by Geri Glenn
Hood Rat
Geri Glenn
Hood Rat
© 2019 Geri Glenn
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All right reserved.
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Hood Rat is a work of fiction. All names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental.
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This book, or any portion thereof, may not be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Edited by Rebel Edit & Design
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Cover Designed by Wicked by Design
For Vicki
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For reminding me of the person I used to be. For being my best friend, even when you weren’t. For laughing at my jokes, even when they’re not funny. For making fun of my pants even though I love them. For loving my kids like they are your own. For showing me what a single mom with no fear can accomplish. For having my back no matter what. And last but not least, for being you.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Coming Soon
Acknowledgments
About the Author
One
Georgia
“My brother’s not even gonna care, ya know,” she huffs, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “He’ll probably ask if I kicked that bitch’s ass.”
Pressing the ice pack over my throbbing eye, I lean back in my chair and wait for the Advil to kick in. “Fighting solves nothing, Hailey, and there are consequences to your actions.”
Hailey’s blonde ponytail bobs as she throws her arms over her chest and turns to glower out the window. “They started it.”
“I saw you throw the first punch. They may have been doing something to make you angry, but you never solve conflict with violence.”
“Says who?” The man in my office doorway is tall and muscular, his shoulders so wide they fill the frame. Wild blond curls poke out from beneath the hat he wears, framing his handsome face and drawing attention to his eyes. Eyes that remind me of a shark’s, watching me with intensity from across the room.
His cold stare focuses on Hailey, and his expression softens. “What’s going on, Hail? Those bitches start in on ya again?” Tears fill her eyes, and her lower lip trembles as he steps inside. “Did you kick Krista’s ass?”
A tear escapes, slipping silently down her cheek as she shakes her head.
The man purses his lips and huffs out a heavy sigh, and then turns his attention to me. “What’s the damage?”
I blink up at him, my lips parted in surprise, as I slowly lower the ice pack from my eye.
“Shit.” He winces, his eyes narrowing in on what I’m sure is the very puffy beginnings of my first ever shiner. “Krista or Hailey?”
“I’m sorry?”
His eye roll is identical to the one Hailey had given me earlier. “Your eye.” He motions to his own eye, as if he’s talking to someone without a brain in their head. “Somebody hit you. Was it Krista or Hailey?”
My gaze slides to Hailey, whose shoulders slump forward as she peers down at her lap. Seeing her guilt tells me she at least feels a little remorse. That’s more than I can say for the other girl. “It doesn’t matter,” I say, tossing the ice pack onto my desk and pushing to my feet. Getting hit in the eye by flailing fists is the least of my worries. And honestly, it’s embarrassing. Such a rookie mistake. “Please, come in. Are you Hailey’s father?”
I regret the question as soon as it escapes my lips. This guy might look a lot like Hailey, but he can’t be more than twenty-three or twenty-four. Much too young to be the father of the thirteen-year-old girl in front of me.
“Brother,” he clarifies, not moving from the open door. He looks at me with an expression I can’t read, his gaze traveling along my body from head to toe. “You’re new here.”
It’s not so much a question as it is a statement. And his cocky tone ensures that I don’t like his statement one bit. “Georgia Addington,” I respond, walking toward him with my hand extended. “Yes, I’m new here. Today is my first day, actually.”
The corner of his mouth twitches just a little as he takes my hand in his, giving it a gentle shake. My hand is swallowed whole by his, and I can’t help but think he could easily crush every bone in it if he really wanted to.
“Ya don’t say.” He smirks and glances over at his sister, and then focuses his attention back on me. “Tripp Fletcher.” He pokes a thumb toward his chest as if I wouldn’t get his self-introduction. “If you’re looking for Hailey’s father, you’ll be wasting your time. Haven’t seen him in almost eight years. And you can try calling our mother all you want, but if you do get a hold of her, tell her to call her damn kids.”
My gaze darts to Hailey, and then back to her brother. Their mother is gone? “Mr. Fletcher, your sister started a brawl in our homework room. There are consequences to those actions, and if you won’t take responsibility in handing that, I’ll have to take measures to contact her legal guardian.”
I watch as the condescending smirk falls from his face. He stands a little straighter, his jaw tightening. “Look, Miss Addington, I don’t know how things are done where you come from, but here on the South Side, I’m guessing it’s a little different. Krista O’Malley is a bully and a thug. She’s been harassing my sister since they were four years old, and Hailey learned a long time ago to show no weakness with her or her little punk-ass friends.” He motions for his sister to come to him. “And as for her legal guardian, you’re lookin’ at him. I got our mother to sign the papers as soon as I turned eighteen.”
I watch, my eyes wide, as Hailey gathers her school bag and jacket, and moves to her brother’s side. Her face is a mortified shade of red as she keeps her eyes on the floor, unable to look at either one of us.
“I get you have a job to do,” he continues, “but maybe, instead of getting your ass kicked by stepping into the middle of teenage scraps and calling people away from the only work they’ve been able to score all week, you’ll do a little research on the community you’re in. It’s a whole different world than what I’m sure you’re used to.”
Anger burns in my belly. I feel the tips of my ears growing hot as I stare back at him. “You don’t know a thing about me, Mr. Fletcher,” I snarl, my voice tight.
He levels me with a glare as he steps aside and ushers his sister through the door. Through it all, he never once takes his eyes from me. “I know you didn’t take five minutes to read that file to find out one damn thing about my sister.” He motions to the cream-colored folder on my desk, the name Hailey Fletcher displayed neatly along the tab. And he’s right. I only opened it long enough to grab the phone number for her guardian. “And I know that you assume Hailey was in the wrong without having all your facts.”
I open my mouth, ready to tell him how wrong he is, but he cocks an eyebrow. “Where’s Krista O’Malley, then?”
I snap my mouth closed. I’d sent her home an hour ago with an ice pack just like mine.
Tripp Fletcher scrutinizes me from the doorway. “Look, I don’t know a whole
lot about teenagers, but I’m willing to bet they don’t exactly enjoy watching you prance that ass of yours around in front of them, wearing jeans that cost more than their families make in an entire month.”
With a frown, I glance down at my jeans. They’re Fendi, and artfully torn in a way that looks both stylish and expensive. I hadn’t really given much thought to the price of them when I’d gotten dressed this morning. My whole goal had been to fit in. Dress casually. Look like someone these kids could connect with. But he’s right. Thousand dollar jeans in this neighborhood don’t fit in at all.
“Mr. Fletcher,” I say, feeling like a complete ass as I raise my head back up. I intend to change the subject, maybe even apologize for my hastiness, but when I look to the doorway, it’s empty.
Frowning, I walk out into the hall, watching as Hailey and her brother reach the main door to the community center. His arm is draped casually across her shoulders, and I hear the lilt of her giggle as he pulls her toward him and presses a kiss to the top of her head. And then they’re gone.
“He wasn’t wrong, you know.” Startled, I turn and find Janet, one of the social workers I’d met earlier today, standing just a few feet behind me. “Sorry,” she says, her cheeks turning an almost impossible shade of crimson. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Tripp’s voice carries. He’s in here quite a bit. He can be a handful sometimes, and I was coming to help if I could.”
I force a smile and lean back against the wall with a heavy sigh. “Is he always so…intimidating?”
“Oh, yes.” Janet shoves her glasses up on her nose. “But he’s not even the worst one we have to deal with around here. He’s actually a good guy, I think. He just doesn’t have much patience for social workers.”
My gaze travels back to the entrance of the building where Tripp and Hailey had disappeared just a few moments before. “This job will take some getting used to,” I say softly, admitting it to Janet just as much as I’m admitting it to myself.
Janet nibbles on her lower lip, seeming to weigh her words. She’s a pretty girl, even if she is kind of mousy. Her hair is a flat shade of brown that matches her chocolate brown eyes, and she has a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She wears no makeup, and is donning a sweatshirt and jeans that are about three sizes too big for her tiny frame. She also looks like she’d rather be anywhere else than standing in this hallway with me right now.
“He’s right about the jeans, though,” she says in a rush, her lip disappearing back between her teeth. “Um…they’re nice and everything, but…” She trails off, obviously uncomfortable with offering me any sort of criticism. “If you want to connect with these kids, you can’t be dressed like you think you’re better than them.”
It’s obvious from the look of horror on her face, it was hard for her to tell me that. And she’s not wrong. When I’d accepted the job at the South Side Community Center, I knew I’d be walking into something unlike anything else I was used to. I just hadn’t really gotten it until now.
“Thank you, Janet,” I murmur, not wanting to scare off the woman who was reminding me more and more of a frightened little mouse by the second. “I think maybe I need to go shopping later and get a few outfits for work.”
Janet’s face brightens a little. “May I suggest Walmart?”
Just the suggestion has me curling my nose in disgust. I’ve never been to a Walmart before in my life. “Walmart? Really?”
Janet grins. “It’s not that bad, I promise.” She presses her lips together and tilts her head to the side. “I could go with you. You know, if you want me to?”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. This day had been one of the most disconcerting culture shocks of my life. Between being thrust into a room full of teenage gangster wannabes, breaking up a fight and getting socked in the eye, and then ending it all with Tripp Fletcher knocking me down a couple of pegs, I could use a pick-me-up. I just never imagined that it would come in the form of a shopping trip to the local Walmart with one of the shyest people I had ever met.
“I would love that,” I tell her with a grin. “Let me grab my purse.”
Two
Tripp
As we step inside the front door, I immediately know two things: one, it’s cold as fuck in this house, and two, the gas company is tired of waiting for me to pay the bill. I reach down and place my hand on Max’s shoulder, stopping him as he unzips his coat. “Leave that on, bud,” I tell him, squatting to right his zipper. “Looks like you’re gonna need it.”
Max doesn’t even blink. Instead, he tears off down the hall to the living room where he’d left the Legos he’d been playing with this morning. Sometimes I envy him. Being an eight-year-old with no responsibilities would be a million times better than the hand I’ve been dealt.
“How much do we owe?” Hailey asks from behind me.
“Too damn much,” I tell her, giving her hat a little tug so it covers her ears. “Around two hundred.”
Hailey nibbles on her lower lip. “I’ve got thirty dollars in my mason jar, and I’m supposed to babysit for the Rodriguez’s tomorrow night. That should be another thirty.”
I stare at my baby sister, feeling like the biggest piece of shit in the world. “Nah, Hails. You keep your money. I’ll get this shit sorted. Just gonna be a little cold in here for the next couple days.”
“Okay.” She shrugs. “But you can have it if you need it.”
“Thanks,” I tell her, and then watch as she wanders to the stairs and heads up to her bedroom.
Fuck. I knew this shit would happen, but I figured I had at least another week to come up with the money. It’s only the first week of November, and already it’s so cold outside. The nights are even worse. I need to find a way to pay that bill, and fast.
Leaving my coat on, I walk into the kitchen and drop Max’s backpack on the counter. At least the electricity is still on, but even that won’t last if I don’t pay that bill. There’s no use in calling the gas company, because we’ve been down this road before. They won’t reconnect us until I pay what I owe, along with a reconnection fee for their inconvenience.
Instead, I dig through the refrigerator and pull out the items I need to make supper. As I set about turning on the oven (which is electric, thank God) and chopping up an onion, I think about that stick-in-the-ass social worker at the after-school program.
That bitch had called me away from a temp job I’d landed for the day, and losing that money would set us back even more on bills and rent. She was only trying to do her job, I get that, but we could’ve had that same goddamn conversation over the phone. She has no clue how to deal with these kids, that much was clear, just by the way she dressed and her sanctimonious attitude.
I’m not exactly a fan of the community center and its programming, anyway. My brothers and sister didn’t go there by choice. It was mandated by the courts the day that I got custody of them. They were required to attend the South Side Community Center every day after school until five o’clock in the evening. This was Children’s Services way of keeping a finger on the pulse of our family, to make sure I was taking care of them without actually taking them away from me and splitting them up into different foster homes.
Mostly, the social workers just let us be. They could see that everyone was fed and had clean clothes, and not covered in bruises from being beaten. Regardless, it’s a pain in the ass for all of us, and this wasn’t the first time one of my siblings had been involved in a fight there. Not by a long shot.
The South Side of Chicago isn’t the kind of place you want to raise a family. It’s filled with gangs, drugs, violence, and crippling poverty. It’s also the place my mother was when she gave birth to all four of us, so we’re here whether we like it or not. We’ve learned to adapt. To survive. To fight if we have no other choice.
It’s also clearly a far cry from where Georgia Addington comes from. Sure, those jeans looked hot as hell on that sweet ass of hers, and her lon
g brown hair looked like strands of silk cascading down her back, but they weren’t something you ever see here on the South Side. She looked like a walking fucking billboard for the North Side Country Club, minus the cute little tennis skirt.
“Meatloaf again?” Carter groans when he walks into the kitchen. I close the oven door and double check the temperature.
“It’s cheap, and the leftovers will last us a couple of days. Get over it.”
Carter flops down into one of the rusty old chairs, which should be sitting in some museum from the fifties instead of in an actual family’s kitchen, and puts his feet up on the seat across from him. “Gas got cut off again?”
“Yep. We’ll live, though.”
He shrugs and digs out his sketch pad and pencil. “Always do,” he mumbles, already setting up to work on another drawing.
Carter is by far the most difficult one of my three siblings to read. At sixteen years old, he’s a moodier version of myself. He rolls with the punches life throws at us without putting up much of a fight, but he’s harder somehow. Distant.
When my mother had left us almost five years ago, I’d thought that was the end of our family. I’d been seventeen, still in high school, and working my ass off at a local convenience store to help her pay the bills. Mom had always been a bit of a flake, and I could never remember a time when she wasn’t drinking. It wasn’t unusual for her to go out for the night and not return home for three or four days, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes, without a penny to her name.
