Bad Girl Reputation (Avalon Bay #2)(87)

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.”

Jay yanks Craig by the arm and then wrangles the others, pushing Billy and Shane up the stairs, while cooing, “Bedtime, kiddos.” Which gets him more middle fingers and a “fuck off” from Billy.

I remain with Dad, watching him cautiously. To his credit, he’d remained remarkably cordial out there, given that a deranged man was screaming obscenities at his daughter and hurling bottles against the house. While his clenched fists and white knuckles suggest he’d like to reach for the shotgun again, he gives up only a threatening throat clearing as he reaches for his phone.

“I’m going to have a talk with the sheriff.” Dad rises from his recliner to kiss the top of my head. “Go to bed, kiddo. I’m taking care of it.”

Sometimes, a girl just needs her dad. As far as they go, mine’s pretty alright.





CHAPTER 31

EVAN

I dream about her. One of those half-awake meanderings of the mind after my eyes have blinked open a couple times to clench shut again against the spill of sunlight across my face. It’s not so much a dream as a memory of something that never happened, indistinct and evaporating before I can consciously hold on to it. But we’re together, and when my brain finally rocks me awake, I’m reminded there’s no sleeping this one off. I let her go. And dreams are all I have left.

Rolling over, I grab my phone from the nightstand to check the time. The screen is full of texts from Gen. It takes me a minute to get up to speed, not understanding what I’m reading because I’m seeing it in reverse order. Only the most recent show up first, so I scroll up to read them properly.

Gen: Randall showed up here last night.

Gen: Screaming on my front lawn.

Gen: Threw a beer bottle at my window.

That one slaps any lingering grogginess from my head.

Gen: Dad chased him off with a shotgun.

Gen: Please, we need to talk.

I’m out of bed and throwing on the first shirt and pair of shorts I find.

Gen: I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.

Gen: Things have changed. Meet me at our spot as soon as you get this. You owe me that much.

Already, I’m regretting how I went at her yesterday, especially considering everything she’d already been through. I could have done it better. Gently. Now she sounds like she’s afraid I’d ignore her, and that’s never what I wanted. Distance, yeah. Enough for both of us to get used to the idea of living our own lives. So she could get on with hers without interference from me. But thinking she’d have to beg for my help when she’s in trouble? That’s an awful feeling.

I’m out the door only minutes later, peeling out of the driveway on my motorcycle. When I arrive at the narrow path that cuts through the trees to the hidden beach, Gen is already there, wearing a pair of cutoffs and a loose red T-shirt. She’s on a blanket just above the tide line, staring at the waves.

“Hey,” I say, announcing myself as I approach. “You okay? What happened?”

She doesn’t stand, but encourages me to sit. “I’m fine. Good thing we didn’t have any loose pavers lying around or we might have had you out installing new windows.”

“I’m serious.” I search her face, but she seems okay. Just a little tired. “Your messages sounded—”

“Right.” She ducks her head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine.” When Gen won’t look at me, I bow to meet her eyes. “I mean it, it’s cool. You need me, I’m here. No problem.”

After a breath, her shoulders relax. Her finger draws aimless patterns in the sand as she explains what exactly went on last night. Finding the ranting lunatic in her yard. Ronan West walking out to meet him like Dirty Harry.

“So then Dad called the sheriff and told him to get his ass down to the station. They brought me in at the crack of dawn to fill out a petition for a restraining order. We hung around for a while making a formal police report while Sheriff Nixon had Randall brought in. He was arrested for drunk driving, and they put him on leave.” A glint of vindication lights her expression. “They have to do a whole internal investigation thing, but Dad says he’s getting canned.”