Page 53 of A Little Jaded

“He’s a rockstar, Bo,” Mav counters. “Being a little unhinged comes with the job title, don’t you think?”

“He thinks he’s untouchable,” I argue. “And he’s impulsive, and?—”

“And you think he’d do something stupid under the guise of protecting you.”

I nod slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. And when you factor in my dad and mom and Penelope, let alone Dodger’s PR team, it…it would be a disaster.”

He leans against the counter as if his strength is depleted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I get it.”

I pull back, surprised. “You do?”

“Yeah. I’m not saying you’re right to keep them in the dark, but I get why you want to.” He pulls me into his chest and rubs his hand along my spine. “Fuck, Bo.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and lean into him.

“Your secret’s safe with me. Besides, between my surgery and Archer’s…” He gulps. “I think it’s enough shit on our families’ plates. If it gets worse, we have to tell them, though.”

I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I agree.”

“Good. For now, we do whatever Reeves tells us to. Your safety is our first priority. Then it’s everyone else's feelings and your brother’s protection.”

“Okay.”

The beep of the microwave makes him sigh. “Grab the bowl.”

“Okay,” I repeat, handing the bowl to Maverick. Heempties the bag of popcorn into the glass, making me feel as light as the little puffed-up kernels covered in butter and salt.

He isn’t going to say anything.

My family never has to know. And honestly, it’s nice knowing I now have one less ax hanging over my head. One less thing to worry about.

Maybe I’ll be able to get rid of a few more after all.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

RAINE

Etch ‘N’ Ink is my home away from home. Maybe it shouldn’t be, but it is. My mom started handling the books for the shop, and my dad took over the business after my older sister, Penelope, was born. My siblings and I spent more weekends hanging out in the breakroom and making friends with all the artists than we did at home watching Saturday morning cartoons.

It’s probably one of the reasons why I fell in love with art in the first place. The scent of laundry detergent with an underlying wisp of weed is probably a weird smell to most people, but I love it. The laid back yet hardworking employees, the rock music, the Milo Anders original paintings hanging on the walls. It’s home. And it’s what was missing the entire time I worked under Lucian despite his friendliness. Class and grunge and sophistication and comfort. Honestly, I still don’t know how my parents pulled off the balance, but they have.

I’m surprised how much I’ve missed it. For the last six months, I’ve been so enveloped in all things Drake I didn’t realize how much I was pulling away from my lifebefore Drake. Before I moved to Cedar Springs. Before he would scoff anytime my family would call or point out how he didn’t have a family anymore, and without me, he’d be all alone, so I should be, too. Before his tantrums after a loss or his gropings when he’d have too much to drink. Yeah, I screwed up. Big time. Add it to the list, I guess. And I hate how it makes me feel guilty. Like I don’t belong because it’s been so long since I’ve been here. Since I’ve seen these people. My own dad included.

“Bo!” one of the artists calls from the back of the room. More people join in, moving toward me and pulling me into their own hugs until I’m the center of a Raine sandwich next to the front door.

“It’s been forever, girl,” Max says as he lets me go. A frown takes up his features as he stares at my lip. Shit. I did everything I could to cover the damage. I even asked the girls if they had any tips and tricks to help it look less…terrible. Finley called her half-sister who does makeup for a living, but there’s only so much help she could offer over the phone and with what little supplies I had available on such short notice. Even then, I thought we did a pretty good job, but apparently, lots of ice, concealer, and Vaseline only got me so far. I hate it. The confusion in his eyes. The concern. The fucking horror.

When he opens his mouth to ask me about it, my dad appears from the breakroom and strides toward me with his arms wide open.

“There’s my Rainbow?—”

He stops short, and his brows tug at the center. Yup. He sees it, too. And instead of being confused, he’s already jumped to his conclusion. I can see it by the way his eyes darken and his upper lip curls. I steel my shoulders, bracing for it.

“Max,” my dad barks, though he doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Get back to your station.”

Max lifts his hands in defense but backs away, leaving me alone with my dad in the front of the shop.

Well, this isn’t awkward at all.

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