Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Yeah.”
He stepped outside and quietly closed the door. Then he placed a hand on my shoulder and moved me a few feet away from the entrance. “Once you get the kid in the car, go ahead and leave. He’s seen enough and I really don’t want him to see his brother carted out in cuffs.”
In cuffs? Bellamy was being arrested…
“Ma’am? Did you hear me?”
“I don’t...I don’t have a car. I took the bus here.”
“Shit…” He turned his face to the walkie-talkie on his shoulder. A beep sounded. “Can you send back-up? I need to escort a young lady and a child home.”
“Ten-four, Robins.”
I stared back at the flashing lights. What in the hell was going on?
“I’ll take you home,” the officer said. “You don’t need to be walking around these streets at this time of night.”
Part of me didn’t want to ask, but... “What happened?”
“Domestic dispute.” He glanced back at the door. “The mom got it pretty bad, but I think she’ll be all right. And if I’m being honest, Dan got what he deserved.”
Static crackled over his radio. And from that snippet of information, I gathered that Bellamy had beaten his dad, probably for hitting his mom. Yet, he was the one being arrested. Anger coursed through me as I thought of Bellamy being taken to jail for defending his mom. It was wrong.
“Five minutes, Robins.” The officer nodded before walking back inside.
I waited outside on the step, staring at the broken glass on the driveway while a crippling sense of pity for Bellamy and his brother surged through me.
Eventually, another patrol car pulled onto the street, and Officer Robins walked out with Arlo, his face tear-stained and red, and a ratty backpack slung over his shoulders.
He sniffled when he looked up at me. “Hey, Miss Drew.”
My chest squeezed when I placed my hand on his little head. “Hey, Arlo.”
The cop opened the car door, and I followed Arlo into the back seat.
I really hoped my dad wasn’t home to see a cop car pull up in the drive, but even if he were, surely to God, when he saw Arlo, he just wouldn’t say anything.
The engine cranked, and the patrol car pulled away.
Arlo quietly cried, looking out the window at the passing streets of Dayton. He was already conditioned to think that this was normal, and that was heartbreaking. Worse, from the little I’d glimpsed of Bellamy with him, I knew he tried hard to give his little brother something better. And instead, he got this.
“Where do you live, Miss Morgan?” The officer asked.
“2112 Barrington Cove.”
He rolled to a stop at the four-way.
“Barrington Cove?” He glanced over his shoulder with pinched brows. Like he didn’t believe me.
“Yeah. Is...that a problem?”
“There’s a bus in Barrington?”
“My father and I are having authoritative differences that involve my lack of a car.”
I could only imagine what he must be thinking. A Barrington girl turning up on the bus to get a kid from a domestic dispute.
“He doesn’t like the guys I date.” That one statement pretty much covered it.
He pressed the gas. “Ah. Okay…”
Silence filled the car, intermittently broken by Arlo’s sniffles. I rubbed his back the entire ride through Dayton.
When the patrol car swung into Barrington, the scenery changed entirely. Everything perfect and polished.
Arlo plastered his face to the window. “Are those castles?”
“Not quite.”
The officer dropped us off, and thankfully, my dad wasn’t back yet.
“Thank you for the ride, officer,” I said.
“No problem.”
“Do you know when Bellamy will be out?” I asked.
When, not if, because surely, they wouldn’t keep a kid for defending his mom. Then again, I didn’t know exactly what had happened.
“Twenty-four hours is typical.” He looked at me for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “You have a good evening, miss.”
“Thanks.”
He drove off, and I herded Arlo toward the front door.
His eyes widened as he walked into the house, sheepishly lingering in the foyer.
What the hell did I do with a small child who had just been through things I couldn’t imagine.
“You want a Push-Pop?” I asked. It was all I could think of.
“No. I’m not hungry.” His bottom lip poked out, then quivered. “I don’t want Bellamy to go to jail, Miss Drew. And I want my momma to be okay.”
I didn’t know what to do, but the second he started crying, I scooped him up and took him to the couch, holding him while his skinny shoulders shook.
“They’ll be okay, Arlo. Your brother loves you. He wouldn’t leave you for long.” I wrapped him in a blanket, turned on the TV, and changed it from the news to SpongeBob.
After a few minutes, he drew in a heavy breath, then rolled out of my lap and pressed back on the sofa. “This is squishy.” He bounced back again, then turned and face-planted the cushion, his troubles temporarily forgotten. “And it smells good. Are you rich, Miss Drew?”