Any Day Now (SWAT Generation 2.0 8)

He pointed at his daughter, who thankfully looked like she was doing better now that her father had explained she had Tourette’s.

I’d never actually met someone with Tourette’s before.

I wanted to ask her all kinds of questions, but would that be super rude?

“What happened?” my mother wondered, entering into the conversation.

“What happened was I was in the corner of the room having a mild panic attack.” She smiled sadly. “I was on the tail end of it when Big Bertha came through the bathroom following her.” She pointed at me. “She waited until she got done, then pushed her so hard that it was amazing Amelia didn’t go to her knees. She scratched the underside of Amelia’s chin with her ring when she pulled back her hands from the push, too.”

I touched the underside of my chin, and sure enough, I had a scratch.

Interesting. I hadn’t felt it at all until right then.

Which only stung the moment that she told me it was there.

Dammit.

“Bertha deserved it.”Chapter 14

Fuck this shit. And fuck that other shit as well.

-Coffee Cup

Adam

“Is the woman’s name really Bertha?” Amelia asked curiously.

The redhead, Hastings, shrugged. “She was big. And mean. And she hit you pretty hard. Hence Bertha.”

Amelia nodded her head as if she completely understood the name and agreed with it.

Girls.

“I spoke with the suspect and asked her if she wanted to drop the charges or have reciprocal charges placed on her, and she decided that it would be best to drop her end. Apparently she’s in school to be a nurse,” Sergeant Hughes said.

I sighed, running my hand over my face.

“Gross, did you wash your hands after…” I placed my hand over her mouth and said, “I’ve washed my hands incessantly since our talk in Target earlier.”

Amelia smiled behind my hand, and I let her go.

“I hope I never get her as a nurse,” Sebastian, Amelia’s other brother, grumbled. “So, what now?”

“I came out here to tell you about those charges, but Rogan Germain has filed a petition with the court for a restraining order. I’m fairly sure it’ll be granted since Rogan just donated half a mil to the Longview Police Department.”

“Wow,” Amelia said. “Good for him. That was nice.”

“Wasn’t nice. It was calculated,” Silas grumbled. “Make it look like he’s a nice guy, donating shit to police departments, and when he does shit that’s shady, it’ll get overlooked by the cops. It’s actually pretty genius.”

“And something that’s probably worked for him before,” Sam grumbled.

“Fuck.” Amelia sighed. “Well, I mean, the restraining order sucks, but I didn’t do anything wrong. And if he wants a restraining order against me, I don’t really care.”

Sadly, I didn’t think that was the end of it, and I was proven right an hour later when we sat down to eat at The Back Porch in Kilgore with all of her family.

“This is nice,” Sawyer, Amelia’s mother, said as she looked around the room. “It’s changed a lot since the last time that I came here.”

“They closed all of this in,” Sam murmured as he pointed to the outdoor area that wasn’t really an outdoor area anymore. “Put up screens so that they can pull down during the summer months. It’s fairly cool in here despite being ‘outdoors’ once summer hits.”

“It’s pretty cool,” Cheyenne, Sam’s wife, said. “They get bands here Friday and Saturday nights. Sometimes even on weekdays if it’s a special occasion.”

Sam wrapped his arm around Cheyenne’s shoulder and pulled her into his chest, dropping a kiss onto her forehead.

I licked my lips and tried to keep my yawn inside, but all of this excitement was catching up to me.

I couldn’t fuckin’ wait to get home and collapse for a couple of hours.

“Is there anything I can get for y’all right now?” the waitress who’d seated us asked.

I hadn’t even had a chance to glance at the menu.

Though I’d been here before, I didn’t know what they had by heart, so I couldn’t tell her what I wanted.

But before I could voice that Amelia spoke up from my side.

“I want a giant pretzel, no salt on top. The chips and queso. The assorted meat platter. Oh, and a couple of baskets of your fresh-baked bread,” Amelia chirped as if she knew the menu by heart. She paused and looked at her dad. “Was there anything that you wanted?”

I snorted. “That’s all for you?”

“I’ll share.” She paused. “After I’ve eaten everything that I want to.”

“Which won’t be much,” Sam said. “She’ll try one or two things off of every appetizer, then give the rest to us. That’s why we don’t bother to order anything extra.” He turned to the waitress. “What she ordered will be plenty for now, thank you.”

The waitress left and Amelia started to fiddle with her fingernails, glancing nervously at the exit.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “You’ll be safe here.”