes shedding from our overheated bodies, until all three of us were nude. Moments like this, when there was so much sensation coming in on snapping synapses, I found it hard to say whose hand was on my back or which mouth was slipping down my ribs. It didn’t matter either. Rolling to my side, I pinned Noah to the bed, my teeth nibbling at a pert nipple. Mat slipped over him, long legs and muscular arms, to lay on his other side. We licked and lapped, kissed and teased, working our way down to his navel, and then even farther down, until we were both tasting his cock. Mat and then me, sharing the taste of Noah’s precum, tongues moving up and down his shaft, meeting over the smooth head.
Someone found the lube, a pump bottle, and we made use of it, slicking our fingers and pushing them into ourselves. Noah bucked and cried out, his slim hips jerking upward off the bed. I fell on his cock, swallowing it down, gagging and purring in sheer pleasure. Mat suckled on his balls, slurping loudly.
“Come in his mouth, babe,” Mat groaned around a heavy, smooth ball, and Noah blew his wad. I swallowed, the thick cream sliding down my throat, coating my tongue. Taking him in my fist I pulled off and held him for Mat to taste. He licked at the slit, gathering up each droplet of cum, smearing his lips and cheeks into the ejaculate. I grabbed Mat and kissed him, mad for more of that salty taste of man. Mat rolled to his back, taking me with him, his tongue claiming my mouth.
“Ah, oh, hell,” I panted, wedging a knee between Mat’s powerful thighs. His hand slapped my ass hard, fingers biting into flesh, as I pumped my cock into his hip bone.
Noah lay beside us, trembling from his release. With shaky fingers, Noah led my mouth from Mat’s lips to his throat. Noah guided us then, with whispers and touch.
“Can I watch him fuck you?” Noah asked as I nipped at Mat’s lower lip, our cocks slick and gliding over the other. Mat made a low grumbling sound in his throat, not really like anything that I’d ever heard from him before. It made my balls tighten up.
“Babe...you sure?” Mat and I enquired.
“Mm, yeah, really sure. I really want to see you two make each other happy.” Noah wiggled closer and sealed his mouth to Mat’s and then to mine. We worked on that sloppy three-way kissing, smiling and sniggering a bit, until Mat locked those long athletic legs around my waist, offering his ass to me. That ended all the giggles on my end.
“Oh fuck,” I gasped, nudging at his hole with my dick, grinding into him, hot and eager and just about ready to lose my shit. Noah slid a hand between us, grabbed my cock, and held it.
“Condom,” he gently reminded me. Breathless and damp with sweat, I sat up, ass on calves, right there between Mat’s splayed legs. Noah rolled the condom over me. Noah kissed the tip of my dick. Noah lubed my cock and then rubbed a clear glob of slick around Mat’s tight hole.
“Oh babe, shit yeah.” Mat arched up. Noah slipped a finger in and then pulled it out. His blue eyes met mine. I searched for jealousy in his gaze but found only love and passion.
“Make him feel as good as he made you feel,” Noah told me and laid back down, taking his soft cock in his hand. Mat shuddered at Noah’s words.
I laid over Mat, hands fisted on either side of his head, staring down at him. He reached for me, guided my cock to his opening, and then let his eyelids drift shut.
My body took control. I pushed into him, pausing just long enough for him to adjust a bit. When he kicked at my ass with his heels, I lowered my head and pressed in, his body stretching and pulling at my cock as I worked myself deeper and deeper until I was seated fully inside him.
“So hot,” Noah panted, tugging on his dick, his pupils growing fatter as lust began to overtake him again. He left the bed then, leaving me and Mat. I pulled out, glanced down at where we were joined, and then slammed home.
“Fucking hell!” Mat shouted, his grip on my ribs painful. I did it again, and again, giving him every damn inch of me. He gyrated and groaned, dug his heels into my lower back, clawed at my ass and biceps.
Noah reappeared then, softly climbing into the bed, his cock half-hard already. I had an overwhelming need to have him shove his cock into my mouth...or my ass. Shit, anywhere would be fine.
“Can I shoot you two...like this?” His query soft, a mere gasp, but it added a fuel to the fires that were searing us. I glanced over and saw he had his phone.
“Yeah, fuck yeah,” I huffed and rocked into Mat, deep, so deep he keened and cussed on one breath and begged for more of the same on the next breath.
Noah moved around us, his tacky skin brushing my hip or thigh, snapping pictures of me fucking Mat, his boyfriend. There was nothing odd or unsettling about it. I stole a wet, sloppy kiss from Mat who was now unable to string words together. Noah whispered things to himself, touching us, pushing at a wet curl on Mat’s sodden brow.
“Faster, Sander, faster now,” Mat barked. Noah grabbed at his cock, wrapping his fingers around Mat’s dick then working him with a bruising speed. Hips moving like a piston, I fucked Mat fast and hard, sweat falling from my nose to his shoulder. When he came, Noah smeared the cum over Mat’s chest and my mouth, slipping his cum-coated fingers between my lips.
I sucked on those two fingers as I blew apart buried in Mat’s ass. He yelped and whimpered, his hips pumping, and his ass milking me. My elbows folded, dropping me onto Mat as tremors racked him. My eyes drifted shut as his body and mine convulsed.
I licked at his jaw blindly, thrilled at the raspy wonder of whiskers on my tongue. There was nothing more intoxicating than a man’s body. My lips found his. He was panting, moaning, demanding in the kiss that followed, as if he were trying to remind me that while he was under me this time, the next time it would be his cock rocking my ass. I was ready for that. Any time. Any place.
“Fucking puck-pushing beast,” Mat huffed, his legs slipping down over my ass, heels dragging over my thighs until his legs hit the mattress.
I chuckled a bit. The first sound of joy from me in days. And I tumbled a bit deeper in love with the man under me for making me feel happiness again. Noah continued taking pictures as we cooled off, his cock now as hard as it had been earlier. We held Noah, moving around on the bed until he was between us, my chest to Noah’s. Mat and I worked him, our hands moving together, slippery with spit, lube, and cum, to jerk him off. I kissed him when he came, swallowing his shouts of pleasure, our lower bellies covered with ropes of hot semen. Mat gnawed on his shoulder and neck, leaving those dark love marks he so enjoyed making.
I dropped a peck to Noah’s chin, rolled away from the ball of sweetness that was my lovers, and took care of the condom then found some dirty clothes on the floor to wipe with.
After the mess was cleaned up, we slid under the covers, turned off the light, and held each other in the darkness, Noah and Mat’s deep breaths my cradlesong.