Chasing Hadley (Chasing the Harlyton Sisters 1)

I grit my teeth. I will not hit an old dude. I will not hit an old dude. “That’s called false advertisement.”

“So? What’re you going to do about it?” He folds his arms, his smirk growing.

“I could report you,” I say. “I highly doubt that guitar is the one thing you’ve got in here that’s stolen.”

He lifts his shoulders. “Go ahead. Report me. Like I give a shit.” He casually leans against the counter, as if he has all the time in the world. “Newsflash, sweetheart, we live in one of the trashiest, high-crime towns in the state. No one gives a rat’s ass whether I sell stolen goods or not. The police have way bigger problems to worry about.”

Fuck, he’s right, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him charge us two hundred dollars for the guitar.

“I’ll give you eighty bucks for it,” I say, and Londyn shakes her head.

“Two hundred and fifty,” he counters with that stupid smirk on his face.

I usually try to avoid fights, but this dude seriously needs to get punched in the face.

He must see the urge written all over my expression and in the twitch of my hand, because he says, “Go ahead and hit me. Like I fucking care. It’ll be like getting hit by a kitten.”

He may say that now, but he hasn’t been punched by a Harlyton sister before. Sure, we may not look tough—our builds are tall and slightly gangly—but that doesn’t mean we don’t know how to throw down a proper punch.

We all started taking self-defense and kickboxing classes the moment our dad first made us move, and we learned how to toughen up quickly. The first move was only a couple months after our mom died when Dad sold the house because, according to him, we needed a fresh start. Apparently, the fresh start meant moving to a rundown house in the middle of the sketchiest area in the city where robberies, drug dealings, and every illegal activity imaginable took place. When I asked my dad why we couldn’t rent a place in a better area, he told me we couldn’t afford it. It made no sense—still doesn’t—since he made a decent profit off our house. What he did with the money is beyond me, since he refuses to tell us.

But anyway, as much as I want to punch shithead storeowner in the face, we’re pressed for time, so I’m not going to.

“Can you take Bailey and Payton out to the car?” I ask Londyn, gently prying the guitar away from Bailey.

Londyn’s gaze flicks between the storeowner to me. “I’d rather not leave you alone with Creepy Creeperson over here.”

“Who the hell are you calling creepy?” The storeowner glares at her.

“You, obviously, since I’m staring right at you,” Londyn quips with a smirk.

She rarely gets this sassy. I think I might be wearing on her, or maybe the move is.

“I’ll be fine,” I assure Londyn when the storeowner’s face starts to turn bright red. “You can wait right outside the door if you want to. I just need to talk to him for a moment.”

Shaking her head, she walks by me and signals for Bailey and Payton to follow. Payton strolls briskly out of the store, making me wonder what the hell she’s up to, but Bailey refuses to budge.

“I’m not leaving without my guitar.” She folds her arms and gives me a defiant look.

I lower my voice. “I’m going to get the guitar, but I need to make a bargain with this guy, and it’ll be easier if you’re not in here, okay?”

Her gaze drops to the guitar then back up to my face. “You swear you won’t walk out of here without it?”

“I swear to the moon and back,” I utter the words our mom used to whisper whenever she made an unbreakable promise.

With a small nod, Bailey walks away, giving me one final glance before pushing out the door.

Letting a slow exhale ease from my lips, I face douchebag McGee. “All right, here’s the deal. I don’t have two hundred and fifty bucks on me, nor am I planning on giving you that much cash for something that’s worth about a hundred bucks.” I don’t bother mentioning the sentimental value is worth way more than that. He’d just use that against me. “I will, however, give you this in exchange.” Gently setting the guitar down, I fumble as I reach up and unclasp the necklace hanging around my neck.

On the end of the chain is a silver heart-shaped locket that has a small diamond in the center. My mom gave it to me for my ninth birthday, telling me her mom gave it to her when she turned that age. It’s not extremely valuable in terms of dollars, but it’s priceless to me.

“I’m sure you can get at least two hundred bucks for it.” I hold up the necklace for him to see.

He squints at the locket. “Is that a real diamond?”

“Yeah,” I manage to say in an even voice.

“Hmmm …” He runs his finger along the diamond before looking back at me. “I’ll give you fifty bucks for it.”

I clutch the chain. “You’ll give me the guitar for it. And I know you will because the necklace is worth more.”

He studies me for a moment before he snatches the necklace from my hand then rounds behind the counter. “I’m going to make sure it’s a real diamond before I make the trade.”

“Sounds good.” I lean against the counter and wait, tears burning my eyes. I suck them back, knowing if I ever let those tears out, I’ll probably drown in them.

Ten minutes later, I’m climbing into the Chevelle with Bailey’s guitar in my hand. I’m feeling pretty shitty about the whole necklace exchange, but when Bailey’s eyes light up for the first time in months, I feel a bit better.

“Thank you, Hadley.” Bailey leans over the seat and gives me a hug. “You’re the best big sister ever.”

I hug her back, ignoring Londyn’s accusing gaze boring into me. “You’re welcome. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am right now. I promise.” She gives me one final hug before sitting back in the seat and plucking the strings.

“Your necklace is missing,” Londyn mutters under her breath as I start up the engine.

“I packed it up. Didn’t want to risk losing it while we were hauling out boxes. You know how I’m always losing things.” I shift the car into drive.

She rolls her eyes. “Sure you did.”

I just shrug and steer out onto the road. She may be upset with me now, but she’ll get over it. She always does.

Silence stretches between us as I drive toward the gas station, hoping Dad is waiting for us there. Since he hasn’t texted me back yet, I’m feeling pretty doubtful.

“That guy was a real asshole, wasn’t he?” Londyn absentmindedly twists a ring on her finger.

“Yes, he was,” I agree, cracking my window. “I seriously about punched that smirk right off his face.”

“You should’ve.” She slips off her sneakers and props her feet on the dashboard.

“Since when do you encourage fighting?” I question.

She shrugs. “You’re my sister and he was tryi

ng to take advantage of you. He needed a good punch in the face.”

I can’t help smiling as I slip on my sunglasses. Londyn rarely encourages drama, so that storeowner must have really gotten under her skin.

“If it makes you guys feel any better, I totally jacked an art set from him,” Payton announces from the back seat.

Londyn and I trade a confused look before glancing back at her.

She smiles wickedly and holds up a flat, wooden box in her hand. “It hasn’t even been opened yet.”

So that’s why she hauled ass out of the store.

I really should reprimand her for stealing. She’s already a borderline klepto. But, since I just paid for a guitar that was stolen from us, I think I’ll let this one slide. Plus, it’s not like none of us steal. We’ve all done it before in desperate times.

“What’s in it?” I ask as I turn into the gas station parking lot.

Shit, I don’t see our dad’s truck anywhere.

“It says it’s got pencils and paints,” Payton tells me. “Which I’m in desperate need of.”

I nod distractedly as I make a loop around the gas station.

“Why are we here?” Londyn asks, rolling her window down all the way.

“I texted Dad when we stopped at the pawn shop and told him to wait for us here.” I frown as I realize his truck isn’t here. “I guess he didn’t get the message.”

“Or ignored it,” Londyn gripes in frustration. “Why does he have to make everything such a pain in the ass?”

Because he misses Mom. Because he’s depressed. Because he’s heartbroken.

Those are the excuses I usually make for him, but I’m getting tired of it. I understand that he misses Mom, that he loved her more than he loved himself. She made him happy, and he thrived on making her happy.