Page 23 of Bad For A Weekend

The ride is quiet until we pull up my drive and are met with three cop cars blocking our way.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I thought they’d be gone by the time we got here.”

“Why are they here?”

“There was an incident while you were at school. Everyone’s okay.”

“What happened?” I demand.

I spent the last half hour in the car with him, and he didn’t tell me something happened that was bad enough to call the cops? I feel a sting of betrayal and anger that he tried to hide this from me.

“Let’s get you inside, and your dad can explain.” Owen has barely put the SUV in park before I throw open my door. “Baylor, wait. You need your crutches.”

“Fuck crutches.” I limp through the front door, stopping in Dad’s office to find it empty. “Dad?”

As I walk through the hallway, I hear voices coming from down the hall. Owen catches up to me, tossing my backpack to the ground and thrusting my crutches at me.

“Here.” One by one, Owen nestles the crutches under my arms before taking me by the shoulders. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Run away. You had no idea if it was safe to run in here.”

“You said everything was fine.”

“It doesn’t matter. You wait for me when there’s something off,” he says, shaking me just enough to drive his point home.

“Fine. Okay.”

“I mean it, Baylor.”

“I can tell.” I drop my gaze to where he’s gripping me tight. “You can let go now.”

As if realizing his overreaction, he lets me go and straightens his jacket. “Let’s go find your father.”

I follow him past the kitchen where Brandy is baking, but I can tell by her concentration on the living room that she’s really only there to eavesdrop. When she notices us, her lips curve from a flat line into a fake smile.

“Hey, beautiful. How was your day?” she asks, loud enough for the five officers and Dad to hear. Their conversation halts abruptly.

“Fine. What’s going on?”

Ignoring me, Dad asks the cops, “Are we done here?”

“Sure, Mr. Giles. I’ll file the report immediately, and the detectives working on your case will be in touch.” One of the officers offers his hand to Dad, and they shake.

The men in uniforms file out of the house, one of them carrying a cardboard box at arm’s length, leaving me, Dad, Brandy, and Owen alone.

“Someone care to fill me in?” I ask, hating that I feel like the odd one out.

“There was an incident,” Dad says, and I roll my eyes.

“Owen already said that. Can I get some details, please?” I hobble to the couch and sit, propping my foot up on the ottoman. As he always does when I get home, Julien comes prancing in and settles on my lap.

Dad joins me. “Owen was doing a perimeter check this afternoon and found something.”

Three sympathetic pairs of eyes turn on me.

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