Fugitive: A Bad Boy Romance (Northbridge Nights Book 2) by Jackie Wang

and cook and clean. It was not the 1950s anymore! Feminism happened, remember? I wasn’t a feminist, but I had zero tolerance for misogyny. I was on the fence about kids in general. They were a lot of work, and I couldn’t see myself reasonably juggling children and a career. My mom did it, but I didn’t have her tenacity.
    Apparently, my opinion was in the minority and very unpopular. But that didn’t mean I’d let them bully me into getting knocked up. I was no pushover where it mattered. And if I wanted to be a respected lawyer one day, I’d need to defend myself better.
    At the end of the day, I was most upset because we couldn’t even have a civilized conversation about the topic. It was a hot button issue, and both of us were too stubborn to even listen to the other person. We rarely fought over the years, mostly because we worked too much to have energy for bickering. But…we’d be spending the rest of our lives together. There were a million different fights waiting to explode, over all sorts of things. Could we handle them like adults and still stay together?
    We had to, right?
    For better, or worse…?

Chapter Eleven
Kieran - Ten Years Ago
    “ T ake a picture with me , baby,” I said, holding up my silver flip phone.
    “I look like shit,” Trisha replied, burying her face in her palms.
    “You look like an angel,” I said. “Now show me that smile.” I tugged on her arm and she lowered it. Then, she plastered a fake grin on her face and I took a picture. I showed it to her and she frowned. The woman in the pixelated photo was gaunt, with bulging eyes and freckled, mocha skin. Her frizzy black hair was out of control, as usual. But I didn’t care. She was beautiful to me.
    “I look like my mom,” she groaned.
    “Your mom is still very foxy,” I teased, kissing her forehead.
    Trisha swatted my arm and stuck out her tongue. “I'd rather kill myself than turn into my mom.”
    “Don't say stuff like that,” I said, threading her fingers through mine. “You're nothing like your mom.”
    “I drink too much,” Trisha said, biting her lips, “and I've got her temper.”
    My thumb traced circles around the infinity tattoo on her inner wrist. “You should cut back on the booze.”
    “Add some heroin in the mix and I'll be just like her.”
    “No girlfriend of mine will be doing drugs so long as I'm around,” I said, squeezing her hand. “Did you check out the rehab program I showed you?”
    Trisha shook her head slowly. “I've got like a million pages of Biology to read by Friday. And work. I don't have time for rehab.”
    “Health comes before schoolwork,” I said, my brows knitted. I sniffed her clothes. They reeked of smoke and spilled liquor. “Did you drink today?”
    Trisha bit her lip, nostrils flaring. She looked like a kid who’d just been caught stealing.
    “Trish...”
    “It was just one glass of wine. To help me de-stress after school.”
    “One?”
    “Fine, two.”
    “Trish, I love you baby, but you can't keep doing this shit. Alcohol's going to kill all your brain cells.” I stood up and paced around the room.
    Trisha fiddled with the hem of her skirt. “Not like I have any good ones left anyway.”
    “You're smart, I know you are. You got into NBU for Chrissakes. I barely graduated high school. You just need to clean yourself up so you can graduate university with a solid GPA. We have big plans, remember?” I grabbed her hand. “How are we supposed to raise hell if you’re wasted all the time? How about we go visit the rehab place together? Tomorrow morning?”
    Trisha groaned. “Do you have to come?”
    I leaned into her, our nose tips almost touching. “Yes. For moral support. This will turn your life around, I promise.”
    “I know something that'll turn my day around,” Trisha said, climbing on top of me. She nibbled on my earlobe, then sucked it between her lips. “Do you know what it is?”
    “What?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
    “You.