Unexpected

I recognize the sympathy in his voice. While I should be grateful, I'm no one's charity. I've fended for myself for years. Found ways to feed myself. Learned how to wash my clothes at the age of six because I didn't want anyone to know my mamma didn't have time for me. She loved me but worked too damn much. Now, as an adult trying to graduate, I'm sometimes homeless, but I'm used to that too. Two more months and everything will be different. In August I'll be at UF on a football scholarship, and no one will know I was once the kid who used to sleep in a hole in the sand. “Stepdad kicked me out. Needed a place to crash while Mom and him sorted shit out. I won’t do it again, Officer.”

“Is he the one to give you that shiner?” the cop asks. I bite my tongue but hold his gaze. I'm no rat. A cop crossing the tracks to sort a domestic disturbance will only attract attention I don't need. When I don't reply, he says, “Come with me.”

“But I…”

“Relax, kid. You’re not in trouble.” He leads me past the boardwalk stairs and closer to the Horizon hotel’s beach entrance. “Everything past those stairs is considered a private beach. While I can still harass you for being on the property, unless you're a danger to yourself or others, most cops will just ask you to leave.”

“Why are you telling me this?” My eyes have fully adjusted now that the cop has turned his light off. We walk for a few minutes, past four sets of stairs, and are still going.

“Because I spent my fair share of nights in the sand when I was your age. Although, I was usually passed out drunk.” He smirks as if remembering a better time. I’m jealous. Nothing about my overnights here is worth remembering. Especially the rainy Florida nights and soul-sucking mosquitos. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re a good kid because you don’t look strung out or anything like that.”

I'm far from strung out. Just tired and need life to cut me some slack. “Uh...thanks?”

“Let me put you up for a few nights. My wife would kill me if I brought you home, but I can get you a room here." He stops at the steps of the Horizon Hotel.

I look up at the string-lights that surround the patio. It's empty, the pool probably closed, but soft piano music hums from a set of speakers near the sand. I've only been in the Horizon Hotel’s parking lot, thanks to a friend who does valet, and even that is classy. There's no self-parking. Every car is taken to a private, enclosed parking garage, with one way in and one way out that only employees, and me, have the keys to. I can't imagine what the hotel itself is like. “I can’t let you do that, sir. I’m not your responsibility.”

“No, you're not, but I’ve been in your shoes, kid. The difference was I had people in my corner to make sure I didn’t nose dive into hell. Now, come on.” He claps his hand on my shoulder and gives me a look that says this isn't up for discussion.

We walk up the steps to the pool deck. When we reach the door to the hotel’s lobby, the cop digs into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. Inside is a card, or a key of sorts, that he slides through the reader. A little light shines green and he pulls the door open. “After you.”

My skin pricks as a chill slithers through me. The air inside is icy compared to the Florida heat. It feels nice, but takes a second to get adjusted to. The cop struts to the front counter where a pretty brunette smiles and greets him. “Logan! What are you doing here tonight?”

The concierge woman looks around like she’s expecting someone to walk through the doors behind him. The cop—er, Logan—chuckles. “It’s just me tonight, Misty. I need a room for the next week.”

“Sir, I can’t…” I start. This place is nice. As in, fresh flowers on the tables and chandeliers nice. It must be expensive. Cops make steady money, but they aren’t rolling in it unless they’re dirty. This guy seems too nice to be crooked.

Logan holds up his hand to silence me. “Family discount, kid. My sister’s husband bought the place last year. I don't pay shit.”

Misty, never once looking at me, smiles and hands Logan the room key. “Third floor, room three-oh-one. You’re usual, Mr. Harris.”

“Thanks, darlin’.” Logan turns on his heels and leads us to the elevator. I follow, looking at decor. Ellie would love this place. One day, when what we have is real, I’m going to save up and bring her here.

“So your brother-in-law owns this place?” I ask as he pushes the button on the wall. The elevator is taking a ridiculously long time to get to our floor. Or maybe I'm nervous. It would be my luck this cop is some creepy child molester and I'm his new victim. This guy's got another thing coming if that's his angle.

“Trust me, no one was as shocked as I was. My sister was nearly murdered over there.” He gestures to a spot in the lobby that has a set of black couches. “But when my brother-in-law, Rex, heard the owner was selling, they scooped it up.”

“Must be nice, having a retreat like this.”

Logan shrugs. “This place has just as many bad memories as it does good. My wife and I hardly ever come here, so we’ve racked up a shit ton of free nights.” The elevator dings, silver-painted doors sliding open. Logan hands me the key but doesn’t step inside. “Stay as long as you need, just don’t cause any trouble.”

“Thanks again, Officer...” I glance at his chest for a name badge, but it looks like it was ripped off. There's a literal hole in his shirt where a name badge should be.

“It’s Harris.” His radio makes a static sound before a voice carries over. “I’ve got to go. See you around, kid.”

My doorbell rings at an ungodly hour. I hear Dad grumbling something to Mom, then a shuffle across the living room. I finish pulling my hair into a ponytail, convinced that whoever is at our door at six-fifteen in the morning either has a death wish or has some important news regarding Dad’s latest case.

“It’s a bit early, son,” I hear my dad say from the living room. I strain my ears to hear the response of whoever is outside, but I can’t discern the voice. The person is speaking in low, hushed tones. It must be work-related. Dad has a lot of informants, people that need to meet on the down-low. I cap the eyeliner pen, not giving our visitor anymore thought as Dad says, “Come on in.”

“Asher!” my mom coos. “What a lovely surprise.”

That catches my attention. I put down my tube of mascara and creep into the hallway. Asher takes an open stool at the counter as Mom sets a plateful of scrambled eggs, toast, and grits in front of him. The way she's smiling and going on about last night's dinner, telling him he should have been here, makes it seem like this is a normal morning for them.

For the record, it’s not.

My insecurities send needles shooting down my spine. I never finished my makeup. Even though Asher has seen me with crazy hair and day-old eyeliner, that doesn’t mean I’m ready for him to see me bare-faced. I may not wear much makeup—a little eye shadow, mascara, liner, and some lip stain—but that's become my go-to look now. I take a tentative step backward, hoping to slip into my room before anyone notices me.

Of course, Mom takes this moment to look away from the beautiful boy sitting in front of her and notices me. “Morning, Laine. Look who stopped by.”