Johnny Johnson kicked back in the chair across from me, arms crossed defiantly over his skinny chest. He was Bootleg’s version of a punk. Black, ripped jeans, white t-shirt despite the thirty-degree temperatures outside. Eyebrow ring. A haircut that made him look like his little brother had cut it with safety scissors.

Troubled family, his file said.

We all handled our troubled families differently. I’d gone off and tried to distance myself from my unhappy upbringing with education and good deeds.

Johnny here was heading down the Gibson path of acting out. By the time Gibs had graduated high school, he’d had a desk dedicated to him in detention. He’d carved his initials into it with a knife that got confiscated and landed him another week of detention.

“I get the whole discipline problem thing,” I told Johnny. “You’re not a terrible human being. You’re just in a terrible situation.” Johnny’s dad had gone off to serve his second stint in jail for identity theft, and his mother had moved in a new boyfriend over the weekend.

His eyes flicked to the photos on top of my army green filing cabinet. Front and center was a shot of me, my dad, and Cassidy’s dad. They had their arms slung over my shoulders, grins on all our faces. It had been taken after I threw the last strike in the state championships. “That’s my son,” my dad had bellowed at the top of his lungs pushing his way through the crowd to get to me. He’d stayed sober for my games, the ones we’d won, giving me a few precious hours of having a real father. But Sheriff Tucker was as constant and dependable as they come. He was there for me, win or lose.

“No offense, man, but why should I take any advice from you? Your dad’s a murderer.”

Punk-ass kid.

“That’s exactly why you should take advice from me,” I said, fighting the urge to defend my father. “I’ve been where you are. And I don’t want you to make a choice that will stick with you for the rest of your life. Don’t do something stupid when you’re this close to being an actual adult and making your own decisions. You don’t have to be happy about what’s going on with your parents,” I reminded him. “But don’t let you being pissed off at them ruin the rest of your life.”

Johnny dropped his head back against the chair. “God, you sound like an after school-special.”

If only slapping students weren’t illegal. “Let’s cut to the chase. You’re fishin’ for detention so you don’t have to go home and make nice with your mom’s boyfriend.” I’d had sports and jobs to fill my time after school. Johnny here had nothing to keep him out of the house or juvie.

He lifted a shoulder to his ear, dropped it. The smirk faded from his face.

“How about we do this instead. You apologize sincerely to Mrs. Plunkett and I’ll set you up as the student rep on the 3D printer lab. We’d need you an hour or two every afternoon. Maybe even some time on the weekends when we’re closer to opening the lab.”

He perked up. The kid might have been a punk, but he was a tech nerd punk.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah. But that apology has to convince her,” I reminded him.

Johnny snorted, but the hope remained in his eyes. “I’m like totally convincing.”

“We’ll see,” I said dryly. “Go on. Get out of here.”

I shooed him out the door and turned my attention to the inbox of new emails when someone else crossed my threshold.

“Mornin’, Bowie,” Sheriff Tucker said, rocking back on his heels, hands in his pockets.

“Mornin’, sheriff.” There were only two reasons why he’d be in my office during the school day. Either there was a break in the Callie Kendall case or he’d somehow found out that I’d had my hands and every other body part all over his daughter last night.

“I talked to Cassidy this morning,” he began.

Fuck.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked, gesturing to the chair still warm from Johnny’s punk-ass.

“Sure,” I said, trying not to freak the fuck out. It was ridiculous. I was just shy of thirty-one years of age and I was still scared to death of losing this man’s approval.

“Y’all got any coffee around here?” he asked, taking a seat.

“Yeah, sure,” I said getting up and punching buttons on the coffeemaker. I was making the man a triple espresso for all I knew. Panic was stampeding through my system.

“Think we’ll see snow again this weekend,” he predicted.

“Uh-huh. Maybe,” I agreed. Was I having a heart attack? Or a panic attack? I needed to calm the hell down. I was an adult, and for all I knew the sheriff here was stopping by to talk about Thanksgiving.

“I think you and I may have had a miscommunication,” he said when I handed over the coffee and sat back down.

Fuck. This was definitely not holiday chat. It had nothing to do with my father being a murder suspect. This was about Cassidy and me.

“It was a momentary lapse, sir,” I blurted out my confession. “It won’t happen again.”

Sheriff Tucker set his mug on the desk and rubbed his hands over his face. “Christ, son, why the hell not? Do you know how horrific it is to watch my daughter date jackass after jackass? It’s like she’s picking dumbasses just to drive me into my grave early. For the love of all that’s holy, when are you going to ask her out?”

I blinked. “Wait. What?”

“You two have had feelings for each other since forever,” he pointed out.

I heard a weird buzzing in my ears and wondered if I was hallucinating or having a stroke. I reached up and felt my mouth. “Is my mouth drooping?” I asked him.

“Huh?”

“Which arm goes numb in a stroke? Or is that a heart attack?” I demanded, flapping both my arms up and down, testing for weakness.

“Are you tryin’ to take flight, son?” Sheriff Tucker asked incredulously.

“I’m tryin’ to figure out if I’m having some kind of medical emergency. You told me to stay away from Cassidy. You told me people get hitched up to the wrong people.”

“Ah, hell. Bowie! I didn’t mean forever and I was talking about your parents. I didn’t want you and Cassidy gettin’ together when she was too young to be smart. Y’all would have gotten knocked up or she would have hated being apart from you and dropped out of school. Or you would have given up the job you wanted so bad to be close to her at college.”

He wasn’t speaking English. The words weren’t recognizable.

“I never meant for you to stay away from her forever. I just wanted her to have a chance to grow up first. I’ve been waitin’ on you to finally make your damn move for years, son.”

“You think I’m good enough for Cassidy?” I asked, trying desperately to clarify exactly what he was trying to tell me.

“Yes!” he bellowed.

“But you told me to stay away from her!”

“Bowie, I’m not the best communicator in the world. So maybe the words didn’t come out right. I wanted you two to get yourselves where you needed to be before diving into those big feelings.”

He’d been trying to protect me. He didn’t think I was a bad seed or not good enough for his daughter.

I pressed my fingers to my eyes. “All this time I thought you were telling me I wasn’t good enough.”

“Ah, hell. Nadine is gonna kill me deader than a hammer over this,” he groaned. “Bowie, I never, ever meant to make you feel that way. You’re one of the good ones. Always have been. Even your daddy said so.”

My eyes flicked to the picture on the file cabinet.

“So if I want to court Cassidy?” I began, wanting it spelled out loud and clear. No misunderstandings this time.

“You have my blessing. Hell, I’m begging you. You want to put a ring on the girl? I’m a thousand percent in favor. For the love of God, Bowie. Don’t let me sit down at my dinner table with an asshole from one of them there dating applications!”

A weight I’d been carrying for eight long years lifted right off my chest.

I stood up, my chair smacking into the wall behind me.

“Before you go runnin’ off,” Sheriff Tucker said, “I should warn you that she’s madder than a puffed toad. Some of that might spill over on you.”

“I can handle it,” I promised. There was nothing in this world that was going to stand between me and Cassidy Tucker now.