Page 13 of The County Line
She winks, not missing a beat despite my rudeness. “You’ll see. These kids have a way of taking up residency in your heart and keep you coming back even when you’re no longer mandated to be here.”
I highly doubt that.
“Is it that obvious that I’m being forced to do this?” I ask.
She smiles easily. “I’ve got an eye for identifying those who would rather not be spending their afternoon playing games with kids.”
Hm.
“So, what do you have going on tonight? Usually, the Bigs all go to Krissy’s Bar in town after volunteering and get drinks to unwind and catch up. Wednesdays are fifty-cent wings and beer night. Sometimes we throw darts or play pool.”
“Ah, I can’t drive unless it’s for work, doctor’s appointments, or a court appointed appearance,” I respond, grateful for the excuse because going to Krissy’s right now sounds like hell.
She nods. “Well, I can give you a ride if that’s all that’s stopping you?”
“Not tonight.”
It’s not the mandated 11 p.m. curfew keeping me from considering her offer. It’s that I simply don’t want to. And now that I’m out, I don’t do things I don’t want to do unless I’m forced to. Got enough of those things already.
Drinks, mingling with strangers, pretending I want to make new friends—it all sounds like torture. Even the idea of playing pool or sitting in a noisy bar feels suffocating. That bar is nothing but a minefield of memories I’d rather leave buried. The thought of the clatter and chatter, the overwhelming hum of a crowd—it’s like a resounding gong in my head, one I’ll do anything to avoid.
She nods again, undeterred by my tone. “Well, if you change your mind or have any questions about what we’re doing here at the Boys and Girl’s Club, let me know. We’d love to have you join us. All the volunteers are great people, and we use the time to support and encourage each other. Plus, building relationships with the other volunteers might come in handy. Sometimes people need to swap shifts or cover for each other’s littles. It’s good to know who the right fit for Malachi might be if you ever need backup.”
“Sure, I’ll keep that in mind.” I take another massive bite of the pizza slice I’ve been holding, hoping the act of chewing willsignal the end of this conversation. Maybe if she sees my mouth is full, she’ll stop talking. I’m not meaning to be rude—I’m just not in the mood for whatever sunshine she’s here to sprinkle.
I don’t want to sit in some room with people I don’t know, sip beers, and force polite small talk. I want to be home, working on my property, surrounded by my family or in complete silence.
But even this pizza sucks. The crust is dry, the sauce too sweet. I chew on it anyway, rubbing my jaw thoughtfully as I take a closer look at her. Something about her unwavering happiness rubs against my frayed edges.
“You look familiar.”
She smiles wider. “I’m Reverend Emerson’s daughter, Lydia Emerson.”
“Ah, does the good man of faith know that his daughter likes to drink with heathens during the week?”
She laughs gently. “He does. Doesn’t prefer it, but I’m a grown woman who makes her own decisions now.”
I nod at that because I like a strong woman who doesn’t conform to societal or parental expectations. “Well, have a good night then, Lydia.”
She waves goodbye as I shove the rest of the slice of pizza into my mouth and swallow it down dry. I’m sure it’s good, the kids have practically devoured it, but to me, it tastes just like a bag of sand and sits in my gut even heavier.
I head out to the parking lot, climb into my truck and close the door with a heavy sigh, letting the stillness settle over me. Day one with Malachi wasn’t terrible, but I can’t shake the feeling that an hour of UNO doesn’t accomplish much for either of us. Maybe it’s supposed to be about building trust or something, but right now, it feels pointless. There are a thousand other thingsI’d rather be doing—things Ishouldbe doing. But here I am again, stuck doing something I don’t want to do.
Seems to be the theme of my life.
I glance down at the phone Troy bought me when I got out four days ago. It’s shiny and new, unburdened by the contacts and memories of my old life. Not that it matters—there’s no one from my past I care to reach out to. Most people don’t even know I’m out, and I doubt they’d be eager to hang out with me if they did. They’ve moved on, built lives. Marriage, kids, careers, new towns, and clean slates. A lot changes between twenty-four and twenty-nine.
My eyes land on the sheet of paper sitting on the passenger seat. It’s the list of instructions from my parole officer about scheduling my court appointed therapy sessions. I let out another breath, leaning back in my seat and staring at the ceiling of the cab of the truck. One more thing I have to do, one more hoop to jump through.
I dial the number written at the top forNew Beginnings Counseling, an upbeat voice answers on the second ring.
“Hello!New Beginnings Counseling.How may I help you today?”
“I need to schedule a court appointed therapy session. My parole officer said I should ask for Liv Brown.”
I can hear paperwork flipping through the phone as the administrator rifles through her files. “Yes, is this Colton Marshall speaking?”
“Colt’s fine.”
