Make Me Bad

“Yes,” she says, nodding as she takes her bottom lip between her teeth. I think she’s trying to keep from openly smiling at me, but I wish she’d just do it. I want to see her smile, even if it’s at my expense. “Mad-i-son. Just like that. You’ve got the hang of it.”

She’s funny.

Her hand is still outstretched, hanging awkwardly between us, so I belatedly step forward to take it. My hand engulfs hers. She’s ice cold and trembling. Of course, three minutes ago she was being held at gunpoint.

I only have her hand in mine for a brief moment before she jerks away and scans the ground again, confirming she has all her stuff.

“You’re not hurt. Are you?” I ask. “You never answered me earlier.”

She shakes her head even as her free hand reaches up to touch her hair. When she pulls it away, there’s blood on her fingers. She sees me staring and clears her throat. “It’s nothing, just a little cut from where he was holding the…”

Her sentence trails off, her gaze still on her bloody fingers, and I think she’s going to pass out or throw up. Clearly, the shock is starting to wear off.

“We should call the cops.” I got a decent enough look at the guy even with his mask on. I can recall his height and build and the direction he ran, at the very least.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll just tell my dad when I get home. Thank you for your help.”

“You still live with your dad?” Jesus, I didn’t think she was a kid, but maybe I’m wrong.

She must take my surprise for judgment because she lifts her chin proudly. “Yeah, it’s just easier with rent and all that.”

I feel like a jerk.

“Of course. Yeah, I get it. Is your dad’s house close by?” I say, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my suit pants. Even with the residual adrenaline in my veins, the cold air is starting to get harder to ignore.

“Just a few blocks. Listen, I can’t thank you enough for stepping in when you did. I’m not sure that guy would have hurt me, but still…” She shakes away the thought and glances up, her gaze meeting mine a bit unsteadily. “You probably saved my life, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.”

With that, she nods just once then turns to walk away.

I scowl.

She’s leaving? She thinks I’m going to let her walk home alone after all this? There’s a good chance that guy is still in the area.

I watch her until she reaches the end of the block and is about to cross the street. Then she suddenly stops, turns, and glances back at me, worrying her lip between her teeth before she speaks. “Actually…I know you’re probably busy what with all the street fighting and heroic deeds you have going on, but would you mind…maybe…walking me home?” Her brows scrunch together with her request and she speeds up her words, trying to rush out her reassurances. “It’s really not that far, I promise. I could just call my dad to come pick me up, but—”

“Yes, of course.”

I start to walk toward her, but then something catches my attention on the ground, and I squint, trying to discern if it’s something she left behind on accident or if it’s just a piece of trash.

“Oh,” she says, seeing it.

“It’s a birthday candle,” I say quietly.

Huh. I bend down to retrieve it and when I glance back over, I see her cheeks burning bright red as she turns and pins her gaze across the street.

Of course, I should have thought of it earlier when I saw the crumpled gift bag.

“It’s your birthday?”

She keeps her attention elsewhere, almost like she’s embarrassed to admit it. “My twenty-fifth.”

“What a way to spend a birthday…” I mumble under my breath.

I catch up to her and hold out the candle. She takes it and shoves it into her coat pocket like she wants to be rid of it.

“For what it’s worth, happy birthday.”

She laughs like it’s the most preposterous thing I could have said, and we start to walk. I offer to carry some of her things, but she insists she doesn’t need the help.

“So you’ll have your dad call the police when you get home?”

For some reason, that question makes her smirk. “Sure, I’ll have him call right away.”

I don’t know why she’s being cavalier about this. Her life was just at stake. There’s a criminal on the loose, and she’s not calling the cops. Why isn’t she calling the cops?

We turn a corner and keep walking past the manicured lawns and old Victorian mansions renowned around Clifton Cove. Real estate here is extremely expensive. Everyone wants to be within walking distance of the shops and restaurants, not to mention all the wealthy tourists who visit once and then decide they want to purchase a vacation home here. More than anything, they’re the ones driving up demand.

If Madison grew up around here, she likely went to the same private school I did, which would explain why she knows who I am.

“Did you grow up in Clifton Cove?”

She nods. “Born and raised.”

“And you went to Saint Andrews?”

I catch the moment her mouth lifts into a barely visible smirk. “No, Clifton High, and before you ask, I went to the public middle school and elementary school too.” The question of how she knows who I am is poised on my tongue when she continues in a mocking tone, “Everyone knows who you are—your last name is on half the buildings around town. The Rosenbergs might as well be royalty.”

As usual in life, my family’s legacy precedes me.

“Madison!” someone shouts up ahead, grabbing our attention. “Where the hell have you been?!”

“Oh God,” she hisses under her breath.

I glance up to see a man standing out on the porch of one of the homes a few yards away. It’s small compared to the mansions around it, a modest one-story on a half-lot. In the driveway, two police cruisers are parked side by side, and I wonder if somehow Madison alerted her dad to what happened without me realizing it.

She picks up her pace and I’m forced to follow. She aims an apologetic frown in my direction, and I don’t understand what it could possibly be for until I hear my name shouted from the porch. I look up to the large man in jeans and a white t-shirt, his gray hair trimmed in a short, military style. His face is contorted into an angry scowl and his eyes are locked right on me. Realization sets in.

“Ben Rosenberg, what the hell are you doin’ with my daughter?”

The question is asked by the man I now recognize as Derrick Hart, Chief of Police in Clifton Cove and apparently, Madison’s dad.

“Your last name is Hart?” I ask her.

She ignores me and glances up at her father. “Ben was just making sure I got home okay.”

He grunts in disbelief. “Is that why you’re a good two hours later than we expected you?”

I open my mouth, angry about the way he’s talking to her, but Madison’s gaze meets mine and she offers an infinitesimal shake of her head. I know I’d only make things worse for her by speaking up.

“It’s a long story and Ben’s gotta get home.”

Her dad doesn’t buy it. His eyes cut to me as he begins to walk down the stairs and down the front path. I’ve had a few run-ins with him over the years. Way back in high school, my friends and I could be arrogant assholes. We broke into public pools and raced our cars on deserted roads—typical kid shit. Since I turned eighteen, my record’s been squeaky clean. He shouldn’t be looking at me like he wants to pound me into dust.

His finger juts out accusingly. “I don’t want you anywhere near my daughter. You got that?”

Madison steps between us and holds up her hand. “Dad, seriously. Stop.”

I want to laugh. The situation couldn’t be more wrong. I just saved his precious daughter from being held at gunpoint and now I’m the bad guy? The same prejudice Mac and his friends felt toward me at the bar lives inside Chief Hart, too. He thinks I’m a spoiled rich kid, here to fuck with him and his daughter, like I don’t have more important shit to do with my time.

“I heard about the situation you got into earlier,” he says, staring pointedly at my black eye and busted lip. “Why were you over on that side of town anyway? Lookin’ for trouble?”

Madison steps right up to him, her hand hitting his chest. I shadow her, right there with her as if I’m worried he’ll turn his anger on his daughter, but I have nothing to worry about. The second he glances down, that fire in his eyes is doused. His thick gray brows tilt up and he frowns with loving concern.

“Maddie, we’ve been waiting for you since dinner. Colten even helped me with the banana pudding. Did you already eat?”

She nods her head and pushes him back toward the house. “Yeah, but pudding sounds nice. C’mon, let’s go inside.”

He lets her push him away. Maybe she’s got him wrapped around her finger, or maybe he feels bad because it’s her birthday; either way, she saves me from getting my ass chewed some more.

Other than a small glance she aims over her shoulder, neither of them acknowledge me as they walk inside. I’m definitely not invited up for some of that pudding, though I could definitely go for a bowl or two. I stand there watching them go, convinced this is probably the last time I’ll ever talk to Madison Hart. A pained feeling swells in my chest, and my hand hits my heart as if to soothe it.