Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I take my own phone out and call Charlie, who answers after two rings. I don’t wait for him to say anything. “He’s here.”
“On it,” he responds and hangs up. I then see her with her phone to her ear.
I don’t even hear the car door slam shut. All I hear are the footsteps, and then I think he stumbles to my railing. I walk toward the door when the pounding starts. “Get your ass out here, you motherfucker.” He’s slurring his words.
“Get upstairs,” I order her, “and stay with Wyatt.” Her face looks like a ghost.
“Brady, you can’t go out there, please,” she pleads. “Promise me.”
“I promise you. I will not go out there. But I need you to go and make sure Wyatt is okay.” She nods at me as she goes to the stairs.
“I see you in there, you bitch!” he yells. I can see his face glued to the door with the stained-glass windows, and I make a mental note to change them. It takes everything, and I mean everything, in me not to open the door and put my fist in his face. She walks up the steps and is looking over her shoulder, not at the door where he’s still pounding but at me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I assure her, and she runs to Wyatt’s room at the same time I see the flashing lights and then hear the sirens.
The phone rings in my hand, and I see it’s Casey. “Hello.”
“We have him on video arriving and falling out of his car and then stumbling,” he says. “Tell them he was being recorded.”
“Got it.” I disconnect when the pounding stops, and I hear two car doors close.
I walk to the front door and open it at the same time as one of the deputies stops in front of my bottom step. Winston looks back over at me. “This motherfucker,” he hollers, “is stopping me from seeing my wife and son.” His voice is slurred, to say the very least, and I can smell the booze from a mile away.
The deputy looks over at me. “Sir,” he says, remaining professional even though I served him a couple of times when he came into the bar when he wasn’t on duty.
“Deputy,” I say, pushing out of the storm door, “this man just showed up at my house and started pounding on my door.”
“I want him arrested,” Winston slurs as he walks down one step but literally trips over his own two feet, righting himself on the last step.
“He drove here drunk.” I ignore him. “And I have it all recorded.”
“Sir,” the deputy says as another car arrives, “have you been drinking tonight?”
“No,” Winston denies, shaking his head. “I had a glass of wine with dinner.”
“If you will come here so we can administer a sobriety test,” the deputy says to Winston, who puts his hands on his hips.
“I will do no such thing. You can’t make me,” he snarls at them. “I want my lawyer.”
“That’s fine,” the deputy replies, “but until then, I’m going to have to take you in on suspicion of driving under the influence.”
“I’m not coming with you,” he scoffs at them. “I’m going home.”
“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t do that,” the deputy states as another cruiser gets here, and I see it’s the deputy he plays golf with.
“Good, Beauford,” he says his name and then he looks at the other deputy.
“What do we have here?” he asks the deputy.
“Driving under the influence,” the deputy tells him and he looks at Winston.
“You see him arrive here driving his car?” Beauford asks him. “He could have walked here.”
I have to shake my head and put it down and silently laugh at how stupid he sounds. “There isn’t evidence that he drove here now. His car could have been here before.”
“I have it on video that he got here not five minutes ago,” I inform Beauford, who glares at me, not expecting that comment.
“I also did patrol on this street fifteen minutes ago and there was only one car in the driveway,” the deputy informs Beauford. “Called it in.” He walks toward Winston. “Sir, if you can put your hands behind your back.”
“This is crazy!” Winston shouts and moves away from him. “Beauford, do something.”
“Winston,” he says, his teeth clenched, “you are going to have to go with him until we see the evidence.”
“Fuck that.” He throws up his hand. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Sir, you need to put your hands behind your back.” The deputy remains calm as he grabs his arm and walks him to the car.
“You don’t need to cuff him,” Beauford says. “He’ll go with you.” He walks to Winston. “Don’t be stupid. Go and call your lawyer.”
“No.” He about spits in his face in rage. “They are keeping me from my kid. I have my rights.” He turns, looks at the other deputy, and holds up his hands in front of him and stupidly puts his hands on the deputy’s chest.