Page 122 of The Locksmith's Promise

I swallowed hard, my chin dropping to my chest.

When the Sergeant’s boots approached, I lifted my head, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.

He suffered from the same affliction.

Reaching out, he grasped my shoulder and rasped gruffly, “I should have done more. But there’s just too many horror stories with children’s aid up in these parts. Figured you were better off with all of us keeping an eye.”

“You were always there for me,” I offered, knowing now more than ever that it was true.

“I threw your old man in the drunk tank more times than I can count,” he began. “But the times he got to you, those times fucking haunt me. Why didn’t you call?”

“Hard to do without a phone, Sir.” I cleared my throat. “You kept the physical stuff to a minimum.” Huffing out a sharp laugh, I accused, “You threw me into the drunk tank more than a time or two.”

He grinned. “You had so many of us up your ass you couldn’t get away with shit.”

Behind him, Maggie’s father set out two lawn chairs and cracked open a can of pop.

With a grim smile in my direction, he added, “Laurie packed a cooler full of waters and sandwiches for later.”

I gaped at both of them. They’d turned this into a fucking picnic.

Sarge cleared his throat. “If I don’t get a chance later, I want you to know, I’m proud of the man you’ve become. And I’m glad you’re home.”

I couldn’t answer.

But I heard.

And I replayed those words whenever I needed to in the years to follow.

Eric started up his backhoe and hollered. “Hey, fucker. You want to sit on my lap?”

I grinned and shook my head. “I’ll watch from here.”

Face serious, Eric nodded to all of us as he moved her into position. “Stand back.”

Shifting forward, Eric lifted the arm of the backhoe along with his own. With three fingers in the air, he counted down then dropped the bucket.

Just once.

And the shack of horrors toppled like a house of fucking cards.

I stood as the ceiling collapsed, and the walls fell back.

Flushed darkly when it exposed the shameful remains of my trashed bedroom for all to see.

My lips twitched at the one corner post left standing.

A snarl unfurled in my chest, my fury rising with every panting breath.

Spying John’s axe, I grabbed it and stalked toward that one remaining post.

Lifting the axe high, I brought it down with a harsh grunt.

“Fucking bastard,” I spat.

You never loved me.

With a harsh grunt, I swung the axe once more.

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