Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I put a hand on her shoulder in support. “I understand.” It was something I’d forgotten about—Buck’s mom leaving like mine did.
A few more questions followed, all of which Bridget answered. Satisfied for now, I said, “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate you talking to me.”
“Oh God. I’m only a couple of years older than you. Don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel old.”
We both chuckled, and Bridget walked me to the door. “Do you think I should stop taking my kids to Kellan’s classes for a little while? The last thing I want to do is cause trouble for him.”
Part of me really fucking wanted to say yes, but Kellan and I had had this conversation when he knew I was going to see Bridget. I knew what he wanted, and I wouldn’t push his feelings aside again. “As long as you’re sure your kids are safe from Buck while they’re going, you can keep bringing them. Kell would hate the thought of them not being able to learn art because of hatred.” Kellan said art had saved him. He wanted to share that with others.
“Thanks, Chase. You’ve always been real good to Kellan, like a brother to him. I’m sure you’ll take care of him.” She smiled.
“I appreciate the compliment, but Kellan knows how to take care of himself. And I care about him a lot, but not like a brother.”
Her eyes widened, so I thought she caught my meaning. It was a risk, because I didn’t want it to get back to Griffin before I could talk to him, but I also didn’t want to deny Kellan.
“I hope you’re happy,” she said, and I could hear the sincerity in her voice.
“Thank you.”
My mind was spinning when I got back to the car and drove to town. I hadn’t realized Buck had lost his job. That, on top of the recent separation, would be enough to make him angry. Was it enough to make him rob the gas station? He would be familiar with the schedule and who was on shift and when. Buck had always been an asshole, but I didn’t remember him being the kind of asshole who would grab someone the way he had Kellan. That could mean he was the same kind of asshole who would hold up a store for some cash.
But I also knew his daddy. Buck’s dad, Jimmy, was friends—and I used the word loosely—with my father. When I was a kid, Jimmy used to come over and drink with my dad. They’d rave on about my mom and Jimmy’s wife, especially after they both left. He was the definition of asshole, like my dad was, only Jimmy hid it better. He didn’t get drunk and make a fool of himself in town, and I’d never heard rumors of him abusing his kids.
I was driving down Main Street when I got a call from dispatch. “Chase, we’re gonna need you to head over to Wyman’s. It’s your daddy.”
Ah, hell. That was exactly what I didn’t want to deal with on top of everything else. “I’m on my way there now,” I replied.
It didn’t take long to get to the bar. It had always been one of my dad’s favorite places to drink. More his crowd than the patrons at Griff’s ever would be.
I got out of the cruiser and headed toward the old brick building that had been around longer than I’d been alive. It was only five in the afternoon, but I had no doubt my dad would be falling-down drunk.
He was over by the pool tables when I got inside the dimly lit building. “Don’t be such a pussy,” my dad said, shoving a man I didn’t recognize.
The other guy held his hands up. “You’re drunk. I’m not kickin’ your ass ’cuz of it. But you lay a hand on me again, and I’ll change my mind.”
My father went for him, but the guy stepped out of his way, and he stumbled against the pool table.
“Hey!” I called out.
“Who invited the pig?” my dad taunted. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my son. What a fucking disgrace. Little bastard chased his mama away when he was just a boy. Was too weak to be a man, so he always had the precious Caine family fight his battles for him, and now he’s a pig.”
“George, man, that’s enough. Don’t talk to your son that way—or the law,” Mr. Richards said. He owned a feed supply.
“I don’t care what he says about me,” I told Mr. Richards. “He’s not worth my time, but thank you.” I grabbed my dad’s arm. “Let’s go.”
“Who called the cops on me? Who was it?” Dad yelled.
Mr. Wyman, Richards, and the guy my dad pushed followed us out.
“Calm down, George,” Wyman said. “I don’t know who called, but you need to have some respect. Go home, sleep it off, and don’t act like that in my bar again.”