Page 8 of Awakening the Sheriff
“Whatever.” He turned away from me and put his headphones on, ending the conversation.
Another day, another argument. This had become my life ever since our move. Not that it had been all sunshine and roses before, but our disagreements had reached new levels of intensity and vitriol. My heart ached with the knowledge that despite my best efforts, nothing seemed to be going right. My attempts to connect with them, especially Byron, felt like grasping at smoke—the harder I tried, the more they slipped through my fingers.
The rest of the drive was silent, both my boys immersed in their phones, and the tension in the car lingered like a thick fog. My thoughts drifted back to the stranger’s bed I’d woken up in mere hours ago and how relaxed I’d felt in that moment. Well, that hadn’t lasted long.
Those stolen moments one weekend a month and during breaks were all the personal time I got, the only opportunities to indulge in my need for sex and adult companionship. I’d long ago given up on trying to find love again. My life was busy enough as a single dad with a full-time job. Maybe when my sons were both off to college, though that seemed too far away to bring even a shred of hope.
Would I ever be able to merge the two conflicting sides of my life? There had to be a way to find a balance, to be the father my sons needed without sacrificing my happiness. Maybe, but I couldn’t entertain that thought now. My priority had to be to mend the gap between us, to rebuild a relationship with both of them, but especially Byron, and to help them find their way in Forestville. Once he was good, I’d have time for myself.
And in the meantime, my kids were worth every sacrifice. They had to be.
3
AUDEN
Monday mornings were no one’s favorite, but I loved them, as they were usually quiet. I didn’t know why people rarely caused problems on Monday mornings, but I wasn’t complaining. Maybe it was because they still felt hopeful at the beginning of a new week? And in this case, also the beginning of a new year.
My office was blissfully silent, both my deputies out. Marcus was in Seattle for training, and Waylon was assisting with an MVC that had happened earlier that morning. I was on call for anything else. Not that I expected trouble.
Our building had a pretty basic setup: a lobby with a reception desk that doubled as the 911 call center, an office for me, and a second office my two deputies used. We had enough space not to get in each other’s way.
I had insisted on adding a mini-kitchen and a private bathroom with a shower, plus a closet-sized bedroom with a single bed. In hindsight, that had been pure brilliance, as I’d spent the night here on more than one occasion. It had even twice functioned as a holding cell for a detainee who couldn’t be transported to the county jail right away when the one actual holding cell had been full.
I’d painted every room myself, with help from my father, of course, and the color scheme was a soothing combination of cream and forest green. A few years later, I still thought I’d chosen well.
I’d already caught up on paperwork, had put in a call to Ennio to catch up as it was his day off, and now took a moment to look at my personal email. Oh, the LEGO set for the Millennium Falcon was on sale. It had been too pricey for me, but how I wanted it. With 7500 pieces, it would be a worthy addition to my growing collection.
Yes, I loved building LEGO sets. People could have opinions on it all they wanted, but it relaxed me, so what the hell was wrong with that?
Should I buy it? I enlarged the included pictures, and damn, it was stunning. LEGO paid great attention to every little detail, and this set was no exception. It would keep me occupied for a few weeks, since I had little spare time to devote to my hobby. But it was a lot of money, more than I could afford to spend on a whim. The sale would last for another week, so I’d have time to sleep on it and figure out a way to make it work.
The phone rang, and I checked the caller ID, then frowned. Forestville High School. What did they need on a Monday morning?
“Sheriff Frant.” Nicholas Hebert had been the principal for four years. Even though we’d known each other longer than that, he always insisted on addressing me with my job title. “We’ve got a situation here involving two students in a physical altercation.”
Crap. It had to be pretty serious to get me involved. “How bad is it?”
“We pulled them apart quick enough, but I’d still like you to come over if you have the time. I’d prefer to explain the reason face-to-face.”
Color me intrigued. “On my way.”
The walk over was long enough to refresh me. I used my key to get access to the building. Even in our remote little town, we’d decided to lock the schools from the outside on the off chance some maniac with evil plans wanted to get in. None of the parents had complained, which spoke volumes about the concerns everyone had after too many school shootings elsewhere.
“You can walk right in, Sheriff,” Lora, the school’s secretary, greeted me.
I hadn’t been in the principal’s office in a good while. The space was well organized, with shelves filled with books on education and leadership lining the walls, while framed diplomas and awards hung on the opposite wall. The faint scent of coffee lingered, a testament to the amounts of caffeine he needed to tend to the needs of his students. He was a man with a bit of a stick up his ass, but he loved the kids, which counted for a lot.
“Thank you for coming, Sheriff Frant.” Hebert gestured for me to take a seat across from him.
“Anytime. So, what’s the situation?”
“The two boys involved are Gabe Everett and Byron Perry.”
Gabe Everett? Fir’s kid had gotten into a fight? That was very unlike him. But it was the other name that had me frowning. “He’s the new English teacher’s kid. Keaton Perry.”
I recognized the name from what my girls had told me. Apparently, Mr. Perry was dreamy, whatever the fuck that meant. I’d seen him a few times in passing, and he looked normal to me. A little shorter than me, lean build, short-cropped dark hair with hints of gray at the temples. He always dressed sharply, wearing suits and cute little bow ties. Not sure what was dreamy about that, but I’d given up on trying to understand teenage girls a long time ago.
The principal nodded. “Correct. And it’s not the first time he’s gotten into trouble. Mr. Perry is a single dad who moved here from Atlanta, and one reason for his move was that Byron was arrested in Atlanta for shoplifting.”