Page 51 of Goode to Be Bad

“I can’t,” I whispered, my voice rough and ragged. “I don’t know how.”

“It’s simple,” Cassie said. “You just jump. There may not be a happy landing, or there may be the best landing ever. You have no way of knowing what’s at the bottom, and that’s the scariest thing in the world. But when your walls are crumbling and life is flooding up all around you and you’ve got nowhere else to go, you’re left with no choice. Jump, or drown.” Her eyes were bright and direct, with characteristic Cassie frankness. “You’re drowning, Lex. Time to jump.”

This intervention was getting way too close and I was beginning to panic. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I hissed, and shot to my feet, leaving my wine, my mother and sisters, and all but ran out of the room.

Outside. Into the cool of a Ketchikan summer night––a sliver of moon and a silver wash of stars above. I just walked and walked, who knew where. I walked for a long time, miles probably, got lost, turning this way and that, until I knew I was hopelessly lost, but too upset to care.

Finally, I stopped walking and took stock of my surroundings. Nothing. Darkness. No streetlights, stoplights, nothing. I could see a mountain or tall hill on one side, and water in the distance on the other. Close by were buildings disguised as low dark bulks. I could see cracked streets, a chain link fence and deserted parking lots.

And, suddenly, I was scared.

Especially when I heard footsteps in the distance, approaching rapidly. At a quick jog. I tried to hide in the shadows, but as the runner approached and became a huge, hulking form, he saw me and angled toward me.

“Lex?” A low rough growl.

“Y-yeah?”

The figure was wearing a sleeveless hoodie, shorts, and running shoes. Massive shoulders. Improbably tall. He tossed back his hood. “It’s Bast.”

I sighed in relief. “I kinda got turned around.”

He looked around and barked a low laugh. “I’d say. You turned yourself around into the ass end of nowhere.”

“How do I get back?”

He pulled wireless earbuds off his ears, turned them off, tucked them in a pocket, and headed back the way he’d come. Gestured for me to follow him. “This way.”

“You can just give me directions—I don’t want to interrupt your run.”

“Nah. Ketchikan is pretty safe, but no point taking chances.”

“Bast, for real. I can take care of myself.”

His only response was a bearlike growl, which seemed to indicate that the conversation was over. And, looking around, I decided having a big male escort wasn’t such a bad thing. We walked in silence for a long time. And eventually, I huffed.

“So? Where’s your advice?”

He chuckled. “We got some nosy folks in the crew, don’t we? Can’t leave well enough alone when they see somethin’ that needs fixin’. They mean well, but it can be overwhelming sometimes.”

“No kidding.”

“Ain’t my style. You talk, I’ll listen. You ask me my opinion, I’ll give it. But I’d just as soon walk in silence if you’re into that.”

“I’m good with silence.”

“All right then.”

And he was as good as his word—nothing but our footsteps in the darkness as he led us unerringly back to the bar; I knew Mom’s condo was not from here. There was the loud buzz of a seaplane coming in, lights blazing, approaching low and quick, nose up. A few dozen feet above the water the engine cut out, and I watched it float in silently, the floats skimming the water and sending white spray to either side. Then it was sluicing easily across the surface, making for a specific dock, slowing seemingly as if by magic, and then turning to slow and stop right up next to the dock.

“Damn,” I said. “In the dark, no power, perfect landing. I don’t know shit about flying, but I know that was impressive.”

Bast chuckled. “That’s Brock. Used to be a stunt pilot. He was flying before he could drive. A no-power night landing is child’s play for him. He can knock the cap off a beer bottle with a wingtip. Seen him do it.”

“So Zane is a former Navy SEAL and badass combat guy. Brock is a stunt pilot. Bax, from what I hear, used to be an underground bareknuckle brawler, former professional football player, and is now an internationally renowned personal trainer. Canaan and Corin are successful musicians. Lucian owns some business from what I understand…”

“And dabbles in black-and-white close-up photography.” He snapped his fingers. “There’s a word for it. Macro? Macrophotography?”

“Hell if I know.” I laughed. “Xavier is a genius robotics inventor.” I eyed him. “What about you? What impossibly cool thing do you do?”