Keep Happy by A.C. Bextor

Author:A.C. Bextor [Bextor, A.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Book One
Publisher: A.C. Bextor
Published: 2018-05-12T16:00:00+00:00

I HATE YOU.

Katie’s frustrated. Which is good. Because so am I.

Her text didn’t come as a surprise. When I all but threw her from my cabin, the look on her face gave way to how bottled up and angry she’s been since I’ve become part of her life again.

I’m happy enough.

Happy enough doesn’t cut it.

It took all I had to not beg her to stay. Not to give her every reason to leave her husband, bring her girls to the only home they’d ever need—mine—and keep her here the way I promised.

I hate you.

Fuck.

“Jesus Christ, is this where his kid sister lives?” Rob questions, staring out the window of my cruiser.

As we pull up to the run-down brick apartment building, my gut wretches as two small kids play with a broken beer bottle. They’re kicking it back and forth, laughing as it continues to crumble into sharp, jagged pieces. Their shoes are beaten to shit.

“A single mother living out here,” Rob shames. “Any mother living out here,” he says, removing his seat belt and grabbing the handle to the door.

This side of town has always been rough, but being that it’s been awhile since I’ve been out this way, it’s also now worse than I remembered.

The railings leading up to the apartment are chipped as well as broken in several places. Windows scattered along the front have been broken, some are boarded up with wood, some not. Most front porch furniture outside is rusted and dingy as well.

Rob turns to me as we make our way down the broken sidewalk. “I’m checking out the back. If we gotta do this, I don’t want any surprises.”

Nodding, I make my way toward the front.

“Hey, so you’re a cop?” one kid with dirty blond hair suspiciously asks, looking up into the sun, using his hand to shield his eyes. His legs are dirty, and it looks as if he hasn’t had a good meal in months.

Smiling to put him at ease as I point to my badge, I tell him, “That’s what the uniform means.”

“My mom says cops get a bad rap,” he tells me.

Another boy stands at his side. This one bigger, stronger, and looking as if he has something to hide. He won’t look directly at me.

“Some get bad raps. Some don’t,” I return. “You know who Ginger Marcos is?” I ask.

Hearing the name, the dark-haired kid, who refused to look at me, finally does. He looks behind him and up to the apartments before he points to one on the second floor. I was right. That’s her place.

“You know Gigi?” he asks. “’Cause she doesn’t like men around her little girl much.”

“I know Ginger. I have a couple questions for her.”

The talkative blond stops playing with the broken glass and queries, “Is Miss Marcos in trouble?”

“Nope,” I reassure. “She’s not in trouble.”

“Good,” the dark-haired boy replies. “She’s nice to us.”

“Her little girl’s name is Aria,” the blond explains.

“She’s not in any trouble,” I reassure, turning to see Rob heading up the stairs alone.

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