The Neighbor's Cat (Billy Hargrove x OC // Stranger Things)

15. Friend's Don't Lie

The next morning, Billy got into his Camaro to leave without Peters, just as they had agreed. She wasn't waiting for him when he went out, and she didn't show after Max opened the passenger door and climbed into the back.

Apparently, she'd meant what she said about not wanting anything to do with him. He was sure that he'd see her wallowing beside his car, begging for forgiveness. But she was just as unpredictable as usual, and as usual, he hated her for it. As much as he didn't want to admit it even to himself, he was both surprised and frustrated that she'd taken the argument so seriously. He should have been relieved — she'd finally given him the out that he had been waiting for by removing any sense of obligation that he had in driving her back and forth from school. He had the perfect excuse to extradite her from his life without feeling like a total asshole. No more sneaking around or pretending like he didn't know her, no more worrying about being caught around her or feeling like he had some sort of responsibility for her safety. He'd done his part as a decent human, and now he was finally a free man.

So then why did he feel like total shit?

Everything he knew about himself said that he should be glad. Happy, even. But he wasn't. In fact, he felt more miserable than ever before. And it was irritating.

"Where's Randy?" Max asked from behind him, throwing her backpack into the seat beside her.

"None of your business," he snapped, shifting the car into reverse.

"Is she sick? Did something happen to her?" Max pestered. "Hey, aren't you even going to ask her if she's—"

"I said it's none of your damn business, you little shit," he growled, shooting her a withering look.

Max sunk into her seat and pressed her lips together.

Billy rolled out of the driveway more erratically than usual then slammed the car back into drive, but he barely it made four inches from the house before the subject of his problems came tearing up to his window, curly hair messier than usual and her jacket half off her shoulders. She banged on the glass with the palm of her hand, and for a moment, he considered driving away and leaving her to wallow in self-pity. She didn't deserve a ride after the attitude she'd given him — not especially after he'd finally earned his freedom — but that stupid sensation that had tormented him all night and all morning gnawed at his gut more intensely than before, and he rolled down his window.

"Thought we agreed on no more rides, Peters."

She was breathing heavily, face flushed.

"It's not about rides," she said through her breathing. "We need to talk."

Billy surveyed her for a moment.

"About what?" he finally asked.

Her eyes slid to Max in the back seat. "Well..."

"Spit it out. I don't have all day."

She hesitated, chewed on her lip, then, "My parents called last night."

Billy almost snorted. "Congrats."

He began to roll his window back up, but she put her hand on it and continued, "They work at Hawkins lab. I think you might want to hear what they told me."

Then his hand froze. He glanced over his shoulder at Max who was watching the two of them with interest, though she dropped her eyes when they met his, and contemplated his options. He could get out and listen to Peters ramble about whatever the hell Hawkins lab was; but he also could carry on his merry way, pretend she'd never said anything to him. After all, she did clarify that the whole conversation wasn't about rides. He was still obligation-free, though that could change in a matter of seconds, judging by her tone. But as he scanned her unusually stern expression, he had a feeling that whatever she was on about really was something he should know.