Page 29 of The Sun
Judah doubled over, laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. “Shit. That talking Chihuahua never gets old.” He wiped tears from his face.
I took a step toward him, narrowing my gaze on his bloodshot eyes. “Are you high?”
“Of course.”
Sighing, I grabbed the Playboy from the coffee table and chucked it at him. “Idiot.”
“I’m just celebrating. You should be too. The coach let all three of us on the team and gave us killer positions.”
“Of course, he did.”
All the high school coaches knew who the Black boys were. We were so dominant on the field that the schools would turn a blind eye to the stupid shit any of us pulled. . . most of the time, at least.
Judah thumbed through the magazine, turning it sideways to pull out the centerfold. “Real tits look better than fake ones.”
Leaning over, I snatched Miss August away from him and dropped it on the floor. “Clean up the mess you made in the kitchen. Now.”
“Fine.”
Seconds later, dishes clattered while Judah bitched and moaned.
“Suck it up, buttercup,” I shouted as I sorted through the pile of bills on the coffee table.
Power. Gas. Water.
Then I dropped them in my lap and let my head fall back against the cushion. There were people who had it worse than me—a lot worse—but I sure as hell didn’t have it easy.
Billie ran off with some trucker named Jethro two weeks after she got this shithole hovel, which was more than okay. It wasn’t like she contributed to anything other than her own alcohol and cigarettes.
The problem was if the bills didn’t get paid now, I was afraid someone would find out the three of us were without adult supervision. And I was not going to let my brother’s go back into the foster system at sixteen. All I had to do for the next year was make sure I paid every damn bill on time and kept us out of trouble. Then I could get the courts to grant me custody of the two delinquents until they were legal. If they could just keep it together for two more years, they’d have scholarships for ball, and maybe just maybe we could break the vicious cycle of poverty our family seemed to be stuck in.
The aluminum door rattled when someone pounded a fist on it.
I dropped the bills on the table and moved to the door. When I checked the peephole, I swore under my breath at the sight of the brown brim of a sheriff hat. “Judah, wanna tell me why the sheriff is on our porch?”
“What?” He skirted out of the kitchen and into the living room, suds falling from his hands to the stained carpet. “I didn’t do nothing. I swear.”
“Fuck. If Doodle got Atlas in trouble, I swear to. . .” I glanced at the safe deposit box sticking out from underneath the sofa and panic tensed my chest.
Arching my brows, I pointed at the metal case. “Hide that in the air return in the hall.”
He didn’t argue that. Just took it and ran out of the room.
The sheriff knocked again.
I waited until I heard the grate click shut, then I swung the door open and nearly fell back a step when my eyes landed on a much older looking Mr. Lower. He had been a cop when I lived with them. Not the Sheriff.
He removed his hat and nodded. “Elias.”
“Hey.” His cruiser was alone in the yard, which put me at ease. A little. I cleared my throat. “Hey, Mr. Lower.”
He glanced over my shoulder into the house. “Your aunt at home?”
“Uh. No, sir. She’s at work.”
“Mmm.” He paused, fiddling with the brim of his hat. “Can I have a word with you real quick?” He jerked his chin toward the house. I didn’t have a choice but to open the door wider and let him through.
Judah was back at the sink scrubbing a skillet. He shot an uneasy look at me while Mr. Lower regarded his surroundings. His gaze stopped on the Playboy spread open on the floor where I’d dropped it.
