Bad Girl Reputation by Elle Kennedy

Why’d he do this to me? Make me care about him all over again, test every boundary and knock down every wall, if only to walk away now?

It hurts, damn it.

More than I thought it could.

And my mind won’t stop running over what-ifs and if onlys. What if I hadn’t been so obstinate at the start? If I hadn’t set up quite so many hurdles to a relationship? If only I’d been more open, would we have had this all figured out by now?

I don’t know.

None of it helps me sleep. I’m still staring at the ceiling well after one in the morning. And that’s when a noise outside startles me.

I’m not sure what it is at first. A passing car with the radio on? The neighbors? For the briefest moment, my pulse lurches with the thought it might be Evan climbing his way up.

Suddenly something smashes against my bedroom window.

Loud and piercing. I’m frozen in panic for a second before I turn on my bedside lamp and run to the window. There I see the foaming liquid sheeting down the windowpane and the brown shards of glass littering the sill. A beer bottle, from the looks of it.

“You fucking slut bitch!”

Below, Rusty Randall stands unsteady on my front lawn, his outline barely visible in the outer edge of the streetlamp’s glow. He staggers, shouting almost incoherently except for every other word or so.

“Bitch ex-wife …” He growls something about “won’t let me see my damn kids” and “my own damn house.”

On the bed, my phone lights up, and I make a mad dash for it.

Kayla: I know it’s late but I wanted to warn you. Rusty was here. He’s drunk and angry. Stay away if you see him.

Kayla’s house is just down the street. A quick walk on his belligerence tour. One more stop on the midnight grievance stroll. Tonight, of all nights, I’m not interested in entertaining his rage.

Luckily, I don’t have to.

“What the hell was that?” Craig barges into my room rubbing crust out of his eyes as he comes to stand beside me at the window. “Is that the one who arrested you?”

“You did this!” Randall shouts again. “You fucking bitch!”

Craig and I both turn our heads when we hear the stairs creak followed by the front door opening. The floodlights from the front porch pop on, lighting Randall on the front lawn. A second later, our dad walks out in shorts and a T-shirt with a pump-action shotgun in his hands.

“Oh, shit. Dad’s pissed,” Craig breathes.

He’s not the only one. More footsteps follow, down the stairs and out the door. Then Billy, Shane, and Jay walk out to stand behind our father. Six-foot-five Jay has a baseball bat slung over his shoulder. I didn’t even know he and Shane were here tonight. Kellan must’ve kicked them out again for a chick.

Randall drunkenly grumbles at Dad. I can’t hear them well, but by the gesticulations, I catch the gist.

“I don’t care about a badge,” Dad says, raising his voice. “You get the hell off my property.”

When Randall doesn’t move quick enough, Dad pumps the shotgun to reiterate his demand.

That gets Randall backpedaling, growling along the way to his car. The Fuck Around and Find Out Society remains undefeated.

Craig and I make our way out to the porch in time to see his taillights pass.

“That guy’s a real weirdo,” Jay says, strutting in like he just chased off the British Army single-handedly with his Louisville Slugger.

“Should have put one in his ass,” Shane laughs as Dad comes in and safely stows the shotgun.

“He’s driving drunk,” Craig pipes up. “We should tell the sheriff.”

“I’ll call him,” Dad says before glancing at me. “You okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah, good.” I flick on the living room lights, and we all congregate on the sofas.

“We were watching upstairs,” Craig tells them, a big dumb grin on his face. “I thought for sure you were going to shoot that guy.”

Dad leans against the back of his recliner, grimacing.

I fight a rush of guilt-tinged anger. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I had no idea he’d show up here. Kayla texted me after he was already out there to tell me he’d been by her place too. Guess she wouldn’t let him in.”

“Uh-huh.” After a beat, he walks around to sit in the big leather chair. “I think I’m gonna stay up for a little while. Make sure that numbskull doesn’t get any dumb ideas.”

“What’s that guy’s deal?” Craig searches all of us for an answer. “I mean, something happened, right?”

Billy meets my gaze.

It was bad enough having that conversation with my father. No way I’m rehashing it for my youngest brother.

“You knuckleheads get on back to bed,” Dad tells the boys.

“I can’t sleep now.” Shane all but bounces at the end of the sofa. “I’m hyped. I’ll stay up too. Sit on the front porch with the shotgun in case he comes back.”

Jay rolls his eyes, then gives me a sympathetic nod. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, come on.” Craig huffs at being dismissed. “I never get to hear the good stuff. Gen?”

He searches me for support or permission, but I just shrug and say, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

He flips up his middle finger. “Aw, you’re no fun.”