All Kinds of Bad

by Rachel Rust

  “My wrench.”

  “How would your wrench get into The Shack?”

  My thumb rubbed along the tool. I had no good explanation for her.

  “Did Rollins see it?” Lydia asked Daniel and Nina.

  Nina shook her head. “No, it was under a small prep table. Daniel put it in his pocket before the police got there.”

  “Were there more tools?” Lydia grabbed and pushed my forearms. “Go check your tools to see if anything else is missing.”

  Her mind was working better than mine in the moment. Inside the garage, I crossed to the workbench where my red tool box sat, not even paying attention to whether the others were following me. I fumbled through the tools, trying to remember how many pieces the tool set had been, wishing that I hadn’t thrown away the damn box. “I don’t see anything else missing,” I said, “But I don’t know remember how many screwdrivers and pliers I have.”

  “Dude,” Daniel said. “All I know is that Rollins is gonna be all over you for this … with or without any tools.” He looked at Lydia, then back at me. “Where were you guys tonight?”

  “The river.”

  Daniel cocked an eyebrow, and I held his slight glare. He was an inch shorter than me but outweighed me by more than fifty pounds. I had always known better than to tempt the grizzly I knew was somewhere inside Daniel’s tubby frame.

  “Do you really think I’d throw a damn wrench through The Shack’s window?” I asked, trying my best to keep my temper from making its way out my mouth.

  “No, I don’t. But Rollins sure the hell will and if all you got is ‘I was at the river,’ then you’re screwed.”

  “He was with me,” Lydia said. “I can vouch for him.”

  I wanted to hug her for her quick defense and laugh at her naiveté all at the same time.

  “No offense,” Daniel said to her, “but you’ve been hanging around Nathan an awful lot. Rollins ain’t gonna believe your alibi.”

  I closed my eyes. Daniel was right.

  “Hell, Lydia,” Daniel continued, “Rollins may even try to put you at The Shack with him, so I’d watch out for any interaction with Rollins. He hates Nathan. He’d be willing to do anything to lock him away.”

  I raised an eyebrow Daniel’s direction.

  “Sorry, bro,” Daniel said. “It’s true.”

  I didn’t argue. It was true. Despite the things I had been caught doing in years past, it was the things I hadn’t been caught doing that really pissed Rollins off. Couple years ago, there had been pressure mounting for Rollins’s dismissal, due to the lack of closure for so many crimes—including the bank. When it came to Rollins, I had a target on my back. Rollins would never be happy until I was gone for good. Jail. Out of state. Or, hell, even dead.

  “Look,” Daniel said, putting his hand up in front of him as though taking a pledge. He glanced at Nina. “We’re not gonna tell anyone about the wrench. We know it’ll lead Rollins right to your doorstep, Nathan.”

  “No shit.”

  “But, you guys can’t say a word to anyone either because Nina and I are fucked if someone learns we messed with evidence.”

  Everyone looked at everyone else. Everyone nodded. The vow was made. No one was to say shit about the wrench to anyone. For any reason.

  “We’re gonna go back to the restaurant and help clean up,” Daniel said, putting his arm around Nina’s waist.

  “I’m sorry about The Shack, Nina,” I said, having no idea what else would be appropriate.

  She nodded but said nothing as she walked back to the Suburban. Once their tail lights disappeared, Lydia put her arms around my waist.

  I pulled her in close. Somewhere deep inside, I feared my days with her were numbered.

  ****

  The next morning came way too soon. My Nikes trudged down the staircase, heavier than usual. All the drapes were spread open, flooding the main floor with morning sun. My eyes squinted, open just enough to not run into furniture or walls.

  In the kitchen, I poured coffee into a large black travel mug. I sipped it. The bitterness was both a turn-off and a wake up.

  Ed eyeballed me. “Are you hungover?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  I took another sip. “I didn’t sleep much.”

  Ed’s eyes glanced at the ceiling. “Your girlfriend didn’t sleep over, did she?”

  I huffed a single laugh. “No.”

  “Good, your aunt woulda flipped.”

  “Flipped over what?” Heather asked, walking in the room with an arm full of laundry.

  “Nothing,” Ed and I said in unison.

  Heather walked through the kitchen into the adjoining laundry room. As soon as she was out of ear shot, Ed looked back at me. I immediately turned away, already having been victim to one of Ed’s awkward sex talks back when he had found an empty condom wrapper in my bedroom while I’d been dating my last girlfriend, Roxy.

  “Save your next sex lecture for Sam,” I said.

  Ed chuckled. “I’m not lecturing. You’re an adult; you can make your own decisions. But be careful and don’t do anything to piss off your aunt or then it becomes my problem too.”

  I twisted the lid onto my mug and walked to the door. Ed’s words reverberated in my head … you’re an adult. Technically true, but I didn’t feel it. Stifled by circumstance, I constantly felt under the thumb of my aunt and uncle, and restrained by the town itself.

  I needed freedom, and relief from my daily hell. I needed a release.

  I pivoted away from the door and headed upstairs. In my bedroom, I dug deep into the footlocker, rummaging under old basketball jerseys until I found a small flimsy box. I pulled it free and grabbed two condoms. After shoving the box back inside the footlocker, I shoved the two condoms into an inner pocket of my wallet.

  It was arrogant to think I’d need them, but I couldn’t think of anything shittier than the right moment and no condom. Though, given my current situation, it seemed like a pretty small problem to have.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  She Goes with It

  I arrived at school to find Alex’s black Mustang parked in my usual spot under the large maple tree. Its driver’s side tires were angled into the spot next to it, effectively taking up that spot too.

  “Idiot,” I muttered, and then had to park Frankie next to a rusty Dodge pickup in the middle of the lot.

  Nathan was waiting for me by my locker, which both lifted my spirits and reawakened dread in my stomach. “Did Rollins come find you?” I asked. “Anyone say anything about The Shack?”

  “Nope.” He stepped behind me as I gathered my morning books. “No mention of it at all.” His hands wrapped around my stomach and his lips grazed across my neck and shoulders, making me giggle. After I shut my locker, he reached in front of me with a long arm and grabbed my backpack by a strap.

  “I can carry my own bag,” I said.

  He stared me down with a hint of a grin and raised the bag up for me to take back, but as my fingertips brushed the nylon, his grin cracked wide and he yanked the bag away, flinging it up onto his shoulder. “C’mon,” he said with a nod.

  I complied, figuring there were far worse things in life than a cute guy insisting on carrying my backpack. With fingers intertwined, we made our way down the hall. Eyes fixated on us and, like the parting Red Sea, everyone moved out of Nathan Stone’s path.

  The rest of the school day went by without incident. No mention of The Shack or busted windows. No sightings of the police at school. I saw Nathan every once in a while in the hallways. He kissed me under my ear while dropping me off at the lunchroom, and playfully poked my side each time we passed each other in the hallway between classes. He liked to make me giggle and this brought on stares from everyone around us. I could feel the nosy small-town gossip and half-truths swirling around the two of us. But I chose not to care.

  After school, Nathan didn’t have basketball practice, so we drove—and kissed—our way to his house. Or, ra
ther, his garage. Caroline was still nestled into her space. Her hood had been removed, exposing her grimy bits.

  My black flats stepped into the garage behind Nathan, making an abrasive sound as they squashed the layer of gravel and dust which coated the concrete floor. “Are you going to work on your car?”

  “No, can’t do much right now. I have to order some parts.”

  “You ever going to tell me how you named it?”

  Nathan smiled and sat on a stool near the workbench. “My grandma named it.”

  My mouth opened but nothing came out. His dead grandmother named his car? My eyes darted around the garage, wondering if maybe it was haunted.

  “Was her name Caroline?” I asked.

  “Margaret.”

  “Oh,” was all I said as the only normal explanation fell flat.

  “Sounds weird, I know,” Nathan said. “But when I was six, my grandma gave me a toy Camaro. It was red and the doors and hood flipped open. I used to bring it with me everywhere. I brought to the hospital when she was sick and would send it flying down the long hallways.” He chuckled a little, no doubt seeing the scene in his mind. “I carried it everywhere, especially after she died. It reminded me of her. Anyway, she named it Caroline so I called it that, too. And when I bought my car, it was Caroline. It looks exactly like the toy one.”

  “Whatever happened to the toy version?”

  “I don’t know. Probably got left at my dad’s.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said, not having any idea what the appropriate sorry-you-lost-your-favorite-toy response should be. It didn’t sound like anything Hallmark had cards for. “When will you find time to work on your car? Seems like a huge commitment.”

  “I’ll fit in time here and there between work and basketball.” He grabbed a screwdriver from a red toolbox. Its vivid black-and-white handle was a perfect match to the wrench that Daniel had plucked from The Shack the night before.

  My hands latched onto one another, twisting the way they always did when I felt uncomfortable. “Does your uncle know about your jersey at Shadville? Or the Shack incident?”

  “Don’t know. He hasn’t said anything, so probably not. At least not yet.”

  “What do you think is going on?” I asked. “Do you think someone would actually set you up?”

  “In this town? I could think of a hundred people who hate me. But I don’t know who would actually have the balls to set me up though.”

  My thoughts flashed to Lance and our conversation about Nathan’s jersey in the Shadville school. I debated whether to tell Nathan that Lance had known about the jersey before anyone else. Nathan deserved to hear any information that could be helpful to him. But Lance was my friend—a journalist, not a vandal. It was his job to know things. Besides, I wasn’t sure how Nathan would react to the idea that Lance could be screwing with him. And considering that his muscles were twice the size of Lance’s, I decided to keep mum about the jersey information for now. It’d be better if I dealt with Lance myself—for both their sakes.

  I scrambled for other possibilities.

  “What about outside of town?” I asked. “Do you know anyone in Shadville who would want to mess with you? Maybe someone up there doesn’t like that you’re back … and kicking their ass on the basketball court again.”

  Nathan rubbed his eyes. “Lydia, I don’t wanna talk about this right now.”

  “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

  “I know, I’m just tired of thinking about it.” The crease between Nathan’s eyebrows intensified as he clasped his hands in his lap and studied them. The deepness of his eyes hid a million things, a million stories, a million secrets. I didn’t know if I would ever be privy to them, but what I did know was that right there in that moment I was the only person in Nathan Stone’s immediate vicinity who was waiting to listen, waiting to be leaned on.

  I stepped up to him. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want.” My lips brushed his. He pulled back a bit, his dark eyes piercing mine. They closed as my thumb caressed his cheek. And then, as if all his muscles relaxed simultaneously, he slumped my way. His face nuzzled mine, lips grazing my cheek, nose pressing into my jawline, breathing me in.

  I slid my lips back into his, and this time he pressed back. He stood up off his stool and shoved his stomach and chest against my body. As I stumbled from the impact, his hands latched onto the back of my legs and hoisted me up. My legs wrapped around his waist and my mouth pressed harder into his at the feel of his hips nudging against the insides of my thighs.

  Past the workbench, he carried me into the back area of the garage. Cluttered with rusted Ford signs and old furniture, it was a maze of narrow passages. At an old sofa, Nathan spun, sat down, and pulled me down on top of him. My shirt came off with one swift move.

  He soaked in the sight of me in only my light pink bra as he reached behind his neck and pulled his own shirt up over his head. My eyes devoured the bronze canvas of his chest: pecs which were defined but not weirdly huge, abs nice and flexed given his seated position.

  Our mouths hit, and it didn’t take long until he moved down to my cleavage. And it wasn’t much longer after that when my bra came off. The once-cool garage became an inferno. Adrenaline coursed through me, once again rattling my nerves, but instead of pulling back I melted into the feeling, letting it wrap around me, engulf me.

  My eyes closed, my mind barely cognizant to the fact that my fingers were curling deep into the waistband of his jeans. My body had never before wanted to conquer another like it did his. Stripping off my clothes for Shane had been calculated and dutiful—a function of being his girlfriend. At no point had it been a sexy and organic manifestation of a blossoming relationship. With Nathan, the drive to know him physically originated from a deep well in my core. It wasn’t an obligation; it was a need to satisfy something primitive within me.

  I unbuttoned his jeans. His lip curled.

  “Nathan!” a voice called out from the front of the garage.

  “Shit!” I whispered, jumping off Nathan. “Who is that?”

  “Ed.”

  “Oh, great.” I grabbed my bra and shirt from the sofa next to Nathan. He stood and moved in front of me, pulling his shirt back on and shielding me from anyone who would manage to find us down the narrow passage way of old dressers and shelves. My bra and shirt went on with Olympic speed.

  He glanced back at me and gave me a crooked smile. “You decent?”

  “Shut up.” I giggled.

  He grabbed my hand and led me out of our seclusion. Heart beating hard, I prepared myself for a stern talking to about inappropriate teenager activities.

  But the scene at the front of the garage was far worse than anticipated.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  He’s Effed

  Chet Rollins in his black police uniform stood beside Ed just inside the garage door. Lydia stared up at me with fear in her eyes. Her tiny hands latched onto my forearm, and I didn’t give a damn what happened to me in that moment, I just wanted her to escape. Away from Rollins. Away from the worry. Away from everything that had anything to do with me and my goddamn past that wouldn’t fade away. Lance had been right—she didn’t deserve any of it.

  “Hello, Nathan,” Rollins said.

  “What do you want?”

  Rollins made a motion out the garage door. Theo White Eagle stepped up next to him and handed Ed a sheet of paper. “Got a warrant to search the house.”

  Ed took the paper with little reaction. But I knew Ed’s looks. After years of living under his roof, I could read the cues like a book. The slight hitch in Ed’s stance was worry. Something serious was going down.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked.

  Rollins smiled. “We’ll know it when we find it.”

  I forced my face to remain neutral and ignored the waves of terror running through me.

  Outside the garage, an SUV pulled up, full of officers in brown uniforms. They made their way into the si
de door of the house. A minute later, a light flickered on in the small gable window of my attic bedroom.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  She’s No Bonnie

  The cold air grew frostier and the minutes ticked by as Ed, Nathan, and I stood outside the garage, watching the police swarm the Stone house. I lurked behind Nathan, believing any second someone was going to realize I was still there and send me home.

  Commotion came spilling out of the house. A brown-uniformed officer called Rollins over. Their heads lowered as they looked at something together. Something dark in a plastic bag.

  Rollins nodded to the SUV and the brown-uniformed officer walked toward it, bag in hand.

  The wind went out of me when I saw the shape of the object in the bag.

  A black handgun.

  Nathan’s stance went rigid.

  Rollins approached. “Nathan Stone, I’m placing you under arrest for…”

  Nathan moved back, stepping on my toes.

  Rollins cocked his head. “C’mon, Nathan, we can do this the easy way or the—”

  “Fuck you.”

  Rollins’s hand flew up, grabbing Nathan’s elbow. Using his weight as leverage, he spun Nathan around until his chest and cheek hit the wall of the garage with a thud.

  “Stop!” I yelled.

  I was ignored. Ed’s fingers curled around my upper arm and pulled me back, away from the commotion.

  Nathan struggled against Rollins’s weight, which was tipped towards him. One of Rollins’s elbows pressed against Nathan’s back, pinning him against the wall, while his other arm pinned Nathan’s shoulder. Nathan jostled again, only to be pressed firmer against the wall. Whatever fancy police moves Rollins had, they somehow made up for the several inches and pounds he lacked in comparison to Nathan.

  Rollins leaned his face towards Nathan. “Doesn’t surprise me that a piece of shit like you chooses the hard way.” Letting go of Nathan’s shoulder, Rollins grabbed the handcuffs from his utility belt. Nathan twisted his torso and Rollins rammed a shoulder into his back. “I suggest you calm down unless you wanna add assaulting a police officer to your rap sheet.” Rollins grabbed one of Nathan’s wrists.