The Bad Boy's Reward

Chapter 2: The Number

June's POV

"I don't have a car," I answered, because having a car would be too much freedom, according to my dad. Clearly, he was just worried I'd use it to run off and go live with mom. I disliked her husband, though. He weirded me out with his over niceness, leading to only seeing her through the video calls we had every once in a while.

"I'll take you. Get in."

It felt odd, getting into the backseat of Rodney's blue Ford Fusion, yet here I sat. There wasn't any reason for me to go, aside from my curiosity. I wanted to know if JJ was okay. I wasn’t sure why Rodney offered to take me, or even asked if I was coming. We'd never spoken before, except once in pre-cal when he asked to borrow a pencil. He was a smart guy and, despite his piercings and black hair that always hung over his face, was actually one of the sweetest guys around.

"How did you know how to do all that?" Tiffany asked, turning from the passenger seat to look at me. Her platinum blonde hair held every color of the rainbow highlighted throughout. She had a more bubbly personality than most would think. But she fit Rodney's broodiness perfectly. It was no wonder they had lasted so long and were still going strong.

"My dad taught me when I was young and has me get certified every few years. It's engraved in my memory," I answered.

"Makes sense." She smiled just as the streetlight shone in from the back windshield, illuminating her clear blue eyes with a sparkle of intrigue.

It only took a few minutes to reach the hospital. We were lucky enough to have one in town, despite our small population. It was on the outskirts and held patients from the three small towns neighboring our own. It was the corner piece of the four communities, where we all converged in the worst moments of our lives.

We stepped out, racing towards the reception counter, with Rodney and Tiff leading the way. JJ had already been taken back, but they wouldn't disclose his status to us since we weren’t family. Instead, we all took a seat in the lobby and waited for any crumb of news they might send our way. I'd heard the rumors of JJ's dad, but I'd never seen him myself… the town's ex-conman. I wondered when he would show, or if he would even appear. Curiously, I watched the hospital doors. Only the next person to come in was none other than my father.

"June?" He called my name as his hazel eyes met my dark brown ones, spotting me from my seat.

"Hey, Dad." I waved with a small smile, knowing full well I'd be lectured later. He was under the impression I wasn’t attending the party, since that was what I told him. I changed my mind a couple of hours later but forgot to tell him, having left my phone at home by accident. When you walk places, there was no turning back once you'd left. Now, I'd probably be grounded for the week, despite being eighteen.

"What happened?" he asked. He usually took the witness' statement first, so I knew he wasn't asking me as my dad, rather as the Sheriff. I had to be careful with what I said.

"JJ was messing around at the edge of the cliff tonight and slipped and fell in," Rodney answered for me. "Your daughter saved him when she noticed he didn’t come back up."

Dad turned his gaze to Rodney, studying him for a second, before making eye contact with me once more. He was searching me, looking to see if any of Rodney's words were untrue. The first half obviously was a lie, but after years of living with Dad, I'd learned how to put on a good poker face and keep it there.

"Is this true, Bug?" he asked me, using the nickname he'd given me. He would always tell me I was his June bug. I didn’t make it a habit to lie to my father, mainly because he could tell when I did. Seeing as Rodney finished his story with the truth, I decided I would only focus on that part.

"Yeah, I pulled him out of the water, and thanks to your incessant nagging to keep my CPR training fresh in my mind, I was able to help." Dad paused for a moment, observing me as he furrowed his brow, accentuating the well-defined wrinkles on his forehead. He was definitely getting old on me.

"Good job, Bug. I'll take you home when I'm done here and we'll talk about this —" He pointed to my outfit, still missing my shirt, before he continued, "tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure thing." I rolled my eyes at him, which I knew he hated.

He marched off towards the back to go question JJ next. I just hope he tells him a similar story. I could feel Rodney's and Tiffany's eyes on me as I stared after my dad.

"Aren't you worried JJ will say something different to my dad?" I asked, feeling suddenly more anxious.

"Nah, he knows how to handle the cops just fine. Besides, we're always on the same wavelength." Rodney shrugged as if it were no big deal, feeling confident his friend wouldn't let his efforts go to waste. We sat silently until my dad reemerged.

"Seems like just an accident, although I'm sure some alcohol was involved." He arched a brow at Rodney, who only shrugged his shoulders like he didn't know. "They are keeping him overnight for observation, so you two should go home," Dad told Rodney and Tiff before he turned his gaze to me. "You, come with me. Nurse Jackie will take some blood."

"Seriously, Dad?!" I snapped, knowing full well why Jackie would take some of my blood. It wouldn't be the first time he ran a tox screen on me. "I wasn't drinking."

I got up, knowing my protest would be in vain, but feeling the need to voice them, anyway. Dad narrowed his eyes on me, and I shut my mouth real quick. Letting a heavy breath out, I followed him to the back. Feeling their eyes on me as I walked past them, I felt one of them slip a piece of paper into my back pocket from their seat. I'd have to check it once I was in the confines of my room.

Jackie was always sweet, greeting me with a sympathetic smile as I took a seat. She knew this was a total abuse of power on my dad's part, but what could she do aside from her job? She took a little vial of blood and placed the gauze around my elbow. I followed Dad to his well-known Sheriff's vehicle and got in the passenger seat without a word. He always pissed me off when he pulled this s**t. It's not like I had ever truly given him a reason not to trust me, but because of all the things he's seen other kids my age do, he trusted me about as far as he could throw his car. So, not at all. He didn’t trust me at all.

Dad lectured me about how unsafe it was to go to these parties. He said that I knew better, and that if I were drinking tonight, he wouldn't let me go to New York — as if he had a say in it. I had a scholarship, and money I'd been saving throughout high school. If I had to, I would live with mom during the summers. I was not staying in this podunk town just because Dad refused to let me grow up. Not saying a word, giving him the silent treatment, which I knew he hated the most, I kept my gaze fixed outside the window, watching all the small shops turn to small houses with their lights off. The town was dead asleep at only ten at night on a Friday.

I stormed to my room, slamming my door shut for extra emphasis on my sour mood. The front door slammed shut, letting me know Dad had gone back to work. I waited a few more minutes, hearing his car drive off before I pulled the paper out of my pocket. Opening the folded, torn paper, I found a phone number with "text me" written under it. I wasn't sure if this was Tiff or Rodney, or why either of them would want me to text them. The curious part of me was surfacing more than usual tonight. I grabbed my phone off my nightstand and typed in the number. I stared at the empty text box, wondering what exactly I should send.

Hey, it's June.

I typed, quickly erasing it and trying again, and again, and again.

You wanted me to text, so here I am. This is June.

Hey, just saw your note. Here's my text.

Hey, I'm the i***t who's texted no one before. You sure you want me to have your number?

Jesus, why is this so hard?

Hey, it's June. I just saw your note, but I don't understand why you would want me to text you?

I went to erase the text, but the pop of a sputtering engine made me jump, sounding too much like a gunshot. I missed the back button and hit send instead, slapping myself hard on the forehead as it sent. In an instant it went from sent to seen and then those three little dots waved at me as whoever I had texted typed back. Why was I suddenly so nervous?