The nerd and the ex con, p.1
The Nerd & the Ex-Con, page 1
The Nerd & The Ex-Con
Sage Abbott
Editor: Tanja Ongkiehong
Proofreader: Abrianna Marchesotti
Cover Designer: Vicki Brostenianc
The Nerd & The Ex-Con © 2024 Sage Abbott
All Rights Reserved
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic, in whole or in part, without expressed written permission. This is excluding brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Also By Sage Abbott
Class Act
Contents
CONTENT WARNING
PROLOGUE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Writing as Gianni Holmes
ABOUT SAGE
CONTENT WARNING
Please be advised that while the tone of 'The Nerd & The Ex-Con' is not extremely angsty, the book explores themes and events that may be sensitive for some readers. This includes:
Physical and emotional abuse stemming from a previous relationship.
Instances of physical and sexual harassment by a former partner.
A main character's history as an ex-convict on parole for voluntary manslaughter.
Themes of parental neglect and abandonment.
A depiction of a parental overdose.
While these elements are integral to the characters' pasts and the story's depth, they are handled with care, and the overall tone of the book is more uplifting than these warnings might suggest. Reader discretion is advised.
PROLOGUE
GRIFF
Seven years ago
“Burke, you’ve got mail!”
No one was more surprised than me when the correctional officer handed me a long yellow envelope, the flap open because of their inspection. I stared at my name written in bold letters, looking all neat and shit, and had a hard time processing that I had mail.
In the eleven years I’d been locked up, I’d never received any letters, although I sent them regularly.
“Thanks,” I mumbled and put the envelope on the table.
My cellmate, Grant, nudged me with his elbow. “Well, look at you. Who’s it from?”
Only one person could be sending me mail, but the return address wasn’t his. I frowned. The name wasn’t familiar. I didn’t know any Scott. Did I? It’d been so long since I’d seen other people than my fellow inmates and the guards that I couldn’t remember all those I’d interacted with when I was a free man.
“Have no idea.”
“Then open it.”
I swallowed and stared at the envelope. Who are you, Scott Dischinger? Only one way to find out. I’d seen inmates, sentenced for some of the most heinous crimes, receive fan letters from people who were obsessed with them, but my case had been low profile. No reason a random stranger should be writing to me.
I shook out the single sheet of paper. A thumbprint at the bottom, which must have been left behind by the correctional officer, distracted from the otherwise pristine look of the sheet. I unfolded the letter, which was all formal looking. The words were scribbled in neat handwriting. Every letter had been precisely formed.
Dear Mr. Burke,
You aren’t familiar with me, but it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. Before you wonder too much what a stranger is doing contacting you, I’d like to introduce myself. My name’s Scott, and I’m the best friend of your son, Jay. We’ve been best buds since the fifth grade.
Quite frankly, none of this is my business, but I care about your son and, I guess, as an extension, you as well. I would do anything in the world to make him happy, even if he’ll be mad later when he finds out that I reached out to you.
Over the years, I’ve watched Jay throw out each letter you sent him. He forbade me from ever reading them, but I got curious, and one day I stole one of the letters. I hope you can forgive me for reading it, but it was killing me inside, not knowing why he got so upset each time a letter appeared. After reading the letter for his birthday, I understood.
I’m sorry, but Jay never talks about you. It’s not because he doesn’t want to. He’s hurt and angry, so he never opens your letters. He’s not a bad guy, and I love him, but he can be a bit stubborn, so I’ve decided to step in the middle and fill in the gaps for both of you. For you at least. I can’t ever let Jay know I’m doing this. I’m sorry about that.
However, I can update you about your son and how he’s doing, if you don’t mind hearing from a third party. I’ve enclosed a picture of him. It’s not much, but I hope it’s somewhat helpful. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you not knowing what he looks like now.
Picture? What picture?
I shook out the envelope, and a photo fell on the table. I snatched it up and stared at the picture of my little boy. Not so little now. He was eighteen and looked nothing like me, although he had blue eyes. He resembled his mother with that oval face, the arch of his thin eyebrows, and the smile on his lips.
My throat thickened, and tears gathered in my eyes. I blinked them away. There was no place for tears in the rec room. Had I been in my cell, I would have let them fall.
My son. I hadn’t seen a photo of him in eleven years. How much he’d grown. And I hadn’t been there for any of his special moments.
“Who’s that?” Grant asked.
“He’s my kid.”
“Your son?” He shuffled closer and peered at the photo. “He’s handsome. Looks nothing like you.”
I laughed. “I know. That’s his momma right there. I can’t believe it. Look how grown he is.”
“Gonna be a heartbreaker too. All the mothers better lock up their daughters.”
“Actually, I think he might be gay,” I said, lowering my voice. “This letter seems to be from his boyfriend.”
“Yeah? You not freaked out or anything?”
“No. I just want to know he’s happy.” After everything I’d put him and his mother through, he deserved to be happy.
“There you have it.” Grant slapped my shoulder. “You’re fine with what he does in his bedroom, so the next time Julio wants to suck your dick, it shouldn’t be such a hard decision to make. No pussy around. We gotta make do somehow.”
Unlike Grant, who’d had his fair share of “prison bitches,” I hadn’t touched a soul in here. Some men laughed that they had nothing better to do, so why not? I’d rather jerk off, though, than bend one of these guys over.
It did nothing for me.
I picked the letter back up and continued reading.
Jay’s smart too. He wants to study to be a doctor. It might take him a while, but I fully believe he will do it. He’s very determined. I think you’ll like that. Overall, you should be a very proud father. Your son is an amazing human being.
If you have any questions, you can send them to me in a letter or email me at scottiemchottiejr@gmail.com. I saw online that inmates are allowed access to computers to keep in touch with their family. Since it’s faster than a letter, feel free to email me at any time, and I’ll get back to you.
Also, I apologize if I overstepped a boundary, but I hope this letter makes you happy.
Your son’s best friend,
Scottie
He’d overstepped of course in reading the letter I’d sent to my son, but he’d also made me the happiest man alive by responding and sending me a photograph of my boy. How could I be upset? This Scottie guy sounded like he cared deeply for my son. It was good he had someone like that in his life, and now I did too.
For some reason, Scottie seemed to be on my side, and I would try everything in my power to keep him there for these updates about my son.
1
SCOTTIE
“Scottie!”
I cringed at Jay’s yell. Having come from a family who wouldn’t shout, even if the house were on fire, I had to get used to my boisterous friend. After over a decade of friendship, I still winced when he made sudden loud noises—like bellowing my name over the ringing doorbell.
The door to my bedroom was flung open, and Jay slid across the floor, courtesy of the multicolored diamond print socks he had on. I picked my glasses up from the dresser and slipped them up my nose. He was only wearing underwear and his shirt, and trying with big, clumsy fingers to get the buttons into the holes.
“Someone’s at the door,” he said. “Can you get it? Don’t want to scare the hell out of that Jehovah’s Witness lady like last time.”
My lips twitched into a grin. Jay was the one who made things interesting. He spiced up my staid and ordinary life with his antics. If only it had panned out when we’d flirted and fooled around when we were younger. We didn’t fee
Thank god for Jay, who’d helped me out of a dire situation when he insisted I move in with him a year ago. Since a distant relative from his mother’s side had willed the house to him, all I had to do was help with the utilities.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get it.” I grabbed my brand new navy blue peacoat and car keys. “And you need to hurry, or you’re going to be late for your first day on the job. You really should work on your tardiness, you know.”
“Stop nagging, Mom. Now you see why I had to quit medical school. I’d be late getting to the patient on the operating table.”
I walked out of the bedroom. “Then simply don’t be late.”
“You’d think it’s that easy, wouldn’t you?”
“It is that easy.” I trod down the stairs. “Stop staying up late playing video games, and wake up half an hour earlier.”
“I’ll try tomorrow.”
No, he wouldn’t. We’d had this conversation before.
The doorbell rang again, longer this time, like the person on the other side was leaning into it. As if that weren’t enough, they pounded on the door as well. What was wrong with people? Couldn’t they wait for someone to answer the door?
I shrugged, unlocked the door, and opened it.
“Who could be so impolite as to—” I swallowed the rest of my chastisement at the sight of the man standing on the doorstep.
And what a man.
I came in at just five feet two, and most people towered over me, but this man must have been over six feet. I barely came up to his chest. A ripped chest that his white T-shirt couldn’t hide. The sweat spots on the front and under the armpits caused the material to stick to delicious-looking abs I wanted to poke.
Dang, but who was he? A delivery man? Because I would have to ensure I get a delivery every day of the week if they were sending guys like these out now. All I usually got were ashy knees and skinny legs. This man’s thighs covered in tight denim could squeeze the life out of me.
Why did that sound so hot?
“What’s that?” he growled, his voice gravelly and hard.
Since when did my fairy godmother give a crap about my dream man?
“Umm, what’s what?”
“You were saying something about impolite.”
Intense blue eyes that looked familiar, even though I’d never met him before, stared into mine. I couldn’t look away. His hair seemed freshly cut, and he had a neatly trimmed mustache and beard. The sliver of silver that threaded through the dark hair made me hold on to the door tightly.
Oh crap, if gray hair could turn me on like this, I needed a Tinder hookup ASAP. This was embarrassing.
“Umm, just that it’s impolite to beat on someone’s door and ring their doorbell like that.”
“Sorry. Just checking someone was actually home. I should have called first, but…”
“Scottie, who is it?” Jay yelled down the stairs.
“I’m still checking!”
“Scottie?” The man widened his eyes and swept his gaze slowly up and down my frame and back up again. “Scottie McHottie?”
Scottie McHottie.
Scottie McHottie.
Scottie McHottie.
Heat seared my face. Nearly flayed me right down to the bone.
Oh.
My.
God.
Only one person knew me by that stupid name. The one person I was certain I would never meet face-to-face so he wouldn’t see I was more of a Scottie McNottie. As in the guy no one would ever want to date because he wasn’t real. The fun, sexy, worldly cool guy I’d pretended to be all these years in my letters to him didn’t exist.
“Gr-Griff?” I mumbled his name with stiff lips. He couldn’t be Griffin Burke. That Griff was behind bars, serving life in prison.
“Fuck me sideways. It is you.” He stared at me, looking as shocked as I felt. “You’re my Scottie?”
My Scottie.
My jaw went slack, and I might have ejaculated a little in my briefs. No one had ever called me their anything before, and when this sexy man uttered it so casually, I was prime and loaded to go off at any time.
“I-I-I don’t understand.” My tongue kept sticking to the roof of my mouth, making it difficult to get the words out. “You’re in prison. You can’t be here on my doorstep.”
If I’d known he would one day show up, I would never have replied to his letter to Jay. I would never have kept in touch with him all these years, and I certainly would never have fed him those lies, which had somehow filtered into my letters. They’d started as me keeping him up to date about Jay and had gradually evolved to me talking about myself.
“I won my appeal,” he replied. “I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure if my sentence would stick and then I wanted it to be a…surprise.”
He had certainly succeeded. I couldn’t be any more surprised had my mother been standing in front of me. And she’d been dead for two years.
“I-you—”
“Scottie, I’m almost finished!” Jay yelled. “Don’t you dare leave without me. My car’s still at the garage.”
Griff’s eyes shifted toward the staircase behind me. His jaw ticked and his nose twitched. He seemed nervous.
“Is that him?” he asked. “Is that my son?”
I nodded. “Yes, but he can’t know you’re here.”
“Why not?”
Footsteps clattered upstairs. Oh god, Jay couldn’t see him. I grabbed a fistful of Griff’s shirt and tried to turn him around, but he was way too big for me to move him even an inch. He frowned, and as the footsteps started down the stairs, I trembled.
“Please. If Jay finds out you’re here, he’ll never forgive me.”
“I’m his—”
“We’ll figure something out, but for now, please get into the closet.”
I released his shirt, stepped back, and yanked open the door to the coat closet.
Griff raised his eyebrows. “You expect me to fit in there?”
“You don’t have a choice.” I pushed my glasses back up my nose. “If you want to have any form of relationship with your son, then you’ll fit.”
He cursed under his breath and moved toward the closet. “Only because I trust you, Scottie.” He glared at me. “Despite everything.”
Despite all my lies. The photograph I’d sent him. Chestnut curls, brown eyes, and a personality that shone even from a two-dimensional shot was the opposite of who I was in person. Pale, freckled, blond, and blue-eyed. I had the face of a cherub, or so people said. A face that looked way too innocent and inexperienced.
He shuffled into the closet, and he hadn’t been kidding. He barely fit, and when I shoved the door shut, he grunted and cursed.
“Shh.”
Why did this have to happen to me? I’d done a good thing keeping a father abreast of what was going on in his son’s life.
I have only one rule in this friendship, Scott. Don’t mention my father. Ever.
I’d done more. I’d violated Jay’s privacy by pulling out a letter he’d discarded into the trash can. I hadn’t meant to deceive him all this time. The way he’d get moody after each letter had made me feel bad for him. How could I make him feel better if I didn’t know what was wrong? So I’d snooped, and when I’d read the heartfelt letter his father had sent him, the words had touched me, leading me to make the stupidest decision ever.
I’d written back to his father. And had kept writing to him for seven years.
“Look, I’m all dapper.” Jay jumped down the last two steps and held his arms wide. “Am I good looking or what?”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t need me to feed your ego. You get enough of that already.”
“Ah, don’t be jealous. You know you’re the most important person in my life.” Jay crushed me to his chest in a hug. Damn, he was almost as big as his father.
“Why don’t you warm the car up and take it out of the garage?” I jangled my key at him. “I’ll double-check we’ve locked up properly, then meet you in the driveway.”
“No prob.” He took the key from me. “By the way, who was that at the door?”
