Breaking Her Bad by Michelle Mankin

 

 

 

 

 

Kyle

Missy entered the shit-hole apartment, dodging a group of intoxicated football players trying to form an offensive line in my living room. Her ice-blue eyes blazing cobalt flames, she stomped to my corner.

“You’re late,” I told her preemptively.

I didn’t know what her issue was, but I was cutting that shit off. I paid her in blow to watch Bob, and she was late.

Frowning, I said, “We have a deal. Randy’s covering for you upstairs, but I need him down here. Skellin’s making an impromptu visit.”

He was riding my ass for whatever reason, and Jorge and Gary’s warning to watch my back loomed large in my mind.

“Who’s this?” Tommy asked, joining us after deftly avoiding the same offensive line Missy had.

“Missy Rivera.” Quickly, I made the introductions. “This is Tommy Evans, et cetera.” I took the gold-topped can of Rainier beer Tommy had brought me from the kitchen, and noted Missy’s cobalt flames lowering.

“You’re new,” she said to Tommy, her brow creasing.

“Yeah, darlin’.” His lips curling, he gave her the once-over. “Just started school today.”

“Wouldn’t forget seeing you,” she muttered.

“Wouldn’t forget you either.” His eyes gleamed, and he whistled low. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Missy blushed.

Missy can blush?My brows lifted, practically reaching my hairline.

“Your father isn’t Barry Evans, by any chance?” she asked him. “The drummer for ABCR?”

My head snapped Tommy’s way. After a heads-up call from Gary, I’d come here. Tommy followed, arriving shortly after Bob and I did. I never got the chance to meet his dad.

“Former drummer. But yeah, Barry the Beast Evans, that’s my pop.”

“Your father was in my dad’s band,” I said, my voice raising with my incredulousness.

“The way my dad tells it, it was Andy’s band.” One of Tommy’s brows inched up to underscore that point. “All the other members were a distant second in importance.”

“My dad didn’t talk about the group very much.” In fact, he got furious anytime anyone brought it up. My mom just got sad, so most of us stopped bringing it up.

“Oh, hold on.” Missy held up one slender finger. “I’m gonna need a moment to work through all the ramifications.”

“How’d you know?” I asked, squinting her way. “About ABCR?”

“My gram was a big fan of ABCR in her concert-going days.”

“So you knew my dad was the guitarist?” My brows snapped together.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Murphy’s a common last name, but I eventually put the pieces together.”

Confused, I tilted my head. “But you never said anything.”

Missy gave me a pointed look. “You and I didn’t do a lot of talking when we were together until recently.”

She was right. With her and Claire hanging out together, I didn’t want to pursue that line of discussion.

I turned to Tommy. “Your dad and my dad were in the same band. Did you make that connection when you met me?”

He nodded. “I made it as soon as you told me your last name. But then, I know pretty much everything about then. My dad talks about everybody a lot, remembers his band days fondly. I think nostalgia is one of the reasons he wanted to come back here.”

“Claire’s mom is Rachel Footit. Well, she was a Footit. Her last name is Walsh now.” Missy’s eyes reactivated with flames that she aimed at me again. “Did you know who Claire was before you went to Lakeside, had sex with her, and broke her heart?”

Slowly, I shook my head. “Claire’s mom was . . . is Rachel Footit?”

Missy crossed her arms over her chest. “You didn’t know.”

“No,” I said distantly as I replayed every conversation I’d had with Claire about her mom.

Claire had never mentioned her mom’s first name, though she’d shared about her mom being a musician. I remembered the guitar on the wall in the treehouse that she said her mom no longer played, only I had. My dad might have even played it as the lead guitarist in their band. Though, growing up, I could never remember there being a single instrument anywhere or even a photo of ABCR around. Why keep mementos that made him mad and my mom sad?

So, what to make of this beyond that Claire and I had another connection point, another something else in common?

Our parents had been together in a band, and then both gave up music afterward. I knew drugs had destroyed Andy, my dad’s best friend. With money coming in from record companies wanting to sign them, drugs had become a problem for my dad too. After he lost Andy, drugs replaced him as my dad’s new best friend. Drugs were his only true love, as far as I could tell. My mom and I were always secondary. But it was obvious he was bitter about the dissolution of the band.

No music in your life left a void—I knew that from personal experience. I also knew playing alone was different from being onstage and in sync with someone. Just performing with Claire that one time had been extraordinary. It wasn’t only her body I craved. It was all the many wonderful parts of her that she’d shared.

“Do you care about Claire?” Missy asked, breaking into my thoughts. She frowned when I didn’t immediately answer her.

“I can’t care about her,” I said carefully, then leaned in, going on the offensive. “Are you Claire’s protector?”

Missy lifted her chin. “Yes. We’re friends.”

“Good. She needs a friend.” The knot in my gut since I first saw Claire this morning loosened somewhat. “Belinda’s not going to let up, and she’s worse than the bullies Claire dealt with at Lakeside.”

Missy narrowed her eyes. “You do care about her.”

It wasn’t a question in her mind anymore. Missy was smart. Even without us doing much talking, that had always been obvious to me.

“I don’t want her to get hurt.” I shrugged as if Claire’s well-being weren’t a big fucking deal to me.

Studying me, Missy said, “I saw how you looked at her when Belinda had her.”

“Not talking about Claire here.” The knot in my gut tightening, I glanced around and let out a relieved breath when I saw that no one was paying attention to us.

“It’s more than you not wanting to talk abouther.” Missy shook her finger near my face. “You don’t plan to pursue anything with her.”

“No, I don’t.” Desire didn’t make a wish into reality in Southside. “You know who at I am, and who she is.” Moving her finger aside, I gestured at the scuzzy apartment we were standing in. “Look around. Do you really think a girl like Claire belongs here?”

“But if you . . .”

The front door suddenly slammed open. A cold wind blew inside, accompanying Martin as he entered. Surveying the room, he wore a navy suit and a blood-red tie. His bodyguard was with him, clutching a gaunt and furtive-looking Lace Lowell to his side.

A ripple of icy tension spread throughout the room, and Missy rubbed her arms. I wasn’t the only one who registered the chill.

“Go upstairs, Missy,” I said, keeping my voice low. “As fast as you can make that happen without drawing his attention.”

“Okay.” Her eyes wide, she didn’t ask whose attention I was referring to, and she didn’t give me any flack. She just backed away. She knew Skellin.

As if on cue, the football line staggered toward the door. Their moving in front of Martin gave Missy the opportunity to slip behind him. I didn’t aim my gaze at her, but I noted her progress on the stairs.

“Tommy.” I placed my hand on his arm as Martin came toward me.

He nodded. “I’ll follow her. I have Missy and your uncle covered. Do whatever you need to, man. But don’t get yourself into trouble.”

I nodded, but it was too late to avoid trouble.

Trouble was already here.