Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Oh, Christ, no,” Coop groans. “You realize you can’t just take him to a bar for four hours, right?”
“Fuck off.” Just for that, I steal the last pancake. “I’ll be a great role model. Teach him all the things adults don’t want to tell kids.”
“Child endangerment is a crime, Evan.” Mac smirks at me. “If the cops find you stumbling out of the Pony Stable with a ten-year-old, you’re going to end up in jail.”
“As always, I appreciate your support, princess.” Their lack of confidence is disappointing if not unexpected. “Anyway, he’s fourteen. Plenty old enough to learn how the world works.”
“God help that kid,” Coop mutters.
I get it. They’d rather keep me in the screwup box than believe I’m evolving. I guess that’s not entirely unwarranted, but an ounce or two of faith, a little benefit of the doubt, would be appreciated. They make it sound like I’m gonna kill the poor kid. But how hard can it be? Feed him, water him, turn him in at the end of the day. I mean, hell. I’ve rented a car before.
Is this really so different?
His name is Riley and he’s a typical skinny Bay teenager with shaggy blond hair and a summer tan. I had pictured a little punk-ass like me, some dude with a smart mouth and more attitude than sense, ready to tell me to get bent. In reality, he’s a bit shy. Looking at the ground as we wander the boardwalk, because I hadn’t thought too much about what there is to do with him that doesn’t involve any of the nonsense I was getting up to at his age.
It was weird, if I’m honest, going into the public library to meet him. Like checking out a library book, but a whole damn human. I walked out of there with a person it’s my job not to lose or get maimed, and suddenly that seems like a big ask. They didn’t even hand me a first aid kit.
“So what are you into, kid?”
“I dunno,” he says with a shrug. “Stuff, I guess.”
“Stuff like what?”
“Sailing, sometimes. Fishing. And, um, surfing. But I’m not very good. My board’s kinda old, so.”
He’s killing me. He’s got his head bowed and hands in his pockets, sweat starting to trickle from under his wispy mop of hair. It’s a blistering June day and the boardwalk is swarmed with tourists, all hot and sticky. We’re like hot dogs in a sidewalk cart, rolling around in each other’s sweat.
“Hey, you hungry?” I ask, because it really is too boiling out here to spend all afternoon walking around.
“Sure, I guess.”
Cooper was right—with a lack of any better ideas, I pull Riley into a bar. Well, not exactly a bar. Big Molly’s is a kitschy kind of tourist trap, with random tchotchkes on the wall and live music on the weekends. The waitresses run around in skimpy outfits. Turns out, the kid notices. He perks right up when he gets an eyeful of the hostess in a crop top and tiny skirt.
“Hey you,” she coos by way of a greeting. “Been awhile.”
I flash a grin at her. “Got a table for two?”
Stella leans over the hostess stand, pushing her tits together. “Who’s your friend?” She winks at him, which would have been more than enough to give me a boner at that age. It’s unfair, torturing the kid like that. “He’s cute.”
“Riley, this is Stella.”
“Hey, sweetie,” she says when he can’t quite work up a reply. “Come on, I’ll get you seated.”
“You ever been here before?” I ask him as we settle at a high-top table. A band onstage is playing some early nineties covers. At the bar counter, college guys and dads who escaped while their wives went shopping occupy the old wooden stools.
Riley shakes his head no. “My aunt hates these places.”
“So what’s the story there?” No one ends up in a program like this if their lives are going totally to plan. “If you want to talk about it, that is.”
Another shrug. “I live with my mom’s sister. She’s an ER nurse, so she works a lot. My mom died when I was little. Cancer.”
“Where’s your dad?”
He stares at his menu without reading it, flicking the laminated edge with his fingernail. “Went to prison about six years ago. He was out on parole for a while, but then he took off. Got arrested again, I think. My aunt doesn’t like to talk about him, so she doesn’t really tell me stuff. She thinks it upsets me.”
“Does it?”
“I dunno. Sometimes, I guess.”
I’m starting to understand why they stuck him with me. “My dad died when I was younger too.”
Riley meets my eyes.
“Drunk driving accident,” I add. “My mom hasn’t been around since then either.”
“Did you have to go live somewhere else? Like, in foster care or with another relative?”