Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 100608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
The breath is knocked out of my lungs as if my father punched me right in the chest. My eyes widen in horror and my entire body trembles.
“Why do you hate the gays in this town?” I demand, trying and failing to reel in my disgust toward my father. “What the fuck did they ever do to you?”
“Watch your tone with me, Son,” Dad snarls. “I’ll tell you what they did to me. They keep popping up in this town like a Whac-A-Mole game at the arcade. As fast as I try to run them off, they keep sticking their heads out. It’s a bad image for Brigs Ferry Bay. Longtimers are moving out left and right just to escape them.”
Unbelievable.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to throw at him that I’m gay, and there’s a good possibility Zak is too, but I’ll be damned if I give him any ammunition right now when he’s on his warpath.
“Jax,” Cato sings as he clomps down the stairs. “I may have another cat for you. This one is only missing a few tufts of hair, but it’ll grow—” He stops when he sees us clearly in a heated conversation, plastering on a fake smile. “Oh, hi, Mayor Bell.”
“Whack,” Dad growls, not acknowledging Cato and pinning me with a dark stare.
An explosion of intense hatred explodes out of me. “Get out!” I roar, pointing at the door. “Get out of my station, or so help me, I will cuff your ass to the goddamn chair while I file a hate crime report on you!”
Dad’s face turns purple at my outburst. He turns on his heel, storming past Cato, clipping him on the shoulder on his way out. Cato shrinks away from him, his eyes wide with confusion mixed with fear. I stalk over to Cato, pulling him to me for a hug. The urge to comfort the both of us is strong.
As soon as he’s gone, Cato relaxes in my hold.
“Did you tell him about you and Dante?” he asks, tilting his head up to look at me.
“It wasn’t the right time to admit I’m gay.” I let loose a heavy sigh. “Not sure it’ll ever be.”
“Then what was his problem? I’ve never seen your father so pissed before.”
“Apparently, I’m the worst sheriff and son ever to exist.”
“That guy is so damn clueless,” Cato grumbles. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry you had to hear him in peak asshole mode.”
My phone rings from my desk. I let go of Cato to walk over and answer it.
“Sheriff Bell speaking,” I state, unnerved at the fact it’s the school calling.
“Jaxson,” Brandon greets. “You have a minute to come by my office?”
“Zak in trouble again? Callan?”
“No. It’s another student. Got caught with drugs.”
“I’ll be right there.”
As if I don’t have enough shit on my plate, now I’m dealing with drugs. Brigs Ferry Bay has always kept its nose clean. Drugs aren’t a problem. Ever. So, this, just like everything else, another log of frustration thrown into the building fire.
For the past year, I considered hiring another police officer. I’m usually bogged down with paperwork and the occasional car accident, whereas Brie gets stuck with manning all the phone calls that come in. But I’m beginning to feel as though our two-person police unit is stretched thin. Having someone on patrol more frequently, especially overnight, might do wonders in keeping the crime down.
Once in front of the school, I climb out of my Tahoe and head inside. I nod in greeting to the school secretary before letting myself into Brandon’s office where he’s speaking to someone on the phone. A long-legged kid sits sprawled out in a chair in front of him, scowling at his hands in his lap. The first thing I notice about the kid is he smells bad. Body odor that he’s tried to cover up with horrible cologne. His nearly black hair is overgrown and greasy. Dirt is packed beneath the nails of each finger. His skin is pale and he’s too thin. My heart immediately goes out to him.
“Principal Hayworth,” I say as soon as Brandon hangs up.
He lets out a huff of air. “Sheriff.”
The kid’s eyes lift to meet mine. They’re a pale, bluish gray—haunted and empty. Dark circles ring his eyes, lips are cracked, hardened by lines of dried blood, and his cheeks are slightly sunken in.
“Sorry I’m late,” Hank says from behind me as he enters the office. “Got held up in class.” When he sees me, he tips his head. “Sheriff.”
“Coach Townsend.” I cross my arms over my chest, my gaze bouncing between the three of them. “What happened?”
“I found drugs on him,” Hank grumbles. “In the middle of class, he was carrying out a drug deal.”
The kid’s eyes roll and his nostrils flare.
“What’s your name, kid?” I ask, pinning him with a hard stare.