Make Me Bad (Page 33)

Oh god, I am guilty. Of taking her there. Of putting her in that situation.

Maybe I’m as bad as her dad thinks I am.

I say all of this to Andy. I’m at his house the next morning, tearing my hair out, pacing, refusing food.

“You’re in a bit of a pickle, huh, bud?” he says, propping his feet up on his coffee table and sipping his coffee.

He’s wearing flannel pants and slippers. What man owns and proudly wears slippers?

“What do you think I should do?”

“Oh, you have quite a few options, right? You can give up all hope and move on, find some other willing female to warm your bed. That wouldn’t be too hard. My birthday is next month, and Arianna and I have already started planning a party—there’ll be plenty of women there for you to meet.”

I shoot him a deadly glare and he shrugs, unperturbed.

“Or you could fight for her? Go talk to her dad? See if you can’t change his mind about you?”

“And say what exactly? I didn’t mean to endanger her life last night? I didn’t mean to sneak her out of your house? It was all an accident? I just happened to be standing under the window, in your azaleas when she fell out?”

His eyes narrow as if he actually thinks that’s a possibility.

“Andy, no. Fuck. You’re right—I should move on. Why am I hung up on this one girl? There are a million others.”

“More, even.” Andy nods.

“She’s wrong for me in so many ways.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I mean, she’s so goddamn naive. She let me lure her into the ocean last night. She stripped when I barely taunted her!”

He hums. “Sounds terrible. Go on.”

“She’s twenty-five and still living at home. I don’t even think she has a driver’s license.”

“Ugh, horrible,” he mocks. I’m too busy conjuring up ticks against Madison to notice.

“And her family! Jesus, her brother probably wants to murder me right now.”

“I think you’ve already mentioned the family—”

“Worst of all,” I say, sitting on the edge of his couch and dropping my head into my hands. “I think I’m already half in love with her. No, more—three-quarters of the way in love with her.”

Andy’s hand hits my shoulder and he pats twice before pushing to his feet. “Well, sounds like you know exactly what to do.”

I jerk my gaze up to him. “What? What do you mean?”

“Oh you know, just follow your heart. Listen to your gut. Let the winds of fate guide you to your destiny.”

“What the fuck are you saying?”

“I don’t know. I’m just trying to wrap this up. I’m hungry and you don’t seem to be anywhere near the end of this existential crisis. Do you want a donut? I think I’m gonna make a run.”

Andy is absolutely no help.

I spend the remainder of my weekend stuck in a vortex of guilt and anger and indecision. I replay her voicemail and contemplate calling her back, but I can’t. She texts me Saturday night with two words: I’M SORRY. I feel so bad, I don’t reply. Why is she sorry? Why is she the one apologizing?

I don’t know what to say and Andy won’t come up with a reply for me, so I just don’t answer.

Sunday, she texts me again.

Madison: I really am. Y’know…sorry.

I want to shout at her to stop. The apologies are only making me feel guiltier. Her heart, the one so big it could fill a football stadium, is not something I deserve. Have I been playing with her feelings? Manipulating her for my own amusement? No. That’s what her dad thinks, but that’s not who I am. I have to keep repeating this to myself, especially after her brother visits me at work on Monday.

I’m in the middle of returning emails when one of my junior associates rushes in, eyes wide, lip quivering.

“There’s a police officer outside asking to speak to you. He says his name is Colten Hart. Are you under arrest or something? Will I have to find a new job?”

I wave away his concerns and push to stand, not at all surprised that Colten has come to talk to me.

Of course he’s wearing his police uniform, all black. Is he purposely fidgeting with the gun in his holster or am I imagining things?

The second I push open the door, he squares his shoulders, juts out his chin, eyes me like he wants to skewer me on a stick.

I have no idea how I should approach him. Guns blazing? Respectful and meek? That one nearly makes me chuckle. Yeah right. I settle on stuffing my hands in my pockets, narrowing my eyes, and waiting for him to speak first. It’s a power move in its own right.

“You have some nerve,” he says, spitting at the ground.

It’s like we’re in an old western and he’s about to challenge me to a duel.

“What can I do for you, Colt? I have a lot of shit to do.”

His upper lip curls and he steps toward me, finger pointing. Then he shakes his head and pivots to the side, cooling his jets.

“I’m not here to fight with you.”

That’s a surprise.

“I’m here because I want to talk to you about Madison.”

My stomach tightens at the mention of her name.

It’s been two days since I’ve seen her, two days since I’ve heard her voice or seen her in one of her colorful dresses. I wonder how angry she is with me for going radio silent. I wonder if she’ll understand when I explain my reasoning to her.

Colten keeps his gaze out on the parking lot as he continues, his tone is calm now, nearly civil. “You and your friends think this town belongs to you. You’re the gods and we’re just your playthings, here for your amusement.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Yeah? I seem to remember you being quite the asshole back in high school. You’re telling me you’ve really changed since then? That you’re not the same rich punk who used people however he liked?”

I throw my hands up, indignant. “Jesus, that was more than a decade ago. You think I’m still running around doing the same old shit?”

I used to think Sum 41 was the pinnacle of music. I thought long surfer hair and puka shell necklaces were going to be around forever. He can’t be serious right now. I was eighteen and stupid.

“I’m not the same person I was then.”

“Why are you messing with her?” he asks, gaze turning back to me.

“I’m not.”

“To you, people like Madison don’t matter. Not really.”

A trigger flips inside me and I’m in front of him, right in his face before I realize what I’m doing. I can smell the fucking coffee on his breath. I’m seconds away from grabbing hold of his collar and escalating this to a level neither of us want it to go to.

“She matters,” I say, so convincingly it’s like I’ve just chiseled the words into his chest.

He snorts derisively. “Yeah? Until when? Until another pretty girl catches your eye?”

I turn away to cool down, to regain some semblance of control.

I’m staring out at a tree in the parking lot. I stare so long my vision blurs and the leaves blend together into a mess of green, the exact color of Madison’s eyes.

“You think you deserve her?” he asks, voice nearly breaking. He sounds desperate. “What have you ever done in your life to deserve a girl like Madison? She’s good, Ben, better than you and me, and I won’t let you hurt her.”

When his car door slams and he peels out of the parking lot, I’m still staring out at that goddamn beautiful tree.

We accept the love we think we deserve. I’ve heard that before. Maybe I read it on the inside of a crinkled chocolate wrapper, I don’t know, but it’s stuck in my brain the rest of the day. In a sense, it’s true. It’s how I’ve operated in the past. This time, with Madison, I’m reaching. Colten asked what I’ve done to deserve her—what do any of us do to deserve love? Love should be given freely. I want Madison, and I think she wants me. I don’t know. Two days with no communication means a lot could have changed. Maybe her family finally convinced her to leave me in the dust.

Maybe she realized she could do much better than me. She could turn heads and break hearts if only she put herself out there.

The idea kills me.

I go by the library later that day prepared for two scenarios. I have a document waiting for Madison’s signature, outlining that I’ll be switching my volunteer location from the library to the soup kitchen. If things don’t go the way I want them to, I won’t keep forcing myself into her life. I’ll give her space.

I purposely wait to go see her until it’s nearly closing time. I hate having to go to her work at all for something like this, but I can’t show up at her dad’s house, so this is really my only option.

She’s not at her desk when I walk in. I ring the bell but there’s still no sign of her. I hear a heavy thunk, like a box of books getting shuffled around, and I head toward the hallway that leads to the storage room. That’s where she is, tidying up.

She doesn’t notice me at first. Her hands are on her hips as she surveys the space, deciding what to do next. She’s wearing the white sweater dress I love, the same boots she wore to the beach. Her hair hangs in dark undone curls and when I knock on the doorframe, she jerks around to face me and pushes some of it behind her ear.