Page 17 of Bed of Roses

The doll I stole from the second-hand store is another fond memory. I got a belt to my ass for that, but our fosters didn’t take the doll from her, so I still call it a win. She played with that thing until I . . . until I was taken away. I have no idea what happened to it.

I have no idea what happened toher,either.When I was arrested, that was the last time I saw her. I never got any letters, any visits. I don’t know if her new foster family wouldn’t allow it or if she somehow blamed me. It could be both for all I know. I’ll never get the chance to ask her.

Carlights dance over the graves, and I turn to see who decided to come so late to visit a corpse. I only came thislate because she was on my mind. Not many people come after midnight. Or maybe they do?

I shield my eyes when the lights flash directly into them and then grunt when I see the Sheriff sticker on the side. “Fucking great,” I grumble as I turn back to my sister’s stone. I kiss my palm, press it against the stone, and turn to leave. I have no intention of having any sort of interaction with Sheriff George Smith.

My luck runs out though because Smith climbs his fat little body out of his car, rounds my truck, and leans against the side of the bed a mere foot from the driver's door.

“Smith,” I grunt when I’m near enough.

“What are you doing out here, Garner?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chubby pecks. The uniform does nothing to hide his figure or his love of donuts. The giant bald spot on his head is hidden by a black police hat with a short bill thatnormalcops wouldn’t wear, but he just can’t help himself but display his status as sheriff. His feet are small, and his hands are small, but those are the only small parts about him. Unless I count his dick, which I’m sure is the size of a baby carrot.Poor Mrs. Smith.

His dull blue eyes pierce mine when I glare at him. “Visiting my sister.”

“So late?”

“What else would I do in a cemetery?”

He is silent for a few moments, his eyes narrowing and unnarrowing as he chooses his words carefully. “There’s been reports of vandalism from the graveyard manager. That wouldn’t be you, would it?”

I place my hand on my door handle and pause there. I knew this conversation wouldn’t be pleasant. It doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s clear that I don’t like him, and he doesn’t like me, and we both have our good reasons for it. “Do I look like the type that would get my rocks off by throwing around toilet paper over tombstones?”

He shifts so he’s angled more in my direction. “It was spray paint, actually. An upgrade from the usual vandalism.”

I grind my jaw. “Try the teenagers. They have nothing better to do in this sleepy town.”

The nonchalant way that he shrugs one shoulder pisses me off. “You’re the only one with a record in town.”

“And not one of my charges was for vandalism.”

He chuffs. “Are you going to try to convince me that you’ve been a model citizen since you’ve been released? Need I remind you of your parole? One call and I can fuck it all up for you.”

I grind my jaw because I know he’s capable of doing just that. Itching, in fact. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Oh, I’m sure I could dig up something,” he says with a slimy smile that reveals crooked teeth.

I let go of my handle and step threateningly in his direction. I’ll give Smith props, he doesn’t cower. “Try it, and that badge won’t be able to save you, Smith.”

“Are you threatening a cop?”

“Are you threatening to lie to get me put away? Because I have no plans on going back. The only reason I would, would be for a damn good reason. Are you going to be my damn good reason, Smith?”

His arms tighten around his chest. “I could put you away for the night just for talking to me like that.”

I smirk. “But then you’d have to explain why you’ve been following me around. Some people would call that stalking. I’m sure whatever lawyer you’d appoint would have a field day with that, especially with our past.”

I’m not an idiot. I see him everywhere I go, so I can only conclude that he’s been following me, waiting for meto fuck up. But he won’t find that here, not in me. I keep to myself, and I only go out when I have to. I’m a model citizen in my parole officer’s eyes. Over my dead fucking body is some sheriff with a grudge going to ruin that for me. Not when I just got back up on my feet.

Derek said that Smith wasn’t happy when he heard I was being released. He said that the sheriff fought to keep me behind bars. Thankfully, the warden of the prison felt otherwise. He knew why I was there, and he knew that reason was related to Smith. I think some part of him didn’t blame me for what I did, and he wanted to shove it up Smith’s ass.

“I’ll catch you, Cole,” he hisses. Spittle flies from his mouth. “At some point, you will fuck up, and I’ll be there to put you back behind bars where you belong.”

“Then you’re going to be waiting a long-ass time for that,” I murmur, putting my hand back on the handle again. I wretch the door open and climb into my truck.

He stops me from shutting the door with a snatched-out hand. “This isn’t over. It’ll never be over.”

I twist my lips for a moment and shrug. “I’d do it again, you know.”

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