Jay Crownover - Charged

I felt a sharp pressure in my chest and lifted my hand to hold on to the spot where my heart was kicking against the inside of me like a horse. “I should have known better. He was high—he was always high—and he was angry.” I moved my fingers from my chest to the spot on my forehead where the knot had lived for weeks. “I told him to stop it. I told him I was going to call the police. That was when he grabbed the back of my head and shoved me into the dashboard. I was already messed up from the thugs that were looking for him and he nailed me right between the eyes. I think I blacked out a little bit.”

I gulped. “I wanted to call the police.” I laughed a dry broken sound. “I really wanted to call my dad.” I looked over my shoulder at the man that was my own personal rock to lean on and wanted to wither away at the expression on his hard face. I was breaking his heart again, and again. “I didn’t do anything though. I sat there with my ears ringing, wondering how in the hell I had ended up in such a terrible spot. I didn’t know he had a gun. I never saw it and didn’t know until we got to the bar what his plans were. I should have done something, anything, but I didn’t, including help him plan the robbery.”

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