Bad Judgment (31 page)

The door to my apartment hangs open, and once again the door handle looks like it’s been bludgeoned.

I creep closer to the open door.
What if they’re still here?
Fumbling for my phone, I pull it out and pull up the number for Campus Safety. It rings twice before an operator picks up.

“Campus Safety, is this an emergency?”

“Yes. Someone broke into my apartment. I’m in the Gilroy Student Housing Complex. I think they might still be inside.”

“Don’t go into the apartment. Is there somewhere else you can go? A neighbor’s?”

“No. I don’t know any of the neighbors.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Just please get out of sight in case the intruders are still inside. We’ve had a lot of issues over there lately. You’d be safer if you left the premises.”

I open my mouth to tell her once more that I have nowhere else to go and no way to get there, but a flash of movement distracts me.

“Ma’am?”

No way. It can’t be.

“Ma’am?” the operator calls. “Are you okay? Campus Safety is on the way.”

I hang up the phone and creep closer. The flash of long dark hair brings back memories of my childhood.

It can’t be her
.

I haven’t seen my mom since the day the court awarded custody of me to Gramps. That was the last time she told me she wished I’d never been born.

The memory still cuts into me.
What kind of mother says that?

She’s thin almost to the point of being frail. A long-sleeved white T-shirt hangs off her shoulders, providing little protection from the chill of fall.

“Mom?” I try out the word that hasn’t been on my lips in years.

Her head jerks around and her eyes find me in the darkness. I don’t know what I expect to be the first words out of her mouth, but definitely not the ones she speaks.

“What’d you do with the money, Justine?”

“What money?”

We walk toward each other, and I’m numb. She looks exactly the same as she did when I was sixteen.
Shouldn’t she look older
? More haggard?

But no, she still looks too beautiful for her age with long brown hair and dark eyes, and skin that’s still dewy and tight. The same way she looked when she tried to force me to seduce some rich old guy so she could take pictures and blackmail him for touching a minor.

Cold. Calculating
.

I still remember her words.
“It’s time you start earning your keep if we’re going to keep feeding you. Took you long enough to finally pass for eighteen.”

I told her to go to hell and ran to Gramps. That was the last straw for him.

She interrupts my trip down pothole-ridden memory lane. “Don’t expect me to believe you don’t have it. It took forever for the insurance company to finally pay out.”

“What money?” Confusion and anger thread through my words in equal measure.

“The life insurance. They’ve been fighting it for over a year, and then they notified us the claim was approved. Except they didn’t send us the check like they were supposed to. They said it went to you.”

“Gramps had life insurance? And I was the beneficiary?” This is all news to me.

“Doesn’t matter who the beneficiary is; that money is mine. He was my dad. I’ve been fighting for the payout. Submitting form after form until they finally gave in. Now, where’s the fucking check?”

“Did you forge my name on those forms? My signature?” I don’t know why I even bother to ask. Of course she did.

Another thought strikes me. “Did you break into my apartment before? Smash the door down? Terrify the crap out of me? All so you could look for some check I’ve never gotten?”

Her lip curls. “That was your dad. Now, quit lying to me. I want that damn check.”

“Why would you break in? Why wouldn’t you just ask me?”

Her brows pinch together in an angry slash. “Because I knew you’d lie to me just like you are right now.”

Sirens wail in the distance.
Shit. Campus Safety.

My mom’s eyes dart toward the sound. “You called the cops? Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because that’s what normal people do when they find someone breaking into their apartment!” My patience is gone. “You need to get out of here if you don’t want to spend the night explaining to Campus Safety what the hell you were doing. And hope you didn’t leave fingerprints, because I guarantee they’re going to look harder than they did last time.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I get that check. You can explain to them that you were wrong.”

I cross my arms over my chest, pulling my metaphorical armor tight. “You broke into my apartment. I’m not telling them anything but the truth. There’s no check.”

“You always were an ungrateful brat. Haven’t changed a bit. I should’ve aborted you.”

The words hit me like a blow, stealing my breath.

With that parting shot, she spins around and jogs to the bushes on the far side of the parking lot before disappearing into the night.

I squeeze my eyes shut at the tears that spring to the corners.
Not here. Not now.
I suck in a shaky deep breath to calm myself. When I open my eyes, two Campus Safety units are turning into the parking lot. I scan the bushes and beyond as the officers park, but there’s no sign of her.

What the hell am I going to tell them?

Ryker

Fuck.
My eyelids flick open but the light sends shafts of pain stabbing through my head.
Jesus.
Am I dead? Wouldn’t that hurt less?

My face throbs like I caught a haymaker, my head feels like it might explode, my chest aches, and I basically feel like I ran into oncoming traffic. I roll over on my bed—

Wham.

Fuck. Me.
My head threatens to split wide open when I slam into the floor face-first. Who is that sorry son of a bitch groaning like he’s dying?

Oh yeah, that’s me.

“You gonna live, asshole?”

The voice comes from behind me somewhere, and I recognize it as Ian’s. I shift my eyes to the right, but even the movement of my eyeballs hurts.

Jesus, what the hell did I do?

A hand, which I assume belongs to my friend, shakes my shoulder.

“Dude, I gotta get to class and you need to get the fuck off the floor and deal with your car. You don’t have a concussion, but you’ve got a hell of a bruise on your forehead.”

My car? A bruise?

My stomach sloshes as I roll to my side and look up at him. “Fuck, what the hell happened last night?”
And how much did I drink?

“I don’t know the details, man, but you fucked up. Bad. Whole right side of your car is trashed. You’re lucky she found you and brought you home, otherwise you’d be in the drunk tank right now trying to explain to your dad why you just fucked your future.”

I struggle to keep up with his words, and the disgust on his face takes me by surprise. “What did I do?” The question comes out quiet, and directed more at myself than Ian.

“You’re going to have to piece that one together yourself, man. Upside, you didn’t puke all over yourself, but you still reek like whiskey. It’s coming from your pores now.”

So that smell of sour booze is coming from me?
“What the hell happened?”

“Told you—don’t know. Might want to call your girl.” His voice is further away this time, which explains why I hear the door slam.

Call your girl
. Those words unleash a flood of shattered memories from last night.

I roll onto my back and see a sticky note hanging off the edge of the table. Snatching it, I read the words written in short strokes of black Sharpie.

If you want to talk, you know where to find me.

P.S. You’re a fucking idiot for getting behind the wheel.

It’s not signed, but it doesn’t need to be. I’d recognize Justine’s handwriting anywhere.

Piecing together the memories in my head takes longer.
I really didn’t think I drank that much.

Someone else pounds on my door, and I haul myself up to stand. My head swims, and I think I might puke.

“Ryker, open this damn door right now.” My dad’s angry voice is unmistakable.

With shuffling steps, I make my way to the door, unlock it, and tug it open. His face can only be described as enraged.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask him.

“Shouldn’t you be in jail?”

My dad’s words catch me like a sucker punch to the gut, and dread creeps over me. “What the hell did I do?”

He shakes his head, and I can read disappointment and frustration on his face as well. “Do you even remember attempting to drive home from the bar last night? And smashing into a guardrail? Or how about the fact that Justine’s quick thinking is the only reason you’re not in jail? You leave me that message and don’t even wait to hear the whole story.”

That’s when I remember everything . . . at least up until the bar.

“Did she call you?”

“No. I saw your friend Ian as I was coming up the elevator. He filled me in on the details.”

“What happened?”

My father’s scowl could peel paint from a wall. “You’re going to have to ask Justine for that story, because she’s the only one who was there. Whatever you did, you’re going to make it right. She doesn’t deserve your scorn for her choices. That girl changed everything once she fell for you.”

My mind, already spinning, jerks to a halt. “Fell for me?”

My father shakes his head. “She’s in love with you, and you’re an idiot who doesn’t realize what she gave up because of it.”

My hands shake, and I’m not sure if it’s an aftereffect of the booze or whether I’m losing my grip. Probably both.

“What did she give up?”

“I offered to pay her tuition if you kept your grades up. She called off the free ride in favor of making it a loan because she had to come clean with me and tell me she was in love with you.”

She’s in love with me?

“I have to fix this.” I reach for my keys on the table and my father shakes his head.

“That car isn’t going anywhere, and you need to clean up your mess. Call the body shop and have them send a wrecker. Take a frigging shower and attempt to look human again. You’re smarter than this, Ryker. Act like it.”

He’s right. I need to clean up my mess like a man, and then I’m going to get the girl.

Ryker

My trusty old Giant mountain bike carries me across town to campus. I dodge cars, pedestrians, other bikers, and nearly end up a hood ornament on a bus before I reach the Gilroy Housing Complex. As I approach Justine’s unit, my gut twists and apprehension pumps through my veins. Her door is once again boarded up.

Her place got broken into again?

Anger, fear, and concern twine through my muscles, and I reach for my phone to call her, but it’s not in my pocket.

Fuck
. I pat down all of my pockets, but there’s no point. It’s gone.
How the fuck did I lose it?

It’s probably crushed in the road where I had to jump the curb to avoid the bus. I jam my hands into my hair, frustration pumping through my veins.

I stare at the door for another thirty seconds, but wasting time here isn’t going to get me any answers. I check my watch. There’s a chance she could still be at school, so I pedal my ass off in that direction next.