Page 57 of You're so Bad

Shauna

At my suggestion, we take my station wagon around the neighborhood, looking for Reese, but we only find a family of pissed-off possums and a man so drunk he can’t operate the key to his front door. Eventually we give up, because it has all the stench of a hopeless cause.

“He’ll come back,” I say as I pull up to the purple house. I’m saying it for myself as much as him, definitely not because I believe it.

“Sure he will,” he offers, and it’s obvious he believes it even less.

I pull the car to a stop, and he turns in the passenger seat to look at me. “Thanks for trying. A lot of people wouldn’t bother.”

“We could look for his foster father,” I say. “Maybe use a private investigator.”

“You want to hire a dick?” he asks.

I’m ninety percent sure he just said it that way so he’d have an excuse to say dick, but it’s not the time to call him on it. “Maybe. If we know his full legal name, it might be easier to look for him.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Burke has someone on retainer, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. If the kid hears someone’s asking around after him, it’ll only make him run farther. Besides, I’m not so sure a P.I. would agree to look for a boy we’re not related to. We don’t even know his real name. I tried doing a search for missing kids called Reese, and I didn’t find squat.” He cracks his knuckles in obvious frustration. “Checked all the photos too. His foster parents mustn’t have reported him missing.”

“Burke’s guy might know someone on the police force. I’ll bet he does.”

“And for all we know, it might be the foster father’s brother. Or one of his buddies. They cover for each other, Shauna. Don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise.”

The look on his face reminds me of his expression when we left the pompom party, dark and brooding and broken. My heart thumps faster, and I’m suddenly aware that I want to kiss him.Needit. Not just because he’s sexy and I’m desperate for a taste of him, or because I feel an aching need to finish what we started—but because I want to comfort him and let him comfort me.

Maybe he knows I’m feeling that way, because he turns to open his door and gets out without saying anything else.

I feel a little crestfallen, even though I shouldn’t be. He’s not my real boyfriend, and he’s made it clear that I shouldn’t get attached to him.

“Are you going to fix the lock on your back door?” I call out to him.

He turns to look at me, his face unreadable. “No, Tiger, but I’d prefer it if you wouldn’t shout it to the moon. If he needs to come back, I’m not going to make it any harder on him.”

I think about that a lot, on the way home, and once I’m lying in my bed. It’s what prompts me to text him.

Did he come back?

No. Didn’t think he would. I sent him a few texts.

I don’t like this.

Neither do I.

At least you didn’t knee a seventeen-year-old in the balls.

There is that.

You know, there aren’t many latchkey kids anymore. You were one, I was one, Reese has made himself one. We should form a club.

You, me, and the seventeen-year-old I kneed in the balls?

Sure, sounds like a good time.

Get some sleep, Tiger.

Do you still want to bring Bean back in the morning?

It’s not about what I want. It’s about what she deserves. It ain’t me.

You should give it more thought.

---