Page 49 of The Bad Boy Rule

The first thing I spot is my parents chatting with the hospital president in front of the playroom. As usual, my mom’s dressed like she’s attending a business conference instead of hanging out with kids all day. She’s got on a pair of black slacks and an off-white blouse with a pair of Chanel slingbacks. Her honey-blonde hair is tightly coiffed at the nape of her neck, not a strand out of place. It makes me feel like I’m underdressed in the old pair of blue jeans, OU sweatshirt, and sneakers I’m wearing, which is insane, but that’s the effect that Madeline Rousseau has on people.

I’ve always felt smaller standing beside her, even if she didn’t purposefully try to make me feel that way.

“Why does your mom look like she’s going to a board meeting? Does your family own this place too?” Saint mutters beside me.

My head shakes. “No. That’s just… who she is. Casual to her is leaving the pearls at home.”

Both of my parents turn to look at us when Saint snickers, and I suck in a deep, unsteady breath.

Here we go.

Before I can move to walk across the room to where they’re standing, I feel Saint’s palm sliding along mine as he threads our fingers together, holding my hand tightly.

“What?” he asks when he sees me staring up at him.

“Nothing. Are you ready?”

He nods. “Lead the way, Golden Girl.”

TWENTY-FOUR

SAINT

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” Lennon greets her parents with a sweet smile, leaning in to hug them both. Much like last time, it looks mechanical. Stiff. Something that’s done out of obligation, not actual affection.

The dynamic between them seems different than what I thought after seeing the glowing articles about their perfect family.

“I’m so glad you could make it today, sweetheart,” her mother coos before turning her attention to me. “And you brought… Saint. Howlovely.”

I smirk, lifting my hand and waving my fingers.

Lennon steps back into my side, sliding her arms around my waist and peering up at me. “Oh, I hope it’s okay that he came today? He needs a few more hours for his community service, and I figured this is the perfect opportunity.”

Her father clears his throat. “Sorry, community service for… your resume?”

His face is almost as red as his hair when I look over at him, wearing the cockiest smug grin I can manage. I’m planning on bullshitting my way through her little fib, but she beats me to it.

“Oh, no. He’s required to report it to his probation officer.”

I bite back the laugh that’s threatening to rumble out of me. This fucking girl.

Keeping my expression neutral, I exhale. “Yeah, I’m just thankful that Lennon loves me unconditionally and doesn’t judge me for my past mistakes. It seems like they haunt me, always following me around.”

Lennon scoffs, pulling my attention to her as she pokes out a lip. “Oh, babe, that’s because you got jail tattoos… those kinds of things never go away.”

I chuckle.

“Lennon, honey,” her dad interrupts the one-upping he is unknowingly witnessing. “I think maybe you should go ahead and go in with the children. Your mother and I need to speak with Dr. Baker for a bit, and we’ll be right in. We can… chat more later,” he says, eyes finding mine again.

From the second her father clocked me beside her, he’s kept his gaze firmly rooted on me, trailing over the tattoos on my arms, down to the old work boots on my feet, silently passing his judgment just based on the way I look, the way I dress.

Deciding that I’m not good enough for his daughter.

And he’s not wrong, but he can fuck off with his entitled, holier-than-thou attitude.

Fuck him for his judgment when he’s standing in a glass house with more skeletons in the closet than anyone.

Difference is that he hides them better than most.

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