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)
But honestly, that wasn’t all that had my head spinning. I enjoyed spending time with Kell. He made me feel good, and even though I didn’t show it, there wasn’t much in my life that made me feel really good.
He was one thing.
Griff was the other.
And didn’t that make shit difficult?
So I’d spent the day grumbling at work and basically being an asshole. It was near the end of my shift when dispatch called. “Chase, there’s a drunk-and-disorderly call at Grant’s. You’re the closest, and Roger is out on another call.”
The hesitation in her voice told me she knew it was my dad. She obviously didn’t want to send me out on this call, but we’d all known this could happen at some point. This was my job, and he was nothing to me, so I cleared my throat and said, “On my way now.”
“I’ll send Roger over as soon as I can, just in case.”
I was only about a minute and a half from Grant’s. There was an annoying twist in my stomach as I parked, radioed that I was on scene, and went inside. The moment I did, I heard my dad’s voice, and for a second I was that wounded fucking kid again, the one who was scared and alone and whom he’d tortured.
“You can’t kick me out of the store! I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Mr. Hawthorne, please lower your voice,” one of the employees told him. I walked around the corner in time to see my dad stumble, which was a familiar sight. He had on a pair of cut-off shorts, with no shirt or shoes, his beer belly having grown over the years. He looked…old; fuck, he looked old and belligerent, and the familiar hate I felt for him began to bubble over. Christ, I detested this man.
My eyes scanned the area to see if anyone was with him and also because I was curious if Lawson’s dad or brother were there. I hated the thought of a friend’s family seeing my father this way. Luckily, they weren’t. “Excuse me, what’s the problem here?” I asked as I approached.
My dad tensed up and looked at me. “You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” He slurred his words.
“He was making a scene because we wouldn’t allow him to buy beer. He became angry and was yelling and cursing out one of our cashiers. We also have a dress code, which he isn’t adhering to either,” the employee answered.
“Fuck you,” my father said to him before turning his anger on me. “I heard you were back. Aren’t you too much of a pussy to be a police officer? Oh, no, actually, fuck cops. You are a pussy, which is why you became one. You couldn’t man up to me before. I don’t know what makes you think you can do it now.”
Bile and hate burned my throat. There was so much I wanted to do, so much I wanted to say. People were beginning to watch, stopping what they were doing to see how I would react to what my dad said. There was nothing I wanted more than to take him down a notch, to show him what it felt like to be bullied or hit by someone bigger than him, because I sure as shit wasn’t scared of him anymore, but I knew I couldn’t do that. “You need to come with me, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“Fuck you!” He spit toward my feet, then stumbled, almost fell and knocked down a cardboard display.
Everything inside me shut down then. I was completely cut off from my emotions, because he was so fucking sad. I pulled out my cuffs, and he struggled to get away from me. He was too drunk to do much, so I was able to read him his rights, get his hands behind his back, and lead him outside.
Roger pulled up and gave me a pitying frown. “Sorry, Chase. I woulda taken care of this if I could have gotten here in time.”
“It’s fine. He’s nothing to me,” I replied as my dad began to yell, calling me a pussy, a pig, weak.
“Want me to take him in?” Roger asked.
“No, I got this. Could you go inside and take a report, though?”
“No problem,” he replied as we parted ways.
I was detached from the moment, from him, as he yelled and cursed while I put him in the back of the cruiser. He was fighting to get free, still yelling and cussing at me as I drove to the station.
“Fuck you for thinking you’re better than me,” he slurred.
“I am.” It wasn’t professional, but I couldn’t hold it back.
“Nah, you’re my piece-of-shit son who always thought he was better than me, but you weren’t then and you aren’t now. You hide behind that badge just like you hid behind the Caines. Couldn’t fight your own battles then, and you can’t now.”