͏b͏r͏o͏k͏e͏n || ͏b͏i͏l͏l͏y ͏h͏a͏r͏g͏r͏o͏v͏e

F I F T E E N

"By the time they realize we're gone—" Mike continued.

"El will be at the gate," Max finished.

"Hey. HEY!" I snapped, clapping my hands so hard it stung. They finally looked at me and Steve.

"This," I said firmly, "is NOT happening."

"But—" Mike started.

"No. NO buts." Steve stabbed a finger in the air. "We promised we'd keep you shitheads safe, and that is exactly what we're doing. We're staying HERE. On the bench," He added, trying to look intimidating. "And we're waiting for the starting team to do their job. Does everybody understand?"

"This isn't a stupid sports game," Mike grumbled.

"Did I ask that?" Steve asked, pointing at each of them. "I need a yes."

The kids groaned, muttering their reluctant agreement.

And then—

An engine revved outside.

The one that sounded like trouble wrapped in denim and nicotine.

My stomach dropped.

"No. No, no, no," I whispered, already sprinting to the window with Max on my heels.

Sure enough—Billy's blue Camaro tore into the Byers' driveway like a shark scenting blood.

Max inhaled sharply, her whole body tensing beside me.

"I'll deal with him," Steve said, already marching toward the door with the confidence of a man who should absolutely not be dealing with him.

"Steve—"

"Ana, you're staying in here." He didn't even look back. Just slammed the door behind him.

I rubbed both hands down my face. "This is bad. This is monumental-level bad."

I shoved the window open just a crack so we could hear.

Billy's engine cut off. His car door slammed. Hard.

"Am I dreaming," Billy's voice boomed across the yard, "or is that you, Harrington?"

"Oh yeah, it's me. Don't cream your pants," Steve shot back, hands on his hips like some kind of deranged suburban cowboy.

I smacked my forehead. "Why is he like this?"

Billy stalked forward, kicking gravel as he shut his door. "What are you doing here, amigo?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Amigo." Steve threw it right back.

They met halfway in the yard—two idiots circling the same fight from different angles.

"Looking for my stepsister. Little birdie told me she was here." Billy spoke around the cigarette in his mouth, eyes sharp, jaw tight.

"That's weird," Steve shrugged. "I don't know her."

"IDIOT!" I whisper-hissed. "She had dinner with us!"

"Small? Redhead? Bit of a bitch," Billy clarified loudly.

Max rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might exit her skull.

"Doesn't ring a bell. Sorry, buddy," Steve doubled down.

Billy paused, scanning the house like a wolf sniffing out prey.

"You know, I don't know, this..." He clicked his tongue, gesturing wide with his hands. "This whole situation, Harrington. It's giving me the heebie-jeebies."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" Steve asked, crossing his arms in what he clearly thought was an intimidating stance.

"My thirteen-year-old sister goes missing all damn day," Billy growled. "And then I find her with YOU in a stranger's house... and you lie to me about it."