Betting on You

I opened the door to the apartment and was surprised to see that the living room lights were still on. My mother was rarely awake at midnight, so I shot Charlie a look of dread. I’d gone inside with Clio to make sure she made it quietly up to her room—which she did—but that had made me nice and late.

We cut through the kitchen, and when we stepped into the living room, my mom and Scott were sitting side by side on the couch. The TV was on, but they were looking at me like they’d been waiting for me to appear in the doorway.

“Hey, night owls,” I said, pasting on what I hoped was a laid-back smile. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Bay,” my mom said, looking pissed. My heart hiccupped a bit—she rarely got mad at me—and she said, “Midnight means midnight.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” I glanced at Scott, who was glaring at something behind me.

Someone.

He looked like he was trying to kill Charlie with orbital laser beams.

“We ended up having to give one of Charlie’s friends a ride home at the last minute—that’s the only reason we were late.”

“But it’s your job to factor that stuff in when accounting for your curfew, sweetie.” My mom crossed her arms and said, “Part of that whole if-you’re-old-enough-to-stay-out-till-midnight thing.”

“I know.” Why is she busting my ass? My mother was usually incredibly understanding, especially since I rarely went out aside from coffee shop/bookstore visits. “It was last minute. Charlie could see she wasn’t okay to drive, so he took her keys and insisted—”

“The girl was drunk?” Scott asked, as if I’d just proclaimed that the girl had murdered someone.

I felt my forehead wrinkle as I wondered why the hell Crew Socks was inserting himself into my life. I cleared my throat and said, “Well, I wouldn’t call her drunk exactly—”

“But she’d been drinking.” Scott looked at Charlie again, then at my mom, before he asked me, “Were you at a booze party?”

Charlie made a noise, like he found Scott’s ridiculous verbiage funny, as I said, “No. The girl had been drinking, but we weren’t at a booze party.”

Scott looked at my mom expectantly, as in Let her have it.

Which really pissed me off. Who did he think he was, her husband? What right did he have to guide her toward his parental expectations?

And as if the entire scenario wasn’t bonkers in and of itself, the reality was that Scott’s snarky daughter partied all the time.

My mom looked uncomfortable as she said to me, “This can’t happen again, Bay.”

It felt like she was acting, like she was saying that because she knew he expected her to, which pissed me off even more. My mom was a strong woman—why would she let him treat her that way?

“That’s it?” Scott said, looking at my mother like she’d just high-fived me for being late.

“Yes.” She gave him a look of annoyance that made me want to applaud. “Bailey’s always been responsible. I trust her judgment.”

“She hasn’t always been hanging out with Mr. Funny here, though.”

“Scott.” My mom looked at him like she was embarrassed by his immature name-calling.

“How would you know who I hang out with?” I said it quietly, but I surprised myself by saying it at all. I hated confrontation, but I hated this stranger butting into our business even more. He knew nothing about me, and the fact that he dared to butt in felt so intrusive, it was almost suffocating.

Somehow it felt like an insult to my dad, too, which didn’t make sense but added to the painful burning sensation in the center of my chest. I said, “You’re new here—I don’t think this is your concern.”

“I’m gonna take off,” Charlie said, and when I turned around, the expression on his face surprised me. His cheeks were a little pink, and he looked uncomfortable.

Not at all like his usual cocky self.

Almost as if Scott’s attitude toward him had bothered him.

I felt oddly protective of Charlie at that moment, and I offhandedly wondered why that kept happening. He was cocky and obnoxious and surely didn’t need my protection, yet when I saw his face at the party—and now in my living room—he seemed vulnerable. And it tugged away at me.

“Thank you for the ride, Charlie,” I said, wanting to add AND FOR BEING THE KIND OF GUY TO INSIST ON GIVING CLIO A RIDE HOME but knowing that wouldn’t help the situation.

After he left, I went to bed, livid that Scott (a) thought he had any business worrying about my life, (b) was a jerk to Charlie, and (c) was obviously sleeping over every night indefinitely. I was so mad, and also so sad, because it felt like I had zero control. I felt like everything was changing—yet again—and there was nothing I could do.

But then I heard it.

I was lying in my bed, buried in the worn old quilt I’d had since Alaska, when I heard them. Scott and my mother were arguing about me, and Scotty didn’t sound happy.

Holy shit, is it actually working?

“If you don’t put your foot down, she’s going to start walking all over you.”

Oh, no, I’m not. I snuggled deeper into my pillow and thought, But it isn’t your business if I do.

“No, she’s not,” my mom said, sounding irritated and tired. I felt bad for the last part, for having a hand in making her tired. She was my favorite human in the universe, and I didn’t want her to be anything but wide awake and happy.

“I know it seems like she won’t, but look at Kristy. She’s an out-of-control snot, but she wasn’t always.”

Holy shit, he talked about his daughter that way?

“Bailey is not like Kristy,” my mother snapped, sounding insulted. “They couldn’t be more different.”

So my mom knew Kristy…?

“I know, Em,” Scott said, sounding apologetic, “but trust me—she was a sweetheart until she hit middle school, when Neal and Laura totally lost control and let her run wild.”

“But your brother’s a slacker, come on,” my mom said. “Not the same thing.”

Wait. What?

“True. But I’m telling you, guys like that Charlie—”Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

“Will not turn Bailey into your bratty niece,” she interrupted.

His niece? Kristy was his niece? Relief washed over me as I lay there, smiling in the dark and wanting to screech like a happy… well, animal who screeched when they were happy.

Kristy wasn’t his daughter—holy shit!

Yes, I was screaming into my pillow and kicking my feet.

“He’s a good kid,” I heard my mom say, and I felt lucky that she was the nonjudgmental person that she was. “You just got a bad first impression. You’ll see.”

Strangely enough, she’d hit it right on the head. Charlie was actually a decent person.

You just had to get through a hell of a lot of bullshit to see it.

Yes, I’d been wholly convinced that Mr. Nothing was an irredeemable ass. I would’ve bet money on the fact that he was trouble with a capital T, yet the more time I spent with him, the more I realized that he wasn’t.

At all.

I still wasn’t sure what exactly he was, but I was definitely starting to see what he wasn’t.