Bad Intentions (Bad Love 2)

“Touché,” I say, nodding, because what else can I say? Other than ouch. He’s not wrong. He may have known him longer, but he does know him better than I do.

“That was a dick move,” he says after a minute. “Sorry.”

He chokes out the word sorry like he’s swallowing a handful of nails. As if the word is foreign to him, and he’s never had to apologize for anything in his whole life. It almost makes me laugh.

“Nah,” I shake my head, aiming for nonchalance, “it’s true. So, why am I picking you up so early?”

“Need to eat. There’s a restaurant next to your dad’s shop.”

Ignoring the weird feeling that comes from someone referring to Henry as my dad again, I ask, “Are you asking me out for breakfast?”

“No, I’m telling you to drop me off next door, so I can get a bite to eat. My fridge is empty.”

Oh.

“But if you need to eat, too,” he continues, scratching at the back of his neck in an uncomfortable gesture, “I won’t stop you.”

“I’ll pass.” I laugh. I might be hungry, but I don’t have the time or the money to waste. Not that my pride would ever let me accept that non-invitation anyway.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs.

I drive in silence, my freezing legs bouncing, trying to get warm. Dare is quiet, too. His legs are spread wide, sitting like a fucking king in this piece of shit car, one arm propped on the door as he gazes out the window. I like that he doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with meaningless words.

“Pull in here,” he says when we’re close to the shop. I do as he says, swinging into the narrow parking lot of a place called Sissy’s that sits next to another one named Belle’s. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t ask me to join him.

Dare reaches toward me, and my breath catches as his cold fingers slip between my thighs. Goosebumps prick my skin, and my nipples tighten almost painfully. Dare’s bottom lip is trapped between his teeth as he tosses me a cocky look.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says in a low voice, and then he’s gone.

I look down at my lap to find what he left tucked between my legs. A fifty-dollar bill. Jesus. I didn’t think he’d actually pay me.

After dropping the forms off at Jesse’s school, I went home to change and found the washer and dryer in the garage, so I tossed a load in. Then, I drove around aimlessly, applying for any place I may have missed, before I got a call from Sutton—the girl from the bar. She told me I got the job, and to come in next Thursday. When I asked if I needed to fill out an application or come in for an interview, she laughed like that was the craziest thing she’d ever heard. I’m just glad she called.

Feeling optimistic for the first time since we got here, I decided to use some of Dare’s money—which I plan to pay back as soon as possible, which will be easy since I’ll be working next door—to pick up some pizza and beer for dinner tonight after grabbing Jess from school.

Henry stuck around after he got off work, and for the first time in over a decade, we had dinner with our dad. It was…weird. But a nice weird. He wasn’t like Mom who’d ramble on about being watched through cameras in the buttons of people’s jeans, how everyone was out to get her, and she couldn’t trust anyone. Paranoia at its finest. Dinner with Henry was almost normal. I’ve never had normal, but I’ve seen it on TV.

We’re still sitting at the table, drinking our beer. The pizza has been demolished, and the grease-stained box is full of crust, crumpled-up napkins, and bottle caps.

“So, you guys going to tell me why you’re here yet?” Henry asks after taking a swig of his Budweiser. I gave him the bare minimum when I called him. I told him we needed to get out of town, but I never mentioned Mom or Jess or Eric or any of that. He doesn’t need to know about Eric, and the look that Jess sends me tells me that he doesn’t want him knowing about his trouble, either, but I have to give him something. I decide that telling him about Crystal would be safe, and the most relevant to him.

“Mom was getting really bad,” I start. Henry’s eyebrows pull together in concern as he puts his elbows on the table, listening intently. I don’t know why, but it bothers me. How can he act concerned when he threw us away like yesterday’s trash? “She hadn’t paid the bills in years,” I continue, pushing my irritation aside. “She was almost never there. She disappeared for months, and Jess and I always scrounged together whatever we could from our jobs. But that was fine. We managed. We preferred when she wasn’t home. It was easier that way. Calmer,” I clarify, nodding to myself. “But then she got another shitty junkie boyfriend. This one didn’t have his own place to stay, so Mom suddenly remembered she had a home.”

“He was nasty as fuck, too,” Jess chimes in, absently spinning a quarter on the kitchen table. “That fool never showered. Stole my shit. Ate all of our food—well, whenever they were too broke to get high and actually had appetites.”

“They wouldn’t leave. Brought their lowlife friends around. Then it all came to a head when Mom’s boyfriend beat the shit out of Jess because he wouldn’t give them our last twenty bucks. She sat there and watched him hurt her son, and then me, and didn’t do a single fucking thing about it.”

Jess’ fists clench, and I know he’s thinking about what happened that day. He was half-asleep when our mom’s boyfriend, Darrell, attacked him. He’s lucky, too, or Jess would’ve killed him. He told him to fuck off when he asked for money, and then bam. Darrell went off. And once I tried to pull him off, he turned on me. Jess was swinging blind, blood in his eyes, while Mom screamed. For Darrell. Not her children. She let him beat on her, but I thought, maybe, some sliver of mother’s instinct or love was still inside her. You hear about panicked mothers lifting cars off their trapped children. I’d have settled for one word. Just one word. Stop, is all it would have taken for me to know she was in there, somewhere. That was the day I knew my mother was gone completely, not that she’d ever been the best parent. But she was ours, and she was all we knew.

“Christ,” Henry says, rubbing at his forehead. “I don’t blame you guys for getting the hell out of there.”

“There’s more,” Jess says, and the crease between Henry’s eyebrows deepens.

“I called the cops. When they showed up, asking about a disturbance, Mom stood out of sight, shaking her head, silently begging me to turn them awa

y. I didn’t. They had warrants. Lots of them, for things we didn’t even know about. Long story short, they’re both in jail.” If she gets lucky, she’ll do court-ordered rehab instead of doing time, and then probation. Whether it’s jail or rehab, I know she’ll be fed, sheltered, and sober. I don’t care how it happens.

I still remember the way she looked at me. How I held her stare, resigned, as I slowly swung the door open wide, and did what you never, under any circumstances, do in a neighborhood like mine. You don’t rat out anyone, ever. Especially not your blood.