The Billionaire s Wildflower

I tap my foot on the tiled floor, waiting anxiously for the dark-haired woman behind the glass protected counter to call my name.

I have been waiting 10 years for this day. The day to finally see the grass – and not through a chain-link fence, while I shuffled my feet on the concrete.

To feel the breeze on my face, and stand in the sun for endless of hours.

I have spent 10 years on the inside, doing time because of crimes I committed, to save my life. I clench my eyes closed. I don't have to think about that anymore. The minute she calls my name, I can leave this place, and those memories, behind me for good.

I know the thoughts and trauma I will be carrying with me won't disappear right away, and it won't be as easy as kicking them behind me as I leave, like I want it to be.

But I finally have my freedom. I have counted the days, weeks and months until I got here, and it has never felt better.

Until I make it out those doors, and there is no one there to meet me.

I have no idea where I'll be heading after this, though my mind tells me to head home, the only place I know. I still remember the run down, one-bedroom apartment in New Jersey that my dad and I had lived in together.

He of course, having the one-bedroom, and I slept on the couch. It was joyous times, and without him, I wouldn't be here.

Waiting for my name to be called, so I can be released from a 10-year prison sentence. I have barely turned 24, and I have yet to experience simple things like going to a high school party having my first beer – or even kissing a girl.

In an all-male maximum security prison, there aren't many opportunities to get your first kiss. At least, not from anyone of the female population.

"Tristan Burke! Come forward, " the woman barks and slams a box of my belongings on the counter. I jump to my feet and scramble to the front, looking straight at the ground while she finishes signing my release forms, then hands everything to the guard standing next to her.

He walks out and shoves the box into my chest with a sneer, turning around and instantly locking himself back behind the gate, his disgusted eyes never leaving mine.

For most of my 10 years here in Boston's largest maximum-security prison, the inmates and newer guards believed I was convicted of theft, technological manipulation, and trying to break into the wealthiest bank in New York, my home state.

But for those who came before, the ones who have known me since I barely knew myself, they thought otherwise.

They believed I was convicted for murder. But, lucky and unlucky for me, someone saw the potential I didn't know existed, and bailed me out.

Only for me to land my ass right back here a few months later, for longer than a couple weeks. I remember thinking those few weeks sitting in a holding cell at the local police station was terrifying; I hadn't prepared myself for what I experienced in here.

I go through my box of belongings and dip into one of the bathrooms to quickly change into the pair of clothes that had to be donated to me, since the last outfit I walked in here with, doesn't quite fit my 6-foot frame anymore.

I stop in the bathroom mirror, looking at my shaggy dark hair and unkept scruffy beard. What shocks me the most, is the shadows in my almost black eyes; the shadows only I can see, from everything I have endured.

The countless hours and days locked in solitude, to the point where I now welcome the quiet dark, and fear the loud brightness.

Turning away from the mirror, I gather my belongings and get out of there as fast as I can. I rummage through the box again when I get out the doors and fish out my phone and thankfully, the charger. I find a small outlet on the side of the building and charge my phone, in hopes that there is a name in there of someone who can help me.

I sit down on the bench and go through the small amount of contacts I have. I was given this phone when I was 14, because my father was never home and I often had to go out on my own and get groceries or other necessities. I saved up the money and bought myself a very basic, pay as you go phone.

My fingers stop when I come across a name I haven't heard, but thought of a lot while I was inside.

Parker Andrews.

He was the one friend I had who grew up quite wealthy, but never let it affect him. He was always down to earth and kind to everyone, regardless of their status in life or finances.

If there is anyone I can count on now, my best chances lie with him. I hit his name and dial his number, my hands shaking as I lift the phone to my ear. It rings a couple times, my pulse quickening, then it clicks when he answers.

"Is this for real?" he asks, his tone shocked but guarded.

A smile touches my lips in the first time in a long time. It feels good.

"Long time, Parker."

I hear him inhale sharply. "Holy shit, Tristan? Is that really you man?"

I nod, then realize he can't see me. "Yeah, it's really me man, it's been awhile."

"It's been like a decade man; I can't believe I'm actually talking to you right now. I want to ask you so much, but I don't think we have the time, " he laughs, but I can hear it's strained slightly.

"Actually, is there a chance we could meet up? I'm in Boston right now, " I say, leaving out everything, including the part where I'm stranded.

"What are you doing out there? I'm living in New Jersey now, but I can maybe make it out to Boston. You got a place out there?"

How do I tell him everything? Hey, haven't talked to you in 10 years, can you come pick me up from jail?

That isn't the ideal way I wanted to reconnect with him, but it doesn't look like I have any other choice.

I take a deep breath. "I'm going to be honest with you, man. I need help."

It's quiet for a few gut-wrenching seconds. "Is this why I haven't heard from you all these years?" he asks quietly.

I clench my teeth. "Yeah, it is. I can explain everything, but right now I have nowhere to go, I'm stranded in Boston. I'm not asking for a place to live; I just need some where to go."

"You know I'm always here for you, Tristan, but you better have a damn good excuse for this."

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll love it."

***

I give Parker the address, and to my surprise he doesn't ask questions. I have no doubt he has to punch it into GPS, which will then expose exactly where he is picking me up from. I know the string of questions will probably come the minute I step into the car.

I can see that he is trying to keep his demeanor when his Silverado truck pulls up in front. I take a deep breath and haul my box of belongings towards the back, Parker getting out and rounding the side.

We stop and stare at each other. He hasn't changed much, other than his blonde hair getting a bit longer and curlier at the top, and his skin a little tanner than before, making his eyes look bluer. He's a bit more built than the lanky frame he sported in his early teens.

Before I can react, he rushes towards me and forces the box out of my hands, and gives me a hug. I haven't been physically touched like this in 10 years, the contact shocking me and my nervous system. I instantly tense up and my hands freeze, not knowing what to do.

Parker pulls back and gives me a suspicious look, clearing his throat and grabbing the box again. "It's good to see you man, " he says and smiles, putting the box in the back of the truck. I nod and rush over to the passenger side.

"So, want to explain to me why the hell I'm picking you up from prison?" he asks, and I take a deep breath before I start the story, knowing I would have to re-live it sooner or later.

"You remember my father?" I start off and he nods.

"Yeah, I remember he was never there, but I also remember he used to be a pretty good lawyer. Whatever happened to him?"

I shake my head. "I have no idea. He came home one day, after we had left that day from school, and there was a woman sitting on the couch, my father nowhere to be seen. She kept asking me where he was, and I said I never knew. The weekend came around, and she was still there, but my father wasn't. She kept saying he was supposed to protect her, but he was doing a lousy job, so she took her anger out on me, getting drunk and putting her cigarettes and joints out on my skin."

Parker cringes. "Jesus, man. Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I never had the chance. Some men broke down the door, and kept asking the girl where my father was, and if they had what she owed him. I had no doubt she or my father owed them some money or drugs, so I tried hiding in my room, but one of the men saw me and dragged me out. Shit hit the fan when the girl pulled a gun out and shot one of the men holding me, splattering his blood on my clothes.

"She tried to get me away from them, but when I ran towards her, the man barking orders pulled a gun a shot her. I panicked, the man came towards me and shoved the gun into my hands, saying that if anyone came through that door, to shoot them. Then, he ran off."

I stop so Parker can digest that little bit, his face going pale.

When he nods for me to continue, I take another deep breath.

"As you probably assumed already, the man tipped off the police and they rushed through the door, my father still nowhere to be seen. They found me, still holding the gun, frozen with fear, and the two bodies around me. They identified the blood on me as both victims, and the gun was just a given. I was tried as an adult, and sentenced to life in prison."

"Whoa, are you serious? And you still haven't heard anything from your dad? How did you get out?" The words tumble out of his mouth, like something in him just switched on.

I hold up a hand. "That is twice as long a story, and something we can save for a night over beers at your place or something, " I say, wanting to avoid offering to go to a more public area.

"Well, I was actually thinking about that, " he says.

"Thinking about what?" I ask suspiciously.

He shrugs. "After everything you just told me, it sound like you've been massively fucked over, despite whatever has happened since then to get you here. I want to help you out, I had no idea any of this was happening then, but I know you need help now and I want to try and give it."

"You don't owe me anything, Parker. Like you said, you had no idea what was going on. The fact that you answered the phone and actually showed up is more than enough."

He frowns, not seeming convinced. "You were always there for me when we were kids, now I want to return the favor. I have a loft above my apartment that my landlord has been trying to rent out for a while, but it's kind of small. I can try and talk to him, and tell him you'll take it, if he can give you the first two month free, so you can find a job."

"Are you serious? That's too much, I can't take that."

He nods firmly. "You can, and you will. I'll even help you find a job; I was going to wait to show you but I mind as well tell you. I just opened a club downtown, a few weeks ago. I could use an extra hand around the bar, and I would pay you well for it, not just because you're my friend."

I instantly tense at the thought of being in a loud and crowded club, tending to drunk people at the bar. It does not sound ideal, or like something I can mentally handle.

"I don't think I could handle a crowd like that, I've been in there a long time, " I say, hinting but not revealing just how much time I did.

Parker gives me another suspicious look, but thankfully doesn't say anything. "I was thinking you could take the day shift, that gives me the chance to get a good sleep before I tackle the night shift. During the day, it's mainly opened as a bar, the floor isn't open."

The doesn't sound too bad, and it would help ease myself back into the public, start off with semi-normal interactions.

"I can give it a try, but I can't make any promises, " I mutter.

Parker grins. "It's just something to make money for now, you can look for something else at the same time."

The rest of the ride is spent in peaceful silence.

***

Everything looks exactly the same, and completely foreign at the same time as we drive through the state of New York. I have been down these roads many times in my past, but it still feels like I am visiting an unknown city.

The buildings have overall stayed the same in the last 10 years, with a few store additions and houses; but the people have changed, society has moved on to a new generation by now.

Am I going to fit in?

The only intelligible conversations I had in prison, were with the monthly therapists I was forced to see, after spending more than 12 hours in solitude for snapping, and hitting another inmate with a cafeteria tray. He kept threatening me if I didn't give up my dinner, since we were only given rationed portioned to make sure everyone was given the same amount, no more or less.

I had tried my best to ignore him, but my control snapped, like it had so many other times. I busted the side of his face, and cracked his nose. That would've earned me as least 5 hours in solitude, but it wasn't my first time.

The prison thought it was best to get me a therapist, to have someone to talk about my anger with, thinking I went into that place with the anger I carried. They refused to think that they had run a terrible establishment, where the inmates were beaten by the guards, just as much as they beat up each other.