Page 1 of Bad Boy Crush

one

The woman reporting the weather on TV was really, really pregnant. When she turned to the side, her round belly stretched her burgundy-colored dress, which took up a goodly part of the lower right side of the screen and blocked the view of a neighboring county.

Lourdes Daniels focused on the woman, wondering how far along in her pregnancy she was and further wondering if any woman had ever experienced their water breaking on live TV. She focused on these details because they were more soothing than acknowledging the red and orange and yellow blobs on the map. High winds, flood zones, and “possible tornadic conditions” had been mentioned.

Lou didn’t want to think about any of it. Like, at all.

A bright streak of lightning split the sky, temporarily bathing the sunroom in bluish-white light. Lou was curled into a ball on the sofa in the adjoining living room, but that was still too close for comfort. When a loud peal of thunder rattled the windowpanes, she burst from her cocoon. Even the possibility of the meteorologist giving birth on live television couldn’t quell her fear.

In the kitchen, she began checking drawers in search of matches in case the power blinked out. She started with the cutlery drawer, which made no sense, but she wasn’t rational when it came to thunderstorms. The search of the next two drawers was as fruitless as the first.

“Dammit.” The last thing she wanted to do was use her cell phone. What if she ran her battery down and then the power went out, and she was unable to charge it? Alone in a storm with no way to contact the outside world? No, thanks.

Storms had been easier to ride out with her husband in her immediate vicinity. She’d always felt safe with him. Until he betrayed her, and then she only felt used.

But Liam wasn’t her husband anymore. Now there was only Lou, the lake house she called home, and Mother Nature throwing a very big temper tantrum.

The junk drawer! She raced to the other side of the kitchen and pulled the handle, unearthing a book of matches that were God knew how old. When was the last time a restaurant had handed out matchbooks? She flipped open the cover to find two matches remaining. Two old, flat matches. Not great, but better than nothing. Now: candles. Did she own candles?

In the middle of rummaging through the hall closet, the lights flickered again, sending the entire house into darkness. The TV fell silent, and now the only sounds in her large lake house were the hammering raindrops that beat the roof and the ominous rumbles of thunder.

As she was about to abandon her search, she wrapped her hand around a long, cylindrical something… A flashlight! She flipped it on and was gifted a dim circle of light for a moment before it winked out. She slammed the butt of the flashlight onto the palm of her hand, but no luck. The batteries were dead, and she couldn’t very well do a house-wide search for those.

The rain sounded more like the hoofbeats of a thousand horses. She was in for a sleepless night. She was also frustrated. She didn’t want to be afraid of anything, but storms were something she’d feared since she was a kid. That fear felt baked into her like flour into a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

She padded in the direction of the sunroom to face her fears—she’d been better about facing her fears since she learned of her husband’s infidelity. In a way, she’d been forced into relying on herself, but she’d faced plenty of small challenges with ease. Why couldn’t that approach work for storms?

In the doorway of the sunroom, she looked beyond to the patio. The patio furniture was in place, the closed umbrella too. Thankfully, she’d stowed the seat cushions for the chairs into the large trunk-like container against the side of the house, which meant they weren’t currently blowing across her yard like tumbleweeds.

See? Everything is fine.

The beach was fifty or so yards from her backyard, the grass giving way to a sandy shore. The normally calm lake’s surface was anything but tonight. Waves rolled over into small white caps as the wind sprayed water into the air like whales’ spouts.

Next to the dock, a platform for the Jet Ski sloshed in the water, empty since Liam had taken the watercraft in the divorce. He’d insisted, and she hadn’t argued. She’d never liked riding that thing anyway.

She should have been better at being alone after over a year and a half. That November was when she’d learned that Liam was cheating on her, and while it’d taken her the remainder of the year to gather her things and move to northern Ohio, at least she’d done it. Liam had given up the lake house without much of a fight, telling her, “You always enjoyed that dump more than I did.”

As if the 3,250 square-foot house they’d purchased together five years ago had been a concession. Lou worked from home, so she could live anywhere. She’d known of people in Evergreen Cove at the time and had recalled them being friendly. She’d made new friends in town quicker than she’d imagined.

Lightning struck, quickly followed by an angry thunderclap. Lou’s heart crawled upward to take shelter in her throat. She shuffled back to the couch, curling into a protective ball once again.

That was enough bravery for tonight.

Wrapped in a blanket tucked under her chin, thoughts of the past turned her fear into melancholy. She’d lost so much when Liam had left. Not only her marriage, but also part of herself. She didn’t want to be married to him now, but his act of betrayal had taken a piece of her. She was moored but empty—like the Jet Ski platform without its Jet Ski.

Her tears matched the vibe tonight. Dark and wet, the soundtrack an angry thunderstorm. She wasn’t angry any longer. Not really. Her own inner storm had raged, but now she was tired. Tired of fighting the pain. Tired of pretending she wasn’t hurting.

Just plain tired.

* * *

During the night, the storm had fallen silent and Lou had fallen asleep.

Morning came seemingly out of nowhere, a knocking sound dragging her from her hard-earned slumber. She sat up and blinked at the TV, on thanks to the power returning. Her head pounded. Whatever sleep she’d had, it hadn’t been quality sleep.

The knock came again, and, headache be damned, she shouted, “Coming!” to her unexpected visitor. Tossing aside the blanket, she went to the front door. Through the frosted glass, she made out the silhouette of a navy blue policeman’s uniform. She twisted the knob and opened the door.

“Hey, Brady.” Brady Hutchins. Cop, friend, and next-door neighbor since he’d recently moved in with his girlfriend, Elliott.

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