Chapter 12: Don't Take That 'Girlfriend' Talk Seriously

Words : 1986 Updated : Nov 27th, 2025

After they'd eaten and had their fill, Miller Cutmore wouldn't let anyone else pay. He flagged down the server, pulled out a wad of cash, and settled the bill with a mix of large and small bills. Once outside, Megan Scurr asked, puzzled, "You just got out. Where did that money come from? And why do you even have those small bills you hardly see anymore?" Miller replied easily, "Earned it in prison." "Huh?" Megan's eyes widened. "You can make money behind bars?" Miller looked at her like she'd asked a dumb question. "You think inmates just eat and sleep all day? We had to work, every single day. If you hustled, you could make ten to twenty bucks a month." Blake Cutmore said, worried, "You've got at least five hundred dollars there. Is that five years' savings?" "No." Miller shook his head. "For the first two years, even getting enough to eat was tough, so there was no way for me to work. From the third year on, there was money to be made. In the last two, I could do the work of four or five men, so I earned more." Blake's eyes filled with tears. She touched the thick calluses on his hands and said, her heart aching, "Everything in prison is pricey, and you still saved this much. I can't bear to imagine how much you suffered." "It's all in the past now." Miller took a tissue and gently wiped the tear from the corner of her eye. Megan watched, wanting to say something. She opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. "Miller Cutmore!" someone called from not far away. They turned to see Brittany Lyson, who had left earlier with Principal Shen, hurrying over. She wore an apologetic look and said to Blake and Megan, "Just need a word with him, then I'll go." Megan and Blake exchanged a glance and stepped aside without a word. Brittany stopped in front of Miller. Before she spoke, her face flushed. She glanced around, then lowered her voice. "I just wanted to say, don't take what my mom said to heart." Miller blinked, confused. "What did she say?" Brittany shot him a fierce glare, then ducked her head. "About me being your girlfriend." "Oh." Miller nodded, suddenly remembering. "Right, that. What about it?" This guy. How can he forget something that big that fast? Brittany gritted her teeth and glared at him again, itching to stomp on his foot. Still, she needed to make herself clear. Blushing, she said, "Just don't take it seriously. You're not my type; I'm not what you'd want in a girlfriend either. So there's nothing between us." Miller watched her, amused. "You came all the way to tell me that? Of course I know we're impossible. I'm an ex-con just out of prison, and you're a public school teacher about to start work. We're as mismatched as oil and water." Her face went even redder and she blurted out, anxious, "It's not because you served time! I just… anyway, you're not my dream guy. The main thing is, when my mom asks, don't tell her the whole truth. Just play along when she asks, okay?" "Okay. I will." Miller nodded. Brittany gave him a quick, respectful bow. "Thanks." Then she turned and ran off. Miller watched her leave and shook his head, smiling. They wandered the streets all afternoon, bought a phone, opened a bank account and got a card, and grabbed a bite to eat. Megan dropped Miller off at Cinville Bay, then took Blake home. Blake needed to pack; she'd move in with Miller the next day. It wasn't dark yet when Miller changed into sportswear and headed out. The habits he'd picked up in prison were hard to shake. That afternoon, even with the two women talking his ear off, the clothes he bought were all budget casual or athletic wear-not a single suit or luxury item. Xavon Bay-now this was Miller's turf. He tugged his baseball cap lower, grabbed the small bag, and walked into the complex. Lakeview No.3 was a five-story mansion, and it had once been his home. But now it belonged to the Juggins family. Nothing was the same anymore. The gate to the front yard was ajar, and from the doorway he could hear shouting and curses spilling out from the living room. "You old coot, if you don't feel anything, I do! My own flesh and blood, raised him all these years, and he got beaten like this, maimed even-how am I supposed to keep calm?" "Who says I don't feel it? He's my son, isn't he? That little bastard from the Cutmore family-one day I'll skin him alive!" It sounded like the old couple had just come back from the hospital. Seeing their second son so battered, they were heartsick and scared, unwilling to stay there any longer. Back home, they started cursing Miller Cutmore to vent their fury. Miller grinned and strode into the yard, then stopped at the living room door. The old woman was in mid-rant, spittle flying, when she saw a figure appear in the doorway. Startled, she snapped, "You worthless stray, showing up like a bad-luck omen!" Miller didn't take offense. He smiled. "Is Mr. Juggins at home?" She sized him up, glanced at the bag in his hand, and her expression softened a little. She snorted, "He's away on business. What do you want?" Miller raised the bag. "I brought something for him." "Then come in," she said testily. The old man on the sofa didn't bother to stand. He flicked a glance over Miller and told the old woman, "Bringing a gift for Yunsheng? We've had plenty of people bringing gifts. This one looks the shabbiest. He even came with a plastic grocery bag. Bet there's nothing expensive in it." "He's dressed shabby too-not the type with money," the old woman added. "No need to pour tea. Have him drop it off and leave." Miller felt half amused, half helpless. He couldn't tell whether the old couple were being deliberate or just rude, but their so-called whispers were loud enough for him to hear every word. The old man got up and walked over. "What are you handing over for my son Yunsheng? I'm his father. Give it to me and I'll pass it along." Miller handed him the bag. "All right. This matters to him. Please make sure he gets it." The old man peeked inside. It was a black paper box, square and neat, the kind that might hold jewelry or a watch. He nodded. "Fine. I'll give it to him when he gets back. It's getting late, and it's just me and the old lady here. We won't keep you-off you go." Miller waved, smiling, and turned to leave. As he went, he looked around once, seeing how everything he remembered had been redone. After he left, the old woman couldn't wait. "Open it and see what it is. If it's worthless, toss it." The old man nodded, took out the black box, and pried it open with both hands. Inside was neither jewelry nor a watch, but a severed, bloodstained finger. He jumped, and the box slipped from his grasp, dropping to the floor. The finger bounced and landed on the old woman's foot. Caught off guard, she shrieked, "Aagh!" Her eyes rolled back, and she passed out cold on the sofa.

Chapter 12: Don't Take That 'Girlfriend' Talk Seriously

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