The Bad Things (Book 5)

Chapter 6. Distracting

            "I think you should talk to him," Chelsea said. Chelsea stared down at my foot as she carefully painted my toenails.

"What?" I scoffed. "Chelsea, you were against me seeing Hayden as much as Mom was."

Chelsea sighed and looked up at me. "Okay, look, I could be making a stupid mistake by even telling you this, but. . ." she trailed off.

"But?" I pressed.

"You clearly see something good in him. I'm not exactly sure what," Chelsea muttered.

What Chelsea said came out insulting, and it made me want to push her off my bed, but I refrained. "Get to the point," I said.

"I think Hayden pushed you away because of some things that happened," Chelsea said. She bit down on her lip as if she were debating to tell me the rest.

"Spill it already."

Chelsea groaned. Whatever she knew, she really didn't want to tell me because she didn't approve of Hayden and me. "Okay, so apparently Hayden took two weeks off of work at the coffee shop to fix his car."

"So?" I arched a brow. I didn't understand where this was going at all.

"Um, someone spray-painted killer on the side of his car, smashed in all of his windows, and sliced all four of his tires," Chelsea explained. "Hayden gets harassed really bad. Maybe he just doesn't want you to see it or get involved in it."

"Oh my god," I breathed. Everything suddenly made sense—before nothing made sense. What reason would Hayden have to play with me like that? It wasn't like him at all. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. "Stay with Stormy for me?"

"Sure," Chelsea said and smiled. "Shouldn't you wait for those to dry, though?" She looked pointedly at my toes.

I grabbed flip-flops but didn't put them on. I dashed out of the house. In my hurry, I didn't change out of my pajamas which were shorts and a tank top.

I climbed into my car and threw the flip-flops into the passenger seat. I would put them on after my toes dried. I sped off to Hayden's place. The streets were lit dimly by lamps and lights from houses. It was the time of night that most adults were still awake, but most kids were asleep.

It didn't take long for me to get to Hayden's. My toenails were probably dry, but I didn't care enough to put my shoes on.

I knocked several times, harder than necessary.

The door opened up, and it wasn't who I expected—a tall thin girl with blonde hair and blue eyes stood before me.

Maybe I have the wrong apartment—I checked the number on the door. Nope, it's definitely right.

"Hey, um, you must be here for Hayden?" the girl asked, confused by my shock and silence.

I closed my mouth and cleared my throat. "It's okay. I didn't realize he had company," I said softly, not wanting Hayden to hear me. "I'll catch him later." I turned and started down the hallway. Tears built in my eyes. Damn, he moves on fast. How could I let myself think that he actually cared about me? A woman with a kid isn't usually what young guys go for. It felt like I was a balloon, and someone popped me—completely deflated.

A door closed with a loud thud behind me, but I kept walking and ignored it. Just before I could start down the stairs, a hand caught my arm.