Falling for Hadley: A Novel (Chasing the Harlyton Sisters 2)

He’s shaking his head before I can even finish the sentence. “Whatever you do, don’t go to the police.”

I gape at him. “That seems like a stupid idea when my sisters’ lives could be in danger.”

“No one’s going to just go hurt them,” he insists. “If anything, they’ll probably try to get you guys to help them find your dad and the drugs and money he stole. As for the cops… there’s so much corruption and hush money being thrown around in Honeyton, that at this point it’s hard to tell who’s trustworthy.”

God, why did my dad have to move us to this town? Then again, the more I learn about what my dad was doing in Honeyton, the less I think us ending up here was just because he picked some random town on a map.

I chew on my bottom lip. “Maybe I could talk to one of my dad’s old cop friends and get some outside help.”

His brows furrow. “Your dad was a cop?”

“An undercover detective,” I clarify. “I know it seems super crazy, but back before my mom…” I hastily clear my throat, not wanting to get into that whole story right now. “But yeah, anyway, he used to be a cop. It’s been a while but still, maybe I can track down his old partner. From what I remember, he was a nice guy and he doesn’t live here.”

Hesitancy flashes across his face.

“What’s that look for?” I wonder. “Do you think I’m lying or something? Because I’m not.”

He slowly shakes his head. “No, that’s not it.”

“Then, what is it?”

“I’m not sure if I should say anything.”

“Then you probably shouldn’t have pulled that face. But you did, so …” I motion for him to spit it out.

He blows out an exhausted sigh. “I was just going to ask if you knew for sure if your dad’s old partner was a good cop.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Of course he is and so was my dad. Why would you even ask that?”

He scratches his cheek. “It’s just that, generally when people do sketchy things like what your dad’s been doing, they’ve been doing it for a while.”

“He has been doing sketchy stuff for a while,” I snap. “For about eight years, right after he quit being a detective. Up until then, he was a good guy, so stop making accusations about shit you don’t understand.”

Was he a good guy, though? Remember what you dreamt last night? About being taken right after your mom crashed and the whispered words of your dad owing a debt.

Blaise frowns. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” I spin toward my car, fuming mad and more than ready to speed my way to ease.

Honestly, my anger might not be stemming from Blaise. Deep down, I think I’m pissed off at my father for the mess he’s gotten me and my sisters into, and for the mess he quite possibly put me in eight years ago.

“Hadley, wait,” Blaise calls out.

I almost ignore him but find myself twisting around. “What?”

He drags his tongue along his teeth, hesitating. “There’s this girl who’s going to be at school today. Her name’s Amelia—she’s Axel’s daughter. She was actually the girl who was outside with William.” He restlessly drums his fingers against the sides of his legs. “She knew about the situation with your dad so I really think you should try to avoid her.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I can handle some prissy-looking rich girl.”

“She’s more ruthless than she looks. And she has a twin brother …” His frown deepens. “Together, they’re a bundle of straight-up crazy.”

“Good thing I can handle crazy.” What I probably can’t handle, though, is a bunch of dudes as big as that William guy coming after me and my sisters. That’s a problem I’m going to have to deal with.

What I need is to get some outside help and try to figure out just how many bags of drugs and how much money my dad stole. Maybe if I can find all the bags, I can get these guys to leave me and my sisters alone.

“Please just be careful,” Blaise utters softly, his eyes doing that smoldering, intense thing again.

“I will.” Practically bursting with anxiousness and in need of some desperate alleviation of tension, I jump into the driver’s seat and reach to shut the door.

Blaise rushes forward and grabs the door before I can close it, eliciting a frustrated growl from me.

He gives me a funny look. “Did you just growl?”

“Yeah, because you’re frustrating and sometimes I growl when I’m frustrated, so you should probably get used to it.”

His rolls his tongue in my mouth, trying not to smile. “Sorry for being so frustrating, but I was just going to say that you should give me your phone number so I can call you when I know more.”

Out of habit, I’m reluctant, but then I realize the bigger picture and prattle off my digits. After he enters them into his phone, he sends me a text so I have his number too, then steps back.

“Drive safe, okay?” he says and I nod, but it’s total bullshit.

The last thing I need right now is to drive safe.

What I need is to release some of this anxiety and fear coursing through me before I end up having another breakdown.

Hadley

Yeah, see, here’s the thing about becoming the head of a household when you’re only ten years old. You start having to deal with a level of stress most kids aren’t equipped to handle. Having had a decent, fairly chill life up until the point when my mom passed away and my dad lost his ability to act like an adult, I had no clue how to deal with all the emotions that came with having to suddenly take care of my three younger sisters. But remembering how my mom told me I was the strongest of them, I knew I had to learn, at least while my dad was going through his phase where he thought drinking was more important than being a father. Back then, I stupidly believed he’d eventually get over it and return to being the good, caring dad he used to be. But as days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, I realized that the dad I once knew might not ever exist anymore.

I was about twelve when that realization struck me. That was also the night I had my first breakdown. It was after a long night of taking care of Payton and Bailey while they were sick with the stomach flu. Londyn had spent the night at a friend’s house for a slumber party, so she wasn’t there to help me. I was supposed to be babysitting the neighbor’s kids for a few hours the next day to make a few extra bucks, cash that we were in desperate need of. So even though I’d barely slept, when morning rolled around, I refused to cancel.

Then, to make matters worse, right after the lady dropped off her kids, the power was turned off because our bill was overdue. My dad had told me he paid it; had promised on the moon and back. As I sat there in the shitty apartment that reeked of vomit and had no power with five kids running around, yelling at each other, it dawned on me like a punch to the chest.

My dad was never going to change. This terrible man who lied and cheated and stole was now my father.

As tears started to slip down my cheeks, I broke. Shattered. Fell apart.

I don’t remember much of what occurred after that. Just Londyn showing up from her slumber party several hours later. I had no recollection of anything that happened during the day. According to Payton and Bailey said I zoned out for hours, just staring at a wall, refusing to talk. Luckily, they had stepped up and took care of the neighbor’s kids, but they were beyond freaked out.

So was I.

But me being me, I assured everyone I was fine and waved it off as being overly tired and crashing. In reality, I was worried if anyone discovered I lost touch with reality for a few hours, I’d be locked up in a psychiatric ward. That fear only grew when I did some searching online and found out the symptoms were a stress-related breakdown.

I often wondered if it was the same thing that had happened to me when my mom died, but now that I’m having these dreams … maybe flashbacks, I’m not so sure that’s it. What I am sure about is that I don?

?t want to have another breakdown again.

After the first one, I knew I needed to find a better way to deal with my stress. At first, I took up kickboxing. But when I was old enough to get my learner’s permit, driving became my form of letting off tension. And in the past, the moment I slid behind the wheel and pressed my foot on the gas, the pressure almost constantly pressing down on my chest lightened.

Right now, though, the lightness isn’t coming to me.

“Goddammit,” I growl as I speed down the highway toward school.

As I near the rear end of a car moving at the pace of a freakin’ old person in the grocery store, I slam my foot on the gas, downshift, and make a quick pass around. Once I’m back in the correct lane, I crank up the stereo and crack the window, letting the warm morning breeze gust into the cab.

“Come on; just relax,” I mutter to myself. “You’ll fix this mess just like you always do.”