Page 181 of Bad Reputation

“Willow, if you’re in trouble—”

“I’m not,” I say, confident about this. “My dad just wants to get me an internship. It’s harmless.”

“For now,” Garrison says. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“I think I do.” And then, I think about my mom again. What does it say about me that I’m talking to Jonathan instead of her? In her mind, did I choose the monster?

I shudder.

Garrison walks closer, and this time, I let him put his hands on my bare shoulders. “Willow,” he says. “You can tell me anything. Don’t be afraid of hurting me with the truth. I can take it. I’m way better than last year.”

My body grows cold. “Last year,” I whisper, remembering.

“Last year, I punched your friend,” Garrison says, “I started smoking again—fuck, I’m still smoking. I barely slept. I couldn’t figure out how to go home without being…” He takes a tight breath. “You know it got bad for a while there, but I’m better now. I’m home by dinnertime because there’s this kid that gets super upset if I’m not at the table.”

Maximoff.

My heart ascends, and I blink back the welling tears.

He continues, “Waking up every morning, knowing you wouldn’t be next to me, used to be gut-wrenching. Now it’s bearable.” It’s not supposed to hurt. I know that he’s not telling me he’s moving on from me. Just that it’s no longer this soul-sucking pain. It’s what I’ve wanted for him. To be happy, somehow.

He keeps his hands on my shoulders, distancing ourselves so that we can stare head-on, but I keep breaking the gaze to look at the floor.

“I’m saying this now,” Garrison breathes, “because I want you to know that I’m doing better. And you don’t need to tell me anything right now, but I’m going to be someone you can confide in again. I promise you that.”

I wipe at my eyes, water leaking. “You’ll be mad at me,” I say softly.

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

When we were seventeen, I felt like all we did was confide in each other, and I want that now. I have to be honest and open. So I say, “There was footage of your fight last December. I paid the students to delete it.”

He’s frozen. Like a statue.

I broke him.

Tears spill down my cheeks, uncontrollable. “Garrison…” I choke on his name and touch his chest.

“You took money from Jonathan,” he says, his voice tight. “Because of me.” He shakes his head. “And now you feel indebted to the bastard?”

I don’t feel it.

“I am indebted to him. It was a lot of money.” I cringe after I say the words. Way to drive that knife in further.

“Hey, no.” Garrison touches my cheek. “It’s good. Your honesty—it’s good, Willow. I’m glad you told me.”

My chest rises and falls like I’ve run a marathon. “I just have to play along with whatever he wants until school ends,” I tell Garrison. “Then I can reinstate my boundaries and things will go back to how they were.” I have to believe that.

He grinds down on his teeth, jaw clenched, but his words are firm. “I’m here for you. Whatever you want.”

“Ryke and Lo,” I say again.

“Shouldn’t know,” he agrees. “They’ll blow this up into an unimaginable degree, and I think you want a relationship with your dad after this.”

I do.

Something less complicated. But I want one. I’ve already lost one father. I’ve lost a lot of family like Garrison, and I’m not ready to put another name on that list.

“Thank you,” I tell Garrison.

“You’re my girl,” he says. “I’ve got your back. Always.” He kisses my forehead, cementing this fact, and when we part to get dressed, I scan the dresser and go cold again.

“I…I swear I had photos here.” I sweep my hand over the dresser, only the Funko Pop! collectibles remain.

Garrison comes closer. “You sure?”

“I’m positive.” Anxious heat cakes my body, and I gape at the door. “The party…” Strangers were here.

“Shit,” he curses, blinking long and hard. Our eyes meet in sad realization.

They’re gone.

My family photos are gone. Stolen. I don’t even need to confirm. “People probably came into my room when we were in the shower.”

“I’m sorry.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I should’ve thought about how you can’t lock your bedroom on the outside.”

I shrug. “It’s okay. I’ll print more.” I frown though. “I guess we need to be more mindful of our fame.” I look up at him. “I had photos of us too, and they’re gone.” Whoever stole the pictures—they were also interested in me and Garrison. Not just the famous Calloway sisters and their men.

His chest rises in a big breath. “Yeah. I forget sometimes that we’ve made it onto fan sites.”

“Me too.” Our fame has been a slow crawl, from small notoriety to something bigger, and I’m only afraid of it mushrooming out of control. Where there’s no breathing room or escape.

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