Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 72196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
We walked into the morgue, and I gave Dave, the night security officer that I’d helped at the clinic with a very personal problem a few weeks ago, a nod. He waved me through, and I stopped just inside the door.
“They’re in lockers four, five, and six,” I told them. “Remember, don’t touch.”
Travis walked forward, stopped in front of locker six, and pulled it open.
The sound that left his throat at seeing the tiny child, blue and so still, was a sound that would forever stay with me as long as I lived.
But the sound from the man who was frozen at my side?
I didn’t breathe for an entire minute.
And I only took a breath when the sound quit, and Dante fell to his knees.
Chapter 7
Am I the only one running out of people I like?
-Coffee Cup
Travis
349 days ago
I walked up to the convenience store, my goal being a Gatorade and a bag of pork wheels, and almost missed the woman that was headed in at an angle right along with me.
She had her face steady on her phone, so I noticed her before she noticed me.
Grinning, I opened the door and held it open, all the while she kept her eyes downcast on her phone.
“Thank you,” she muttered distractedly.
“You’re welcome.”
At the sound of my voice, her head snapped up so fast that she started to bobble her phone.
I caught it before it could hit the ground, and instead of handing it to her, slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans.
“T-thank you,” she murmured. “How are you?”
Her voice was low, intimate.
“I’m getting there, honey,” I told her, thankful that she asked. “Where ya headed?”
She smiled weakly.
“I’m in desperate need of a Butterfinger.”
I grinned at the thought of her being in desperate need of a candy bar. “Pork wheels and a Gatorade for me.”
She giggled. “What a balanced lunch we’re having.”
Wasn’t that right?
Hostel didn’t have much in the way of restaurants. One awesome burger place that I’d never have time to get to with the hour that I had left of my lunch break. A small taco stand that was always busy—lunch or not. And then the gas station.
I chose the gas station, but instead of getting my taquitos—fried corn tortillas filled with cheesy goodness—I decided that I was going with something different. And less heartburn-inducing.
“Yeah, a balanced lunch.” I chuckled. “That’s exactly what it is.”
She laughed all the way to the candy aisle.
I bypassed that aisle for the drink aisle and then grabbed the pork wheels on the way to the checker who was standing there looking bored.
“That all?” he asked me.
I pointed to the Butterfinger in Hannah’s hands. “That too.”
“You don’t…”
I looked at her over my shoulder. “You don’t pay when I’m around, sweet cheeks.”
She blinked. “You did not just call me sweet cheeks.”
I shrugged. “Would you rather honey bun?”
She huffed out a breath of air. “I’d rather my name.”
I winked at her and offered the man a twenty, then collected my change before holding the door for Hannah to walk out in front of me.
She did, and I got to admire her fine ass in her jeans.
She surprised me when she turned around, though.
“You want to grab something to eat later?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but she beat me to it.
“I’ll be at the burger joint in town. They’re having a PTA meeting there, and I don’t want to be alone.”
I snorted. “What makes you think I want to go to a PTA meeting?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. We can act like we’re there to be there, but really just ignore them and do our own thing.”
I thought about it for all of two seconds.
I really liked this one, and she was nice to my smart-mouthed daughter even when she didn’t deserve it.
“I think that sounds like a fuckin’ plan.”
Before I could say anything more, I got a text message.
“Shit, hold on,” I said when I saw Hannah about to reply.
I pulled out my phone and glanced at the screen, my brows furrowing.
“Sorry, it’s my daughter’s teacher asking for me to come up there.” I dropped the phone back into my pocket. “I’ll be there.”
Her smile was brilliant.
“I’ll be waiting…with bells on.”
The smile that lit my face at that, and all the way to the school, would’ve thrown red flags among not just one, but all of my brothers.
That smile died the minute I got into the school and heard what Alex’s teacher had to say.
I stared at my daughter’s teacher with dawning horror.
“She what?”
“She has lice.”
My mouth dropped open.
“She washes herself relentlessly!” I groaned.
My kid hated dirt. And when I say hate, I meant hate. She despised it. Loathed it. Anything that came as possibly ‘dirty’ to her, she wouldn’t go near it.
The teacher, Ms. Captain, smiled sadly.
“That’s sometimes the contributing factor in lice cases, Mr. Hail,” she apologized. “Lice likes clean homes, and little kids that have clean hair offer the most hospitable environment.”