Page 8 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

I flick my lighter and suck in a mouthful of smoke. She pushes me, but not hard enough to tip me over.

“Don’t be stupid. You know what he’s done.

Scoffing. “I know what he’s done. I’m the one who fucking lived through it. Every arrest.”

I walk a few feet away to where I parked my car, popping the trunk open and placing my guitar case in it. When I close the trunk, my eyes meet Samantha’s. She’s leaning against my car, one ankle over the other with her arms crossed.

She gives me a wry smile. “I’m only looking out for you. You’re my best friend, and if something happens again…” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “He will put you away. For good this time.”

My jaw ticks, but I listen to her. Considering my options. If I get cozy with Officer Raleigh’s daughter, I can find out his weak spots and stop him for good.

After a few minutes of silence, I nod. “I hear you, Sam. I’m not going to do anything.”

At least, that’s what she believes.

Chapter Three

Summer

Dad is rushing around the house, looking for his badge. There is something off about him this morning. He’s jittery, and his breathing is shuddering. It’s to be expected since he lost his wife, but I can’t seem to get rid of this feeling growing inside of me. A feeling as though something isn’t right.

While I lean against the door frame, I wrap my arms around my stomach and watch him shuffle through Mom’s perfume bottles on top of the long dresser.

He woke me up around ten this morning after receiving a call from the burial home. They had an opening today, and Dad took it. I never expected it to be so soon, but I suppose it’s better to get the bigger chunk of planning for her funeral done sooner rather than later.

I never used to have problems waking up. I never had problems with my eyes wanting to drift into an endless slumber. But lately, it seems I have to pry my lids open. Even when I would stay awake to study, I never felt this exhausted.

“You sure you didn’t misplace it? Leave it at the office?” I ask Dad, trying to find a solution to help him.

He shakes his head, pausing in his tracks to look at me. “No, Summer. I don’t leave anything in the office. You should know that.”

Right, because I follow his every move each day. Dad’s always been a very possessive person when it comes to his work equipment. Even something as little as a badge.

He walks back into his bedroom and rummages through his top drawers. I follow, keeping my distance in the doorway. My chest aches, knowing Mom will never get to sleep in this bedroom again.

I am startled by the loud bang from Dad slamming his drawers shut. He curses under his breath and runs a palm down his face, groaning.

I hate seeing Dad like this.

I clear my throat. “What about Brentley? Maybe he has a spare.”

Allen Brentley is my father’s good friend. They went to school together, and both became officers. Brentley and Dad would take us golfing every Sunday. Until I turned fourteen and chose to spend every Sunday with Chloe.

Dad shakes his head. The stress is visible on his face. “No, Summer. I brought my badge home, as I do every single day. It’s not something I am willing to replace.”

I shrug. “OK. I can help you look after we go to the burial home.”

He comes closer and kisses the top of my head. “Thank you, Princess.” I tense from the nickname. Not that I don’t appreciate being my father’s little princess. I’ve always been. But I’m an adult now. “Unfortunately, I have to head straight to work afterward.”

My eyes dart to his, flabbergasted. “Are you serious?”

The question sounds harsher than I’d like it to be, but I hadn’t anticipated Dad going straight to work after we planned the funeral.

“Summer, I have a lot to figure out at the office. They are counting on me. I will be home for dinner.” Dad jogs down the stairs and out the front door.

“Just like we are counting on them to figure out who killed Mom,” I mumble to myself.

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