Page 172 of Finding Hope

PROBATION

I’m not sure my life could actually get any worse.

I legitimately think that short of being picked up and planted inside an actual live warzone, and maybe having some nukes shoved up my ass, I think I’m about at the upper limit of what any man should ever have to endure in one lifetime.

What the fuck did I do in a past life to deserve this? Or maybe it was because I was an absolute piece of shit, spoiled prick to my dad when he was dying, or maybe after, to Kit, when all she was trying to do was look after my fifteen-year-old punk ass and survive.

This is karma, and years of me being a total dick seems to have earned me a dead girlfriend, an addictive personality where I craveallthe wrong shit, then a second girlfriend, one who I know damn well didn’t cheat on me, but because I’m a fucking prick, I still screamed that she did.

I’m a fucking idiot.

She might’ve lost interest, but she’s not a cheat, and she’s not a liar.

Folding forward on the cold, steel bench, I rest my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands.

I’ve made my one call, I’ve been released from custody, I’m not even being charged. Now I’m here to face judgment day.

I prepare myself for the disappointed eyes of my family, and when I look up at Kit and Bobby, they deliver.

Bobby studies my deflated body and shakes his head. Pulling my sister –his almost crying wife – close against his chest, his eyes say everything his mouth doesn’t have to.

I’ve let them down. Again.

“Were you drinking?” he demands.

I just shake my head. “Nope.”

“So you decided to tear that place up for funsies? Or because you just don’t give a shit about your career?”

“I’ve already spoken with the commission,” Kit snaps. “Your fight was half a second away from being canned. I basically had to suck Leloprexx’s dicks to keep them from dropping you. Brad Maxwell isn’t pressing charges, which means you’re in the clear…for now.As your manager, I’m putting you on lockdown. You’ll be at home or in the gym around the clock until the fight. That’s it. You’re officially on probation with the committee.”

Nodding, I drop my weight. I’m exhausted. “Okay.”

“And with us.”

Ouch.“…Okay.”

“Let’s go,” Bobby snaps. “Everything’s signed. Alex is in the shitter, you’re free to go. Get your shit and move before he comes back out. I won’t be stepping in front of a bullet for you, asshole. Not after what you did.”

Gathering every last scrap of energy I possess, I stand and follow my sister and her husband through the cell door and down the hall. We emerge into the office area to find Oz, theactualdeputy in this town.

Sitting back, feet on his desk, chipped mug of hot coffee in his hands. Heappearsto be relaxed, but the fire in his eyes says he knows what I did, he knows who I did it to, and he knows Britt was caught in the crossfire.

Just like Tina, or Tink, or Izzy are my sisters, just like I’d burn the world down to protect them, Britt is Oz’s, and he’s fucking pissed.

I won’t expect any favors from our town’s boys in blue anytime soon.

“Oz.”

His biceps bulge with adrenaline. “Fuck off, Reilly.”

I tip my imaginary hat. “Good day to you, then.”

Walking through the electric front door, we emerge into the late-night dark and turn toward Bobby and Kit’s SUV.

It’s closing in on midnight. The sky is clear. Not a cloud to be seen. My car isn’t here – it’s still at the restaurant, seeing as I was arrested and hauled here in the back of Alex’s cruiser – but worst of all, Bambie’s not here, either.

I know I don’t deserve it. I know she probably hates me. But I washoping maybe she’d follow me here, I was hoping she’d forgive my vile words and horrible behavior.

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