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The rain had stopped an hour before visiting ended, leaving the prison parking lot soaked in silver light and oil-slick reflections. Lexi sat behind the wheel of her mother’s old sedan with both hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, her stomach twisting harder every time the metal doors at the front entrance opened.
Five years.
It had been five years since she’d last seen him.
Five years since blood and sirens and gunshots turned everyone’s lives inside out.
Five years since Fezco was sentenced to thirty.
Nobody—not even his lawyer—had thought he’d get out early. Not after the weapons charges. Not after the raid. Not after Ashtray died.
But somehow he had.
Good behavior, overcrowding, cooperation with investigators, parole reform—Lexi barely understood the legal explanation when she first heard it over the phone three weeks ago. She only remembered standing frozen in her kitchen while Rue repeated the words again and again:
“He’s getting out.”
Five years into a thirty-year sentence.
It still didn’t feel real.
Lexi checked the rearview mirror again even though there was nothing behind her except rainwater and fading daylight. Her fingers trembled against the wheel. She hated that they trembled.
She’d imagined this moment too many times over the years.
In some versions he was angry she never visited enough.
In others he barely remembered her.
Sometimes he walked past her without recognizing her at all.
And sometimes—the version she never allowed herself to think about too long—he kissed her the second he saw her.
The prison doors buzzed open again.
This time it was him.
Lexi forgot how to breathe.
Fez walked slowly across the pavement carrying a small duffel bag over one shoulder. He looked older than twenty-seven should have looked. Leaner. Sharper around the edges. His hair was cropped shorter now, and there was a faint scar near his eyebrow she didn’t recognize.
But it was still him.
Still Fez.
Still those heavy eyes that always looked tired and gentle at the same time.
Still the same careful way he moved through the world.
He spotted her car immediately.
For a second, he just stood there staring at her through the windshield like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.
Then he crossed the parking lot.
The passenger door opened.
“Yo,” he said quietly as he slid into the seat beside her.
Lexi’s throat tightened painfully.
“Hi.”
The door shut softly behind him.
Silence filled the car instantly—not awkward exactly, but fragile. Like both of them understood how much had changed in five years and neither knew where to begin.
Fez set the duffel bag at his feet and leaned back carefully against the seat.
“You came.”
The words were simple, but there was something underneath them that made Lexi’s chest ache.
“Of course I came.”
He nodded once, eyes drifting across the dashboard. The old radio. The cracked air vents. The faded vanilla air freshener hanging from the mirror.
“You still got that thing?”
Lexi blinked. “What?”
He pointed lazily toward the air freshener.
“Told you it smells like a dentist office.”
A startled laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
The sound startled him too.
His mouth curved slightly at the corners.
“Kinda missed hearin’ you laugh.”
The words hit her so hard she had to look away.
She started the engine quickly before he could notice how emotional she suddenly felt. The heater rattled awake, pushing warm air into the freezing silence between them.
Outside, rainwater shimmered under the prison floodlights as Lexi pulled slowly out of the parking lot.
For several minutes neither of them spoke.
Traffic hummed softly around them while dusk settled over the city in shades of gray and gold. Lexi kept both hands on the wheel because she didn’t trust herself to do anything else.
Five years.
Five years and he was sitting beside her again like some part of the universe had finally corrected itself.
“You okay?” Fez asked suddenly.
She realized she’d been gripping the wheel hard enough to whiten her knuckles.
“Yeah,” she said too quickly.
Fez glanced at her.
“You sure?”
Lexi swallowed. “Just nervous.”
That earned the faintest smile from him.
“Why you nervous?”
She let out a soft incredulous laugh.
“Seriously?”
“I mean… I’m the one just got outta prison.”
His tone was light, but the sentence settled heavily between them anyway.
Prison.
Thirty years.
Five served.
Lexi still remembered the day of sentencing. She remembered Rue crying in the courthouse hallway. She remembered Fez turning around one last time before deputies led him away.
Most of all, she remembered the horrible certainty that she would never really know him again.
“You look different,” she said quietly.
Fez leaned his head back against the seat. “Prison’ll do that.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Nah, it’s true.”
His voice stayed calm, but there was exhaustion buried deep inside it. The kind that didn’t disappear after one good night’s sleep.
Streetlights slid across his face in brief flashes of gold.
Lexi risked another glance at him.
There were new lines around his eyes now. Tiny marks she didn’t remember. Five years wasn’t thirty, but it was still enough time to change someone.
“You look different too,” Fez said.
“How?”
“More confident.”
She snorted softly. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that.”
“I’m serious.”
He turned slightly toward her.
“You carry yourself different.”
Heat crept into her cheeks instantly.
A lot had changed while he’d been gone.
The play changed things.
College changed things.
Even Rue getting sober changed things.
But somehow the strangest part was that through every version of herself she became over those five years, some part of her had remained completely stuck at seventeen—sitting beside Fez on that couch at the New Year’s party, feeling understood for the first time in her life.
“I watched your play,” Fez said suddenly.
Lexi nearly swerved. “What?”
“One dude inside had clips saved on his phone.”
“Oh my god.”
She covered her face with one hand.
“Please tell me you skipped the carousel scene.”
Fez laughed quietly—a deeper sound than she remembered.
“Nah. Everybody watched that scene.”
“I’m gonna kill myself.”
“You were good though.”
His voice softened.
“Like… real good.”
Lexi stared straight ahead because suddenly her eyes burned.
The play had been the biggest thing she’d ever done. For weeks afterward people at school treated her differently—some with admiration, some with cruelty. But underneath all of it had been one horrible empty feeling:
Fez was supposed to see it.
He was supposed to be there.
“You were supposed to come,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
Silence settled over the car again.
Fez looked down at his hands.
“I know.”
Something in his expression cracked her heart open.
“I’m sorry, Lex.”
“No.” She shook her head immediately. “Don’t apologize.”
Because what could he even say sorry for?
For getting arrested?
For Ashtray dying?
For surviving?
The city blurred outside the windows in streaks of red taillights and wet pavement.
After a while Fez spoke again, quieter this time.
“I wrote you letters.”
Lexi’s breath caught.
“What?”
“Couple of ‘em.”
He rubbed one hand slowly over his jaw.
“Never sent ‘em though.”
“Why not?”
Fez shrugged faintly, eyes still fixed on the passing lights outside.
“Didn’t know if you’d wanna hear from me.”
The answer hurt more than she expected.
“I would have.”
He looked over at her then, something cautious hidden in his expression.
“You never came much.”
The guilt hit instantly.
Lexi tightened her grip on the wheel.
“I know.”
She hated how small her voice sounded.
“The first year I tried,” she admitted. “But every time I got there…” Her throat tightened. “I just couldn’t do it.”
Fez stayed quiet.
“I’d sit in the parking lot for an hour and then leave.”
His expression softened immediately.
“Lex…”
“I know that’s horrible.”
“It ain’t horrible.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No.” His voice stayed gentle. “Prison scary as hell.”
She laughed weakly. “For me?”
“For anybody.”
The kindness in him nearly ruined her.
Even now.
Even after everything.
“You were supposed to be there thirty years,” she whispered suddenly. “Do you understand how impossible this feels?”
Fez leaned his head back again with a slow exhale.
“Yeah.”
“Five years, Fez.”
“I know.”
“You missed five years and somehow that’s still considered lucky.”
The word lucky sounded wrong the second it left her mouth.
But Fez just nodded.
“It is lucky.”
His eyes drifted toward the window again.
“There’s dudes in there who ain’t ever gettin’ out.”
The exhaustion in his voice made something twist painfully inside her chest.
“What was it like?” she asked quietly before she could lose courage.
Fez was silent for a long moment.
“Loud,” he said eventually.
She frowned slightly.
“Loud?”
“Yeah.”
His fingers tapped absently against his knee.
“People think prison’s all violence all the time. But mostly it’s just noise. Doors slammin’. People yellin’. TVs goin’. Somebody always angry.” He paused. “Gets hard to think straight after a while.”
Lexi glanced at him carefully.
“How did you survive it?”
A faint smile touched his mouth then.
“Thought about you.”
Her heart stumbled violently.
Fez laughed softly under his breath, embarrassed now that he’d actually said it aloud.
“Probably sounds stupid.”
“No,” Lexi whispered.
Because she’d done the same thing.
Every birthday she wondered where he was.
Every New Year’s Eve she remembered that couch conversation.
Every relationship she attempted afterward failed quietly because none of those people were him.
“I used to replay our conversations in my head,” Fez admitted. “Like all the time.”
Lexi felt tears prick suddenly behind her eyes.
“That party?” she asked softly.
“Yeah.”
His smile deepened slightly.
“You was nervous as hell talkin’ to me.”
“I thought you were intimidating.”
“Me?”
“You sold drugs and carried guns.”
“Fair point.”
She laughed despite herself.
The sound filled the car warmly now, easier than before.
Fez watched her with an expression so soft it almost hurt to look at.
“You know what’s crazy?” he murmured.
“What?”
“You still do that thing.”
“What thing?”
“When you nervous, you tuck your hands into your sleeves.”
Lexi looked down automatically.
He was right.
Heat rushed into her face.
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything about you.”
The confession settled between them with startling intimacy.
Neither looked away.
Traffic lights painted shifting colors across Fez’s face while the silence deepened around them—not empty now, but heavy with all the things they still hadn’t said.
Finally Lexi spoke.
“I thought maybe you forgot about me.”
Fez’s expression changed instantly.
“What?”
“I mean…” She stared at the road again. “Five years is a long time.”
“Lexi.”
Her name in his voice sounded almost wounded.
“I could never forget you.”
The sincerity in it nearly shattered her composure completely.
She pulled abruptly into the parking lot of a closed pharmacy before she could lose control of the car entirely. Rainwater gleamed beneath flickering fluorescent lights as the engine idled softly around them.
Fez turned toward her slowly.
“You okay?”
Lexi laughed once—a nervous, breathless sound.
“Not really.”
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then she looked at him fully.
Really looked at him.
The boy she fell in love with at seventeen.
The man who survived five years inside a prison he was never supposed to leave before middle age.
The same gentle eyes.
The same careful heart.
Still him.
“I love you,” she blurted suddenly.
Silence crashed into the car.
Lexi felt horror immediately afterward.
“Oh my god,” she muttered, covering her face. “You don’t have to say anything. I just—”
Fez caught her wrist gently.
“Lex.”
Her pulse hammered beneath his fingers.
“I been in love with you.”
She froze completely.
“Since before all that shit happened.”
His thumb brushed softly against her wrist as he spoke.
“I think part of me knew it the second you sat down next to me at that party.”
Tears blurred Lexi’s vision instantly.
“You’re crying,” she whispered shakily.
“Nah.”
“You literally are.”
Fez huffed out a laugh and wiped beneath one eye.
“Damn.”
The sight of him crying almost undid her entirely.
“I thought I lost my chance with you,” he admitted quietly. “When they gave me thirty, I figured that was it.”
Lexi shook her head immediately.
“It was never it.”
“You shoulda moved on.”
“I couldn’t.”
The truth hung nakedly between them now.
Fez stared at her like he still couldn’t believe she was real.
“You deserve somebody better than me,” he murmured.
Lexi’s chest ached.
“Do you know what I remember most about you?”
He frowned slightly.
“What?”
“You listened.”
His expression softened.
“Everybody else always wanted something from me,” she continued quietly. “But you just listened like I mattered.”
Fez looked away sharply, emotional enough now that he couldn’t hide it anymore.
“You matter a lot,” he said hoarsely.
The car felt too small suddenly.
Too full of five years worth of grief and longing and almosts.
Slowly, carefully, Fez leaned across the center console.
He moved like he was giving her every opportunity to stop him.
She didn’t.
His hand cupped her cheek gently, rough warmth against cold skin.
Then he kissed her.
Soft.
Careful.
Like something precious he thought he’d lost forever.
Lexi melted instantly, one hand tangling in the sleeve of his hoodie as years of loneliness collapsed quietly between them.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing unevenly.
Forehead resting lightly against hers, Fez laughed softly under his breath.
“This probably the ugliest place possible for this kinda moment.”
Lexi let out a watery laugh.
Above them, the flickering pharmacy sign buzzed loudly.
“Definitely not romantic.”
“Nah.”
But he was smiling now—really smiling for the first time since getting in the car.
And somehow that felt more important than romance.
Lexi intertwined her fingers carefully with his.
“So what now?” he asked quietly.
She looked at him for a long moment before answering.
“Now,” she whispered, squeezing his hand gently, “I take you home.”
And this time, when they pulled back onto the rain-slick streets together, the silence between them no longer felt fragile.
It felt full.