Page 1 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

PROLOGUE

SLOANE

Sixteen Years Old

The bedroom door opened, and I didn’t bother to glance up. I was tired. Tired of moving from house to house. Tired of keeping my things in a plastic sack because no one had bothered to buy me a suitcase after my duffel bag had been stolen at my first foster home. Tired of being treated like I was a burden.

I was tired of lingering stares and unwanted touches and never getting enough to eat because my foster parents didn’t want to spend their government funds on food for us when they could spend it on themselves.

I was tired.

So very tired.

At this point, I couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t been.

A throat cleared, and I reluctantly dragged my attention from the hole in my last pair of black leggings to the door where my social worker, Katherine, was standing with a beaming smile on her face.

That was different.

With all the moves since she’d dropped me at that first disastrous foster home, her ability to fake a grin had faded. Until all I’d been met with was exasperated sighs and disappointing glares.

Until now, evidently.

“I have brilliant news for you,” she gushed, clapping her hands together in a show of excitement that had me raising an eyebrow because I hadn’t knownbrilliantwas in her vocabulary. “Come with me!”

I reluctantly slid off the bed, picking up my things off the floor. The contents of this grocery sack were all I had in the world. I couldn’t risk leaving it for even a moment.

Following her out the door and down the hall, I listened to the worn sound of the Beckers’ wooden floor creaking beneath my feet.

This house sucked. But then again…all my foster homes had sucked.

And so had the tiny apartment I’d lived in with my mother before that.

I wasn’t going to think about that place, though.

I wasn’t going to think about where and how she’d died, in an apartment that had smelled like throw-up and medication.

Don’t think about that.

We made it into the living room, and I glanced around, surprised that there wasn’t any sign of the Beckers in here. There was usually one of them around. They were like cockroaches, one springing up every time you thought they were gone. It wasn’t until Katherine nodded her head at the sagging, faded couch that I realized someone else was in the room with us at all.

Everett.

I fell back a step in shock, my eyes widening as I stared in disbelief at the sight of my mother’s brother—my uncle, I guess. I’d only met him a few times, but every meeting had been memorable. Everett had money, a lot more money than my mom and me, and he’d always treated me to ice cream and fancy toys when he’d come around. I’d lived for those visits, treasuring everything he’d bought me like a dragon hoarding its gold.

I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. And yet here he was.

Everett was lounging on the couch like he owned the place, even though it was obvious that he didn’t belong there. Tall, broad shoulders filled a fancy-looking suit, and his black hair was combed back in a way that screamed rich guy. His skin had that kind of golden tan that people got when they spent their time on golf courses, not working under the sun.

I fidgeted nervously as he stared, wishing I was wearing something nicer. I could only imagine what he saw. A scroungy sixteen-year-old still growing into her features. I looked like the orphan that I was, with the paper supply-logoed sweatshirt that someone had dropped off to Goodwill and my holey, worn leggings. I belonged in this run-down house.

Everett did not.

“Sloane?” His voice was deep and smooth, with a faint trace of a drawl.

For some reason, a beam of hope suddenly made an appearance in my chest, like the first rays of light as the sun peeked out from the horizon. His voice didn’t sound like he was disgusted by the sight of me or that he was annoyed that he was here…I mean you couldn’t tell that much from someone saying your name, but still…

I blinked, still staring at him like he was some kind of mirage. With everything that had happened, I’d sort of…forgotten about him. Katherine had never asked if I had any relatives, so I guess I’d just assumed anyone related to me was dead or didn’t want me.

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