THE BAD BOY BARGAIN

Chapter 10: Echoes in the Dust

Jake’s motorcycle roared down Oak Street, the sound fading into a dull hum, then nothing. I stood in his living room, The Great Gatsby abandoned on the table, my pulse racing like I’d been the one running. “Meet me. Now. You owe me.” Lexi’s text glowed in my memory, sharp and demanding, and Jake’s face—pale, tight—told me it wasn’t just drama. He’d left me here, alone in his mess of a house, with no answers and a sinking feeling I couldn’t shake.

I sank onto the couch, the springs groaning under me, and stared at the cracked lamp flickering in the corner. The air was stale—pizza crusts and motor oil—and the silence pressed in, heavy. Stay here, he’d said. Like I was a dog waiting for its owner. I hugged my knees, debating texting Ellie—“He ditched me. Again.”—but my phone stayed dark. I wasn’t leaving, not yet. Not until I knew what Lexi had over him.

Minutes dragged—five, ten, fifteen—and the quiet got louder, broken only by a dog barking down the street. Then a thud came from the hall, soft but real, like something falling. I froze, breath held, listening. Another thud, then a creak. Not Jake—he’d have roared back on that bike. My skin prickled, and I stood, edging toward the sound.

The hall was dim, doors lining it—one to Kyle’s room, probably, another to a bathroom. The noise came from the end, a cracked door spilling faint light. I crept closer, heart hammering, and nudged it open with my foot. A bedroom—Jake’s, I guessed—greeted me: a mattress on the floor, sheets tangled, a desk piled with junk. A window was half-open, curtains fluttering, and a box had tipped off the desk, spilling papers across the hardwood.

I hesitated, then stepped in, guilt gnawing at me. Snooping wasn’t my style, but Lexi’s games and Jake’s secrets had me on edge. I knelt, picking up the box—old, cardboard, edges worn—and froze. Photos stared back: Jake, younger, grinning with a guy who looked like him but older, buzzed hair and a beer can. Kyle, maybe, before the wreck he was now. Another shot—Jake on a football field, mid-tackle, all sweat and triumph. Then a letter, creased and yellowed, the one from his locker.

I shouldn’t have, but I unfolded it, hands shaky. “Jake—Leaving for good. Don’t wait up. Take care of Kyle. -Dad” Short, brutal, no love-you’s. My chest tightened—Jake hadn’t lied, but this hurt more than he’d let on. I set it down, guiltier now, and grabbed a photo of him with a woman—dark hair, tired eyes, smiling faintly. Mom? Before I could guess, boots stomped up the porch.

I scrambled up, shoving the box under the desk, and darted back to the living room just as the front door banged open. Not Jake—Kyle, swaying, a bottle in one hand, eyes glassy. “Well, s**t,” he slurred, spotting me. “Tutor girl’s still here. Where’s my brother?”

“Out,” I said, voice tight, backing toward the table. “He’ll be back.”

Kyle laughed, wet and ugly, stumbling closer. “Out with Lexi, huh? Figures. She’s got him on a leash.”

My stomach twisted. “What’s that mean?”

He flopped onto the couch, bottle sloshing, and grinned, all teeth. “Means she owns him. Last summer, he’d do anything for her—fights, cash, you name it. Screwed him up good when she ditched him.”

I frowned, piecing it with what Jake had said—cheating, a broken hand. “He said it’s over. She’s just messing with him.”

“Sure,” Kyle snorted, taking a swig. “That’s why he ran off tonight. She snaps, he jumps. Always has.”

Anger flared, hot and sudden. “He’s not her puppet. He’s here for me—our deal.”

Kyle’s eyes narrowed, bleary but sharp. “Deal? Cute. You’re the rebound, kid. Lexi’s the real game.”

I clenched my fists, ready to snap back, when the motorcycle’s growl cut through. Jake burst in, jacket askew, hair wild, and stopped dead, seeing Kyle. “What the hell?” he barked, then spotted me. “Mia, you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, glaring at Kyle. “He’s chatty.”

Jake’s face darkened, and he grabbed Kyle’s arm, hauling him up. “Out. Now.”

Kyle laughed, shaking him off. “Tell her, Jake. Tell her what Lexi wanted.”

“Shut up,” Jake growled, shoving him toward the hall. Kyle stumbled, bottle clattering, and disappeared, muttering. Jake turned to me, breathing hard. “Sorry. He’s trashed.”

“What’d Lexi want?” I asked, voice steady despite the shake in my hands. “Kyle said she owns you.”

“She doesn’t,” he snapped, then softened, rubbing his neck. “She… needed cash. Said I owed her for some old s**t. I told her no, and she flipped. That’s it.”

I studied him—tight jaw, tired eyes—and saw truth, but not all of it. “Old s**t like what?”

He hesitated, then sighed, sitting on the couch’s edge. “Last summer, I bailed her out—couple hundred bucks when she got in deep with some guy. She thinks I’m her bank. I’m done with it.”

I sat beside him, close but not touching. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want you in it,” he said, voice low. “You’re not her. This—” He gestured between us—“matters more.”

My chest warmed, but Kyle’s words—rebound—stung. “Am I just… filling a gap?”

“No.” He turned, eyes fierce. “You’re not Lexi. You’re you. Deal’s not fake anymore, Mia.”

I nodded, believing him, wanting to. He leaned closer, hand brushing mine, and I didn’t pull away—until a crash echoed from the hall, louder than before, followed by Kyle’s slurred yell: “She’s here, Jake!”