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The people leaving the busy rink all stop and look as the cop car pulls into the lot behind me.
A body hits my back and my front hits the gravel with a painful thud. My cheek skims it and stings with an unforgiving burn. That’s going to leave a mark.
“Get off me!” I scream, bucking and thrashing as my arms are twisted behind my back. “STOP!”
“I’ve got her,” the man speaks into his radio, giving me enough time to bring my foot back and into his groin. He groans and his grip loosens enough for me to scramble away but he recovers and grabs my hair, ripping my head back.
“LET GO!” I fight to recover but I’m just done. My limbs are like lead, heavy and slow. “Please,” I beg as his knee digs into my spine and he pulls my arms behind my back.
“Pass me the cuffs,” the cop chokes, sounding pained from when I caught his nuts with my foot, I bet.
“Let fucking go. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“We’re at Bowler Mania. There’s a crowd gathering, so be quick.”
My hands are cuffed behind my back, far too tight around my wrists as a crowd gathers around us and people start taking my picture and filming the altercation.
I roar a scream of frustration. I don’t like being shackled, it’s all too familiar.
“Stop being such a fucking brat,” some guy snaps at me but I ignore him.
When the cop who pinned me drags me to my feet, I spit in his face. “Pussy.”
He wipes it on his sleeve, a scowl on his face. “You disgusting little bitch.”
The cop yanks my arms upwards making me cry out in pain and drop back onto my knees as I glare at the guy who just called me a brat.
“Nice outfit,” I say sardonically as I assess him and all his teen-boy glory. He’s bleached his hair blond which is tucked behind his ears. His black cap is backwards and makes his frozen blue eyes pop. He reminds me of the guy I saw in the Wendy’s parking lot. I wonder if he’s one and the same. “Who are you meant to be? A Justin Timberlake drag act?”
He’s probably such a panty dropper but he doesn’t impress me. I know guys like him and I know what they’re about.
His blue eyes become frostier than a glacier and his hands curl into fists by his sides.
“Presley, son,” the cop says firmly. “Take your friends away, please.”
Ah, he’s the cop’s son, of course he is.
More cars pull in, more people to watch me at such a shit time.
“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Stanley roars, charging towards us and I cringe away, ready for him to grab me or maybe even slap me. “You were supposed to fucking LOCATE HER! Not this!”
Okay, that didn’t go as I thought it would.
“She was running, I did what I had to do to get her to stop,” the cop who pinned me explains.
“She’s just a fucking kid!”
I peer at Stanley who has bright red, bloodshot eyes which are enraged and on the cop still holding me.
“Let her go, Myers,” another cop snarls and Lane helps me onto my feet. When they uncuff me, she rubs my wrists to help the ache. I pull away. I don’t need anybody touching me right now.
“She kicked my dad in the dick,” Presley, the blond-haired panty dropper, snarls in defense of his father.
“Before or after he tackled her to the ground?” Stanley yells and I’m surprised he’s got my back at all. He glances at my bruised wrists and winces when he sees the grazes on my cheekbone from where I hit the ground. They sting like a bitch. “I’ll have your badge for this, Myers!”
Myers looks between Stanley and the sheriff and lets out a bark of laughter. I recognize the sheriff to be the guy who caught me at the alleyway.
“I was just doing my job.”
“I didn’t give this order, Myers,” the sheriff snaps as I look between them all and at the crowd.
“Let’s get you home,” Lane whispers, her arm around my shoulders, her hands rubbing my wet biceps. “Okay?”
That’s really surprising.
“I’m not going back to L.I.?”
Stanley gives me a pointed look, his eyes still very sore, his expression set. “You are never going back.”
“You.” The sheriff points at Myers. “Back to the station, my office, now.”
“Unbelievable,” Myers hisses.
Presley spits at my feet, his eyes cold and set and all his friends watch on with excited expressions.
“Bye, Timberfake,” I snap at him as Lane drags me away.
I expected anger and shouting, I expected the social worker my uncle hired to come and collect me. I didn’t expect this kindness from them both.
I didn’t expect Stanley to tell me that everything is going to be okay as he sits me at the kitchen table and warms milk in a pan.
