Page 12 of Bad For A Weekend

Fuck, I’m an asshole. She’s eighteen. Barely an adult. But even if she were twenty-eight, it wouldn’t matter. She’s my client, and I’m a professional.

“Not a good idea, Bay. Not right now.”

Her eyes narrow, and her lips purse. I recognize this look because she threw it at me earlier today. Even only knowing this girl for a couple weeks, I can tell things are about to get ugly for her dad.

“Let me get this straight. The lesson you want me to learn is to hide away from the world when things are tough or scary? Because until now, you’ve taught me the opposite. I’m a little confused.” Her tone is laced with sarcasm.

My gaze swings to Corey, wondering how he’ll react. If I slung that much lip at my mom, she’d pop me in the back of the head. But after observing these two, I know they have a unique relationship. I don’t think Corey has ever treated Baylor like a child, and they seem to have a mutual respect you only find in adult dynamics, something that wouldn’t have worked with me when I was her age. If my parents gave me an inch, I took a mile. Baylor doesn’t do that; she has too much respect for her dad.

The only thing that gives away her age is her mouthiness.

“It’s dangerous right now, Baylor,” Corey reminds her.

“Which is why you hired this oversized man.” She motions my way. “To protect me.”

He pins her with a look. “I know you’re freaked out, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to be rude.”

She turns to me. “Owen, I’m sorry for calling you oversized.”

I nod in polite acceptance, mildly amused by her antics.

“But I’m still going to Ziggy’s,” she tacks on.

“Brandy’s coming home in two hours,” Corey reminds her.

Brandy is the live-in house manager. It took me three seconds to clear the woman off my list of suspects. By all accounts, she loves both these people like they’re her family. She doesn’t fit the profile at all.

“Then I’ll be back in two hours.” She kisses her dad’s temple. “Love you.”

She shuffles out of the room on her crutches, and I stand to follow.

“Don’t let her out of your sight,” Corey says, his tone low and serious.

“I won’t.”

When we get in the car, I load Ziggy’s address into the GPS.

“You don’t remember how to get there?” Baylor asks from the backseat.

“I do. I just like to have it pulled up.”

“Why?”

“Habit, I guess.”

“Well, it won’t do you any good right now anyway. Ziggy isn’t home.”

I crane my neck to look at her. “Mind if I ask why we’re in the car, then?”

She chews on the inside of her mouth, her gaze fixed on her bandaged foot resting on the center console. I think I know what she’s feeling because after my traumatic experience, I often got the urge to flee. Like her, I had nowhere to go but something about staying in the same space too long felt claustrophobic. If I had the means, I’d have left this city forever.

But it wasn’t possible for me then, and it’s not possible for her now.

“Wherever you go, there you are,” I say despite myself. It’s something my therapist told me whenever I voiced my need to run. I should stay out of it, but I’m only offering words. If they help her the way they helped me, I’ll give her that much.

“What?”

“I just mean, you can’t run from your problems. You have to face them, or they’ll follow you forever.”

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