Hold On (Page 138)

He looked to his right to see kids heading into school, some on foot, some parking their bikes on a rack outside, many of them turned to watch the woman.

Seeing this, he put his truck in park, asking his dad, “You gonna be there, I swing around?”

“Yep, son. I’ll be here,” Dave replied.

“Great. Be there in ten, maybe fifteen,” he told him as he threw his door open.

“See you then.”

He disconnected as he angled out of his truck, his phone beeping with a text from Mike that Garrett glanced at and saw said, Gotcha.

He moved toward her car, and the woman stopped gesticulating and stared at him as he looked beyond her to gesture to the cars waiting to swing out and pass them in order to keep traffic flowing.

He then shoved his phone in his inside jacket pocket, which gave him the opportunity to push his jacket back, exposing his badge on his belt as he dropped his hand and put it on his hip.

He made it to her side of the car and tapped on the window.

It whirred down and she looked out.

“Sorry, didn’t know you were police,” she muttered, cheeks pink, eyes hidden behind expensive sunglasses even though the sun had barely risen.

But her expression was easily read, showing irritation at the further delay, something she was not going to share to his face, and embarrassment because she’d been caught by a cop who could do something about her being an impatient bitch.

“It make a difference I’m police or not?” he asked.

“I’ve got an early meeting,” she explained. “Dropping off Asa, I’m late for work.”

“That might be so, ma’am, but, and I hope you agree with me, you honkin’ and behavin’ like that in front of a bunch of nine-, ten-, and eleven-year-olds does not teach good lessons. Makin’ it worse, nothin’ anyone can do to make the drop-off go faster, seein’ as there’s nowhere anyone can go until it’s open to go there. So think it’s best you keep your hand off your horn and wait your turn like everyone else.”

“They should do something about this,” she snapped, flicking a hand at the cars slowly passing them, a long line to get in, the line crawling to get out. “It’s like this every day and it’s ridiculous.”

She was not wrong.

He didn’t share he agreed with her.

He stated, “That’s not the issue. The issue is, I got a boy in that school and he’s of an age where there’re a lot of ways he’s learnin’. And I don’t want him to see folks actin’ like you and thinkin’ it’s okay when it’s not. He’s gotta learn to be patient, workin’ with his fellow citizens to get on in life. If this situation doesn’t work for you, take it up with the school or the town or suck it up like everyone else. Don’t take it out on other parents who got the same goal as you to get their kids to school safe and get on their way. Yeah?”

“Yes, Officer,” she mumbled.

He nodded. “Thanks for your time.”

She nodded back.

He walked to his truck, thinking that there was not a lot of joy in his job.

Except when he got to do shit like that.

He got in his truck. It took him all of three minutes to crawl to the exit of the school and pull out.

Then he went to his dad’s.

He pulled in the driveway, got out, and made his way up to his dad’s house, the house Garrett and Raquel grew up in, the house their mother was murdered in.

He never got why his father didn’t sell it before Rocky and him moved out, and he definitely never got why he didn’t after.

He also never questioned his dad about it. The Merricks didn’t do shit like that.

Which might be one of the reasons why they were all, in their own ways, fucked up.

Dave didn’t meet him at the door. It was cold and cold could fuck with Dave and the injuries he’d sustained that had healed okay but not completely when the man who’d murdered Garrett’s mother shot his father full of holes.

But when Garrett hit the front door, he found in the time between his phone call and now, his dad had unlocked it.

He went in and called out.

“Kitchen, son!” Dave called back.

Garrett headed to the kitchen and found his old man at the coffeepot.

“Joe?” he asked the pot.

“Yeah,” Garrett answered.

His father poured him a cup like he liked it—no milk, two sugars—and Garrett waited to see where he took it—kitchen table, the bar or if he was good to stand, drink and talk.

Garrett knew the cold was fucking with him when his dad took it to the table, handing Garrett his mug on the go.

They sat. Dave stretched out his bad leg and did it almost without wincing.

Watching that, Garrett felt the sour hit his gut. But this was a different kind of sour. One he’d lived with a long time.

“So, seein’ Cher Rivers,” his dad muttered, lifting his coffee to his lips.

“Yep,” Garrett answered, then sipped his own, swallowed, and lowered his mug. “Been busy. No excuse. Since it’s serious with Cher, should have found time to connect with you.”

Dave’s mouth quirked. “My son’s finally got a woman in his life with staying power, not sure I’m priority.”

Garrett held his eyes. “Like I said, it’s serious, Dad.”

Dave didn’t break eye contact. “Had Devin here a few days ago, drinkin’ my bourbon and tellin’ me Mia staked a public claim that’s no longer hers to stake, doin’ it blindsidin’ your girl at work. You not there, Tanner took your back…and hers. So, from that, already got it’s serious, Garrett.”