Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“Back here, Mr. Barlowe!” I answer, smiling in relief. A county holding cell isn’t exactly the big house, but it’s been a while since I’ve been locked up, and I’m having some unpleasant flashbacks of juvie, so I’m ready to make bail before Sheriff Laurier comes back to do a cavity search.
Mr. Barlowe’s head pops around the corner first, followed by his booted feet as he comes into the open area of deputies’ desks. “Told you that you can call me Jim. You been processed or anything?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Got thrown in here with an added gravity check by Sheriff Laurier, and it’s been radio silence ever since.”
A muscle in Jim’s cheek twitches. “Sonofabitch. That guy’s such an asshole.” He doesn’t even look around to see who might hear him insult the much-feared sheriff. That’s how solid Jim is. Not because he’s the biggest, burliest, scariest man in any room either. He’s just made of integrity and righteousness, with a belief system that good always triumphs eventually, and if it hasn’t, the battle’s not over. And to him, the fact is . . . Sheriff Laurier is an asshole, so saying it aloud shouldn’t be an issue. “What about Roy?”
“Leeson told Eli that he’d bring him in, but I haven’t seen them. His daddy went storming out of here about two hours ago, though.”
Shepherd comes up behind Jim, his face buried in his phone as he says, “Word is, they’re at the hospital in Glendale, getting Roy’s nose checked out. You totally broke it.” He comes forward to fist-bump me through the bars, but I show him my handcuffs.
“Gravity checks don’t work as well if you can put your hands out,” I explain, and I watch realization dawn on Jim’s face.
“You okay, son?” he says, low and hard. He makes it clear my answer is important to him.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just ready to get out of here and back to Hope. Is she all right?”
Shepherd answers, “She’s spiraling. Short version—she told Roy off, chased after you, broke down in tears, filled us in on what happened, proclaimed her undying love for you, and then declared that she was marching down here to rescue you and nobody could stop her. We barely managed to hold her off by coming ourselves. Mostly because she would’ve come in guns a’blazing and gotten herself arrested too. Would’ve been right there, tapping her toe and demanding to speak to Judge Silverthorn herself.” He points to the bench, looking downright giddy at that imagery. I think he probably wishes he could’ve seen that.
Wait. Did he say . . . Hope loves me?
There’s no way that’s what she said. We only met days ago, and she’s been through so much. I know there’s something huge and intense between us, but she’s not a woman who throws around her heart that easily. And more importantly, she wouldn’t entrust someone like me with it for anything more than a rebound.
That’s what she called it. Called me. And I can be that for her. Or a vacation fling, if she still wants to come to California.
But I’d sure as fuck like to be more. A lot more. I’d love to be her everything.
Confessions of a sinner, unworthy, unloved, abused. Never enough for anyone. Until you.
“She said . . . ?” I question, wanting to be sure I didn’t imagine that.
Jim clears his throat and glares at Shepherd, backhanding him in the gut. “That’s between the two of you. Shut up, son.” And then he looks around, getting back to the business at hand. “Let me find someone to get you out of here.” Cupping his hand to his mouth, he bellows, “Hellooooo?”
A door opens somewhere, and then Deputy Eli reappears. “Can I help you?” he asks Jim, who lifts his brows sharply and points at me with a dead stare.
“Yeah, you can let him out. Now.”
Eli sighs, holding his hands out wide. “Jim, I wish I could. But the sheriff said to hold him the full twenty-four.”
Shepherd holds up his phone, waving it back and forth tauntingly. From what I can see, it’s a frozen image of the place where Hope and I had lunch. “Might want to check in on that order because the whole town’s seen Roy start that shit. If word gets out that you’re holding a tourist on falsified charges to hide the fact that the sheriff’s wittle baby boy has anger management issues that seem to come straight from his daddy’s teat, given he stone-cold tripped my friend here, well . . . I’d hate to have my name attached to that lawsuit.” Snapping his fingers like he just remembered something, he adds, “Hey, Ben, didn’t you say you’ve got some fancy-schmancy LA lawyer that handles your business stuff?”
I said no such thing. Shepherd’s making shit up on the fly, including a big assumption that if I’m a business consultant, I must have a lawyer. Although the truth is, I do have one who reviews contracts for me. Like the one with AMM Records, which he assured me was a standard contract that needed no addendums, changes, or pushback. I believed him then. I don’t now, and wouldn’t hire him to read a magazine for me. He also wouldn’t bother with something like this, but I bet he has a criminal lawyer pal who would. For me, especially.