Page 53 of Mad Girl

“Then you’ll text me. You still get to go places. You still get to do normal things,” Hal said, leaning his shoulder against mine. “But I can make sure you get there safely.”

“Safely? What are you afraid I’ll do? Cross the street before looking both ways? Take shortcuts down dark, secluded alleys?”

Hal stood up. “You want me to agree to this arrangement or not?”

“Fine,” I grumbled as I rose from the bench.

As we approached the house, I asked, “Is my dad secretly, like, a mob boss or something?”

I could picture it. For someone who’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Nic also had the world-worn, jaded look of a man who’d been through some shit. I don’t know how many times I’d watched him come home from work, pour himself a glass of scotch, and drain it before he’d even loosened his tie.

Hal, whose sunglasses were now tucked inside his jacket, rolled his eyes. “You watch too many movies.”

“So it’s the other reason, then.”

“What reason?”

“I’m dangerous. That’s why I can’t go anywhere alone.”

“You aren’t dangerous, Ell. Other people are.”

“What people?”

Hal sighed as he peered into the distance, his gaze fixed on something over my shoulder. “Look, the Bancrofts aren’t exactly beloved by everyone in this city—so I worry, okay?” He jutted his chin at the house. “Go. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Inside, I wandered into the kitchen, feeling a strange mixture of relief and defeat at the same time. You turned from the stove, where you were busy prepping your kettle for our tea. “Are you okay?”

“Yep,” I said, flinging open the fridge. “Just peachy.”

“Are you sure?” you asked softly. “Seemed like Michael might’ve hurt your feelings earlier.”

There you were again, trying to tug the truth loose when I only wanted to give you the lie. I didn’t know how to explain the crushing fear that you’d been lying when you said you didn’t feel stuck with me, or that I felt stuck, too, doomed to repeat the same things over and over, because Nic kept me locked in that house. I didn’t know how to explain the way you made me feel—crazy, powerless, sometimes desperate—because I didn’t completely understand those crazy new feelings myself.

I lowered my water bottle, propped my hip against the island, and turned your truth-pulling shit back around on you. “I’m fine. Why are you trying to avoid coming to the Cape with us this summer?”

You shrugged. “I feel my time might be better spent working at the pub back home.”

“Better spent? Is hanging out with us really that awful?”

“No,” you said, head shaking. “I don’t mean to imply that. I just don’t feel comfortable letting your dad pay my way when I’m fully capable of paying it myself.”

“But he wants to, Casey. Paying your bills is nothing to him.”

“It’s something to me. I’m not his responsibility.”

“That’s fair. But he does consider you part of our family now. So it would be cool to have you there this summer.” I looked down. Shrugged. Shuffled my feet. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Yeah—if you want to, I mean. No pressure or anything.”

You chuckled under your breath. “Tell you what. I’ll go—but only if you want me to go.”

I lifted my head to look at you. “I literally just said it would be cool to have you there.”

“Yes, but I need to be sure you actually want that,” you said, your expression turning serious.

“I just said I did.”