Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“You got anyone working here with this license plate?” I asked.
Marrott looked down at the license plate and rolled his eyes. “That’s Hollis Aue. She’s a rad tech. Up on the third floor, usually. There was a big accident not too long ago, though, and she might be in the ER.”
I nodded, then went in search of her.
I found her in the ER, just like Marrott said, holding down a two-year-old standing behind a gaggle of other bodies and a table.
I knew all of them in that room except one and figured that was my culprit.
“Ma’am,” I said to the woman who wasn’t familiar. “I need you to move your car.”
As if she actually knew that I was speaking to her and not the other four women in the room, she looked up, and her eyes locked with mine.
I felt like I’d been sucker punched.
Her eyes were the color of a warm whiskey on a cold winter day.
“You can just deal with it,” she said. “Write the ticket. I’ll deal with it later.”
My brows rose.
And no matter how hard I tried, she ignored me.
I mean, I understood.
There was a kid who was needing X-rays, and she was the one to do them.
But she could at least acknowledge me or show some remorse.
She gave me none of that.
And, too tired to force the issue even though I knew she was finishing up, I left.
I wrote the ticket.
Then I drove home and, ignoring the stack of case files on my kitchen table, went back to bed.
Shitbox rule of thumb: If it’s leaking oil, you still have oil. Keep driving, besties!
—Hollis to Keda
HOLLIS
“Are you ready, Keda?” I sang as I got out of my car and twirled around the forecourt of her apartment complex.
Keda, my very best friend in the world, laughed as she watched me twirl. “I’m ready. Are you sure you want to wait to eat?”
I gestured to my car. “I stopped and got us a couple of candy bars to hold us over.”
Snickering, she headed to the door of my car, not bothering to comment on the new scratch on the front quarter panel.
She did say something about the parking ticket that was sitting in the middle console, though.
“Another one?” She laughed, patting it lightly as she reached for her seatbelt.
I groaned. “A guy side swiped me today and instead of the dude who hit me getting a ticket, they gave one to me because I wasn’t ‘legally’ parked.”
She picked up the ticket and read it. “Q. Carter. Badge number 2992984. We should report him.”
I snorted. “Technically, I know he is a male, but I was too busy to notice much else,’” I said. “I was at work.”
“They didn’t try to come find you?” she asked.
“I was in the middle of running some X-rays on a couple of kids. Someone came to get me, but I didn’t go down. The ticket was on my car when I got out earlier,” I admitted.
“That sucks.” She sighed. “You have the worst luck with this car.”
“That’s why I still have this car,” I pointed out.
I’d been working at Dallas Memorial as a radiation technician for two years now. Yet, I still had the same shitbox I’d had since high school because it was easier to have something you didn’t give a shit about in the streets of downtown Dallas than a nicer vehicle that might catch the eye of the thieves who walked the streets.
“You have this car because you’re a cheap bitch,” Keda disagreed. “But I’ll forgive you for lying to me.”
I flashed her a grin as I put it in reverse and started to back out.
I ran over the curb, causing her to jolt sideways.
Keda, used to my driving, didn’t comment.
So, I sucked at driving.
That was a fault.
But I got myself from point A to point B fairly easily.
Could it be smoother? Sure. Could I drive on 635 or I-30 a bit more cautiously? Obviously.
That didn’t change the fact that I didn’t and wouldn’t.
You had to drive defensively in Dallas, or you would get your head ripped off. So, I’d adapted.
“Can you unwrap my Nutrageous for me?” I asked as I pulled onto the feeder road that would lead me to the bane of my existence—I-35.
It never failed. Every time I got on that stupid road, the damn thing was backed up.
Today was no different.
The moment I merged on, I groaned.
The only things I could see for miles in the distance were brake lights.
“Why do you hate this road so much?” she asked as she unwrapped my Nutrageous halfway and handed it to me.
I took a big bite, very aware of the chocolate that had just fallen into my lap from the candy bar, and hit my brakes hard when a man in a white SUV swooped into my lane.
Flipping him off, I moved to the fast lane and kept my finger high as I kept moving past him.