Page 32 of The Bad Boy Rule

“I-I don’t know how he found it, Saint. I hid it in my closet in an old shoebox,” Mom whispers quietly, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying. I could fucking kill him.

I’m so pissed right now that I don’t trust myself to even speak.

Not that I’m surprised. This is exactly the type of shit that I would expect from my fuckup of a father, but it doesn’t make me any less mad.

I clench the paper in my hand, balling it in my fist as I attempt to suck in a breath when my anger threatens to boil over.

How fucking selfish and careless could you be? This is exactly why I told Mom I could take over and make sure things were paid from my bank account, but she was afraid that he would lose it. There’s nothing more she hates than seeing him angry, especially when he tries to take it out on me.

She didn’t care if she took the brunt of his anger, but never me.

Even though I could take him, could handle anything that motherfucker threw my way.

Yet… she still won’t leave. No matter how many times I’ve begged on my knees, pleaded for her to leave with me. It’s always the same excuses, the same shit every single time.

He can’t live without me. How will he take care of himself? He’ll drink himself to death.

Yeah, well, maybe that’s for the fucking best.

I sigh, dragging my palm down my face as I swallow. What the hell are we going to do?

It’s the same question I’ve been asking myself since she handed me the notice. I’m fucking terrified, but I can’t show that. I have to be strong for her, no matter what. Just like I’ve always been.

“We’ll figure it out, Ma. Let me handle it,” I say, swinging my gaze to hers.

A tear slips down her cheeks, and my heart feels like it’s going to fucking shrivel up and die in my chest. I hate seeing her cry, seeing yet another thing my father has done to hurt her.

Despite the fact that she stays after everything he’s done and everything he’s put her through, at the core of it, she’s a victim.

I know that. And it breaks my goddamn heart. Whatever’s left of it.

“I’m sorry, Saint. This is my fault. I-I… I should’ve…” she whispers with a sniffle, using the sleeve of her cardigan to brush away her tears.

“It’s not your fault, Ma. You know it’s hi—” I stop myself, exhaling. It doesn’t help, cussing him into the ground, because she’ll never see it.

My father stole all of our rent money from the back of her closet and probably blew it on pills and booze, and still… she’ll make an excuse for him.

“Just… I’ll take care of it. We have two weeks, and I’ll handle it. You don’t worry about it, okay?” I loop an arm around her shoulders and pull her to me, where she buries her face into the front of my shirt, sniffling. Even though I’m pissed, so goddamn angry I could put my fist through a wall, I push it down.

So it can’t control me. Sohecan’t control me.

Right now, I know that she’s safe, here with me. I don’t know how I’m going to pull it together or what the fuck I’m going to do, but all that matters is that she’s safe, right here, right now.

That’s what I’m holding on to.

Right now.

Even if it fucking kills me in the process.

SIXTEEN

LENNON

My stomach is dancing with nerves as I pace the sidewalk in front of Commander’s Palace, my small pearl clutch tucked under my arm and the short train of my vintage Chanel dress swishing with each step.

If Saint’s late to this stupid event, I’m going to murder him. Which is unfortunate that after all of the times I’ve been tempted to, it’s all going to end here.

He promised he wouldn’t be late, and I’m the very last person waiting outside of the event aside from security, who are currently eying me like they might have to escort me off the premises.

---