Bloom by A.P. Kensey Read Free Book Online Page B

mother for abandoning the both of them, but as he grew older, he realized that as much, if not more, of the fault rested with his father—there was a lot he could have done to make their lives easier. Instead he chose alcohol and anger.
    To Colton, the gulf between them seemed impossible to bridge.
    An hour passed, then two. Half of the men in the holding cell were either asleep or passed out drunk. Colton shifted on his aching feet. He wanted to sit down but the floor was filthy and the benches were still full. Cigarette butts and clumps of wet paper were scattered everywhere, and discolored puddles of unidentified liquid pooled in several spots around the room.
    He never expected them to hold him such a long time. Reece had been the one to steal the CDs—Colton merely helped him get away from the police. He supposed the police officer he “fell” against in the alley could have upgraded Colton’s criminal charge to assault, in which case he was utterly doomed. Still, Reece could have been locked up for a year or more if he had been caught.
    As a first-time offender, Colton hoped the judge would go easy on him and give him a small amount of community service with no actual jail time. There was always the possibility that they would try to make an example of him to prevent other potential screw-ups from assaulting police officers.
    The rattle of keys and the sharp clicking of hard shoe soles in the hallway outside the holding cell grew louder as someone approached. All of the men in the room sat up eagerly and watched the door, hoping one of their friends or loved ones had come to pay their bail.
    The same officer Colton ran into in the alley looked at him through a small viewing window as he unlocked the door.
    “Great,” said Colton quietly.
    The officer stepped into the cell and pointed at Colton. “You,” he said. “Let’s go. Now .”
    The other men in the room grumbled and sank back into their seats. A few of them stared at Colton with malice as he walked past them and out into the hallway. He wondered if Reece had called his lawyer father and talked him into getting Colton released from the police station. In the morning he would have been processed and likely transferred to an actual jail, where he would spend the next few weeks waiting to go to trial for striking a peace officer.
    He didn’t know how much money it would have cost to avoid all of that unpleasantness, but he imagined it was a great deal more than Reece could afford on his own.
    After he was out of the room, the officer—whose name tag read “Sanders”—shoved Colton in the back, pushing him toward the end of the hall.
    “Spoiled little rich boys like you really get on my nerves,” he said, then shoved Colton again.
    “Where are we going?”
    “You ruin my day, then you’re out by midnight when you should be rotting in that cell.” He pushed him harder.
    Colton fought the urge to turn around and punch the cop in the face. He realized that was exactly what the man wanted: an excuse to keep him in the cell even longer.
    “And you must be someone extra special, because they don’t let anybody out if they hit a cop. Especially if that cop is me. I got pull around here, let me tell you.”
    Another shove.
    They reached the end of the hallway and Sanders knocked on the door. There was a loud buzz and an officer in the next room pulled open the door to let them through.
    They were in the main lobby of the building. An officer sat behind the counter reading a magazine and looked up over his glasses.
    Sanders pushed Colton toward the exit. “Next time you hit a cop,” he said, “you won’t even make it to the station.” He walked back into the hallway that led to the holding cell and slammed the door behind him.
    Colton looked at the officer sitting behind the counter, who dropped his eyes to his magazine and whistled softly to himself.
    The waiting area was empty. Colton looked outside through the large glass windows on the front of