The Bad Boy's Good Girl

22. "It's Basically the Mafia ... No, Worse Than That."

GAH I LOVE YOU ALL.

NOT EDITED

We lie beneath the stars at night.

Our hands gripping each other tight.

You keep my secrets

Hope to die.

Promises, swear them to the sky.

(Young Blood - The Naked and Famous)

Later that night, Drew follows me inside the house. Personally, I'm glad, because my 'mother' isn't home yet and it's driving me crazy.

"So," he clears his throat, leaning against the couch in the den.

I nod, ten feet away from him. "So."

He smiles. "Congrats, by the way."

I grin back easily. "Thanks."

He glances to the staircase, as if expecting my mom to barge down and yell, what are you doing with my daughter? But, to his utter surprise, no 5'0 female comes with an air of anger.

"Is your mom home?" he asks smoothly.

I shake my head. "No."

He quirks an eyebrow, but says no more. 

Awkward.

I cough into my elbow, trying to eliminate the awkwardness. He glances at me.

"Come here," he invites, holding out his arms. I immediately clamber forth, wrapping my own arms around his waist and pressing my face to his chest. His surprisingly hard chest ... Jesus God damn, this boy is perfect. "Your mom ... where is she?"

"Gone," I choke. "It ... it was too much for her. She was, um, overwhelmed."

"Does she do that a lot?"

"Yes."

It's silent for a moment, just me biting back tears and him leaning his chin on the top of my head. I sigh contentedly. 

"Drew ... " I start, not sure how to phrase it. 

"Dylan ... " he mocks. I roll my eyes. "Yes, CG?"

"I don't ... would it be too ... personal?" I spit out words even I don't understand, trying to form a comprehensive sentence, but failing miserably. 

He chuckles. "CG, I might've peeked a bit when you told me to turn around this morning ... I'm pretty sure whatever you're gonna ask me isn't that personal." But by the slight tremor of his hands, I know he knows what I'm going to ask.

"You..." I can't even find it in me to be mad.

"I only saw your stomach, promise," he murmurs. "Maybe a bit above that, but..."

"Drew," I say seriously, hiding my face in his neck. "Your dad ... was he the reason you were in the alley ... looking like crap?" I try to lighten the sombre mood.

He tenses slightly, taking an almost unnoticeable breath. "Yeah. He was."

"Why?" I whisper. 

He gulps. "Come on ... we should sit down."

Drew takes my hand, and his fingers are cold and shaking as we both make our way to the couch, I curl up, kicking off my heels and tucking my legs under me. He sits with his knees spread apart, his elbows set on his upper thighs as he cradles his head. 

"D..." I swallow. This is hard. I'm hurting him, somehow...

I'm a bad person.

"Yeah," his voice is rough, a little closed off. "My father," hatred leaks into his tone, as he grits his teeth. "Gambles. Drinks, smokes, whatever. He ended up in debt to this guy, Vincent," his eyes close. "A hundred dollars went to a thousand. Then one thousand five hundred. Then two thousand."