Good Girl Complex: a heartwarming modern romance from the TikTok sensation

by Elle Kennedy

  “Evan will get over it.”

  “But what if he doesn’t? These things can fester.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Mac. Seriously.” I don’t care if my brother wants to be a cranky little brat about it, as long as he’s on his best behavior around Mac and keeps his comments to himself. My whole life I’ve lived for the two of us. Evan and me. This one thing, though, I get to have for myself.

  Clearly I’m not doing a good job at easing her unhappiness, because she lets out a miserable-sounding moan. “I don’t want to come between you and your twin, Cooper.”

  I glance over. Sternly. “I’ve made my choice. I want us to be together. Evan can deal.”

  Distress flickers through her eyes. “What does that even mean, being together? I know earlier we said we’re dating, and I thought I was cool with that—”

  “You thought?” I growl.

  “But then we went to the party and did you see how everyone was looking at us? No, looking at me—like I didn’t belong there at all. That one girl? Heidi? Completely froze me out with her gaze. And I overheard a couple chicks calling me a rich snob and saying my dress is ridiculous.”

  “Why is your dress ridiculous?” From where I’m sitting, her short yellow dress looks ridiculously sexy.

  “Because it’s Givenchy and I guess nobody wears a thousand-dollar dress to a house party?” Mac’s cheeks redden with embarrassment. “My mom’s assistant buys most of my clothes. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t care about fashion. I live in jeans and T-shirts.” She sounds more and more anguished. “I only wore this stupid dress because it’s cute and summery and short enough that I knew it’d drive you crazy.”

  I fight a laugh. I also force myself not to comment on the fact that the scrap of yellow fabric barely covering her delectable body cost a grand.

  “But maybe it did come off like I was flaunting? I don’t know. I wasn’t trying to. All I know is that nobody wanted me there tonight.”

  “I wanted you there.”

  “You don’t count,” she grumbles.

  I reach over the center console and grab her hand. Forcibly lacing our fingers together. “I’m the only one who counts,” I correct.

  “They count too,” she argues. “You’ve got an entire group of friends, and you’ve all known each other forever. I have like two friends, one of whom is my roommate so she’s kind of forced to like me.”

  The laugh slips out.

  “I wish I had a huge friend group like yours. I’m jealous,” she says frankly. “And I really wanted everyone to like me tonight.”

  I release her hand and steer the truck to the shoulder of the road. I put it in park and turn to her with a firm stare. “Babe. I like you. Okay? And my friends, they’ll come around and grow to like you too. I promise you that.”

  She frowns. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “I mean it. Give it a little more time,” I say gruffly. “Don’t bail on me, on this, just because the reception tonight wasn’t the warmest, and some girls got all judgmental about your dress—which, just so you know, is the hottest thing ever and I want to rip that thousand-dollar fabric off your body with my teeth.”

  Mac laughs, albeit weakly.

  “Please.” I almost cringe at the pleading note I hear in my voice. “Don’t bail on me, princess.”

  The shadows in the truck dance over her pretty face as she sits in silence for a moment. It feels like an eternity before she finally responds.

  Green eyes gleaming from the headlights of a passing vehicle, she leans toward me and kisses me. Hard. With a lot of tongue. Then she pulls back breathlessly and whispers, “I won’t bail on you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  MACKENZIE

  Give it time, he said.

  They’ll come around, he said.

  Well, I’m calling bullshit on Cooper’s bullshit. Since the disaster at the party, I’ve been on a hearts-and-minds campaign, doing my damnedest to try to win over Cooper’s “gang.” Though he’d never admit it, I know he’s bothered by the fissures where his friends and I are concerned, and I don’t want to be the reason he drifts away from the people he cares about. They’ve been in his life a lot longer than I have. The way I see it, there’s no reason we can’t all get along.

  So I’m trying. I’m really, really trying. Whether it’s out at the sports bar playing darts or hanging on the beach at a bonfire, I’ve been working to make inroads in recent weeks. Most of Cooper’s guy friends—Tate, Chase, Wyatt—seem to have completely warmed up to me. We even went out for dinner one night with Chase and his boyfriend, a cute guy named Alec who also goes to Garnet. Except they don’t count, because they’re not the ones I need to win over. That would be the gang, the inner circle.

  Aside from Steph, who continues to be an ally, I can’t seem to crack the iron curtain that is the Alana and Heidi blockade. And while Evan hasn’t been overtly hostile lately, it seems he’s opted for the silent approach where I’m concerned. If you can’t say anything nice, and all that.

  Which is why I thought tonight would be the perfect opportunity for a more intimate get-together. Just the gang. S’mores, scary movies, maybe a little Truth or Dare and Never Have I Ever. Bonding stuff and all that jazz.

  So of course, by midafternoon the scattered showers predicted for this evening turn into severe thunderstorm and tornado warnings throughout the Carolinas.

  Awesome. Even the weather is against me.

  An hour ago, Cooper and Evan left to help Levi batten down the hatches at one of his construction sites. So now I’m sitting here at their house with ten pounds of cold buffalo wings and cheesy garlic bread, and beyond the sliding glass doors, the sky grows gray and foreboding over the bay. Without much else to do, and because I happen to love storms—there’s something about the fierce, electric anticipation of chaos—I open the back door to let the cool air in and then curl up on the couch with some homework. The TV is on quietly in the background, turned to the local news, where the weather people are standing in front of a radar image awash in red and orange, tossing around words like hunker down.

  I get my anthropology reading done and am watching some clips on my laptop for my media culture class when a huge crack of lightning flashes outside and the resulting thunder shakes the house. The startling barrage knocks the wind right out of me. Daisy, who was curled up under a blanket at my feet, bolts out of the room for her favorite hiding place under Cooper’s bed. Rain begins to pour outside in a sudden deluge that swallows the horizon behind a silver curtain. I jump off the couch and quickly shut the sliding door, then wipe up the water that snuck inside with a dishrag.

  It’s then I hear it, a faint wailing in the distance.

  “Daisy?” I shout, glancing around. Had she run outside when I wasn’t looking?

  Nope. A quick peek into Cooper’s room reveals her lying under the bed, front paws flat on the hardwood, with her little face squished between them.

  “Was that you crying, little one?” I ask, only to jump when I hear it again. It’s more of a scream than a wail, and it’s definitely coming from outside.

  When it storms you can hear her screaming …

  My pulse accelerates as Evan’s words buzz around in my head. Was he serious about this place being haunted? What the hell had he called her again—

  “Patricia?” I say feebly, my cautious gaze darting around the room. “Is that you?”

  The light fixture above my head flickers.

  A startled yelp rips out of my throat, causing Daisy to crawl backward and disappear deeper under the bed.

  I leave Cooper’s room, heart pounding. Candles. I should probably find some candles in case the power goes out. Because nothing sounds less appealing to me than sitting in the dark listening to the shrieks of a century-old dead child.

  As if on cue, the shrill noises start up again, a cacophony of sound mingling with the crashes of thunder outside the old beach house.

  “Patricia,” I call out.
Steady voice now. Hands, not so much. “Look, let’s be cool, okay? I know it’s probably not fun being dead, but that doesn’t mean you have to scream your lungs out. If you use your indoor voice, I’m happy to sit down and listen to whatever you—”

  Another scream pierces the air.

  “Or not,” I backpedal. “Fine. You win, Patricia. Just keep scaring the crap out of me, then.”

  In the kitchen, I start opening lower cabinets in search of candles or flashlights. I find a pack of tea lights and breathe in relief. Good. Now I just need to grab one of the gazillion lighters on the coffee table and I’m all set.

  On my way back to the living room, a buzzing noise catches my attention. I think it might be my phone, until I realize it’s still in my pocket. I follow the sound to the kitchen counter where Cooper’s phone has now stopped vibrating. Shit. He’d forgotten his phone. With the screen still lit, I see he has several missed calls and text messages. I don’t look long enough to read them, not wanting to invade Cooper’s privacy, but I do note Steph’s and Alana’s names.

  Given the number of calls and texts, it could be urgent. I’d get in touch with Evan to give him the heads-up, but I don’t have his number and can’t unlock Cooper’s phone to get it. If it’s important, the girls will try Evan eventually, I reason. So I mind my business and go back to my homework.

  But the buzzing continues. For another half hour, about every five minutes, Cooper’s phone rattles on the kitchen counter. Fuck it. I grab the phone the next time a call comes in and this time I answer it.

  “Hello, Steph?” I say, reading her name on the screen.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Mackenzie. Cooper’s out with Evan and Levi. He left his phone at home.”

  “Damn,” she says with a frustrated huff. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of Evan, but he’s not answering either.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “There’s water coming in through the ceiling of the bathroom. We heard something that sounded like a tree falling on the roof, and then suddenly water’s running down the wall.”

  “You okay?”

  “We’re fine, but we need to fix this before the entire house is flooded. We’ve got towels down, but there’s too much water and we don’t have any way to stop it.”

  Shit. If they can’t reach Evan, it probably means the twins are still wrapped up helping their uncle. The storm is really wailing now, thunder and lightning coming every few minutes and the wind and rain battering the windows. And according to the radar on TV, this thing isn’t passing quickly. Which means Steph and Alana are going to need a raft soon.

  Pausing for a moment to think, it occurs to me Cooper’s truck is still here, and his keys are sitting on the coffee table. I bet he’s got all kinds of stuff in the garage—a ladder and tarps.

  A plan forms in my head.

  “Okay. Write down my phone number and text me your address,” I tell Steph. “I’m coming over.”

  “Uh …” There’s muted chattering in the background that I assume is Alana. “I’m not sure if that’s—”

  “I’m going to grab some supplies from Cooper’s garage and head over there. Trust me, this’ll work.”

  “Alright,” she finally relents. There might even be a hint of relief in her voice.

  After we get off the phone, I borrow a rain jacket from Cooper’s closet then grab his keys and dash through the rain and mud to his garage. Inside, against the wall, he’s got all sorts of building materials stacked up from the renovations he and Evan have been doing on the house. Among them, some black vinyl-type material and rope. Thankfully, Cooper keeps his tools well organized and I find a hammer, nails, and a heavy-duty staple gun with little effort. Good enough.

  Ten minutes after hanging up with Steph, I back Cooper’s truck up to the door of the garage, get everything loaded into the bed, wrestle with the twelve-foot ladder, and then head to Steph and Alana’s house.

  Everything looks normal when I pull up to the little blue house. No obvious signs of damage from the front. As soon as I ring the doorbell, Steph flings the door open and pulls me inside with the rain trailing after me and a puddle around my feet.

  “It’s this way,” she says after brief hellos. She takes me to the screened-in rear porch. From there, I see the branches of a tree hanging off the back corner of the house. “We were lucky to make it through the last hurricane with those branches overhanging the house. It was only a matter of time.”

  “Evan kept saying he’d come trim them back.” Alana steps onto the porch with an armful of wet towels. “But of course he forgot.”

  Steph glances at her. “Maybe toss those in the dryer so we can have something to put down when the others soak through?”

  Alana sighs. “Hope no one wanted a shower tonight.”

  “Give me a hand outside,” I say to them. “First thing, we’ve got to get on the roof and pull those branches off. With the wind and everything, leaving them up there could make it worse.”

  “What?” Steph looks at me, aghast. “You’re not going out there?”

  “What’d you expect?” I give a wry laugh. “You weren’t calling Cooper for more towels.”

  “But it’s dangerous. There’s lightning.”

  Steph has a point, of course. The alternative is flooding their whole house and ending up with a massive hole in their roof. Anyway, I spent three years of high school on the stagecraft crew with the drama department. I can be pretty handy when I need to be.

  “I’m going to get up on the roof and tie a rope around the branches to lower them down to you two. Then I’ve got some stuff to cover the hole. It’ll be quick.” I’m lying. It won’t be quick. But it’s got to be done, and the more Steph keeps us standing around worrying, the worse it’ll get.

  “Just tell us what to do,” Alana says, nodding. This might be the most words she’s said to me that weren’t accompanied by a sarcastic smirk. That’s progress, I suppose.

  Together the three of us trudge through the downpour to get all the supplies positioned in the backyard and stand the ladder against the side of the house. RIP their living room carpet. I know I’m taking my life into my own hands climbing a metal ladder in the middle of a thunderstorm, but it’s been several minutes since the last flash of lightning, so I take my chances and climb up with the rope over my shoulder.

  Wearing a borrowed pair of Steph’s hiking boots, I walk across the slanted roof. Every step is like being on ice skates for the first time, except here I can’t hug the railing for support. Careful not to make any sudden movements, I manage to tie the rope around the huge, forked branch of the tree, then ball up the slack and make my best Hail Mary pass at throwing it over an exposed limb of the tree to act as a pulley. I succeed on the first attempt. Hell yeah.

  On the ground, Steph and Alana take up the weight as best they can as I gingerly help push the branch off the side of the house. As they lower it to the ground, I immediately see where some shingles are missing and a foot-wide dent has been punched through the roof, water pouring inside.

  I gingerly make my way down to the ground, where the girls have untied the rope.

  “How bad is it?” Steph asks, wiping in vain at the water pouring down her face. We’re standing in about four inches of mud at this point. The yard has pretty much turned to liquid and my feet squish inside Steph’s boots.

  “It’s not big, but there’s definitely a hole,” I report.

  We’re practically shouting through the deafening wind and rain beating down on the metal porch roof and pelting the trees.

  I shove my wet hair off my forehead. “Best we can do is cover it up and hope the rain stops soon.”

  “What do you need?” Alana eyes me anxiously from under the rim of a baseball cap. Her bright red hair is plastered to her neck.

  “I’ll take the staple gun, hammer, and nails with me. Then you and Steph tie the tarp to the rope so I can pull it up once I’m up there.”

  “Be careful,” Steph rem
inds me for the fifth time.

  I appreciate the concern, but really, I want to get this done and get dry. My fingers are already turning pruney, I’ve got a water-logged wedgie riding up my ass, and the chill has soaked into my bones. After they raise the tarp to me and I cut a large-enough piece off with Alana’s pocketknife, I tack it down with the staple gun to hold it in place while I put in some sturdier nails. I’m shivering so violently, my teeth chattering, it takes forever to get the nails in.

  “You okay?” Steph shouts from the ground.

  I get a nail about halfway in, then miss it when the hammer slips, and bend the damn thing. Oh, to hell with it. Good enough.

  “Coming down,” I shout back.

  I scurry my ass down the ladder and we all bolt inside, leaving the rope and tarp in the yard, right as a massive crack of lighting seems to strike right on top of us.

  In the laundry room, we strip down to our underwear and toss our wet, muddy clothes in the washing machine.

  “That was close.” Alana gives me a wide, exhilarated smile that I wholeheartedly return, both of us seemingly aware that we escaped by the skin of our teeth.

  “Too close,” Steph says with a frazzled look. “What would I tell Cooper if you got electrocuted up there?”

  “Yeah, no.” From the linen closet, Alana pulls out three blankets for us to warm up in. “We would’ve had to hide the body and tell Cooper you skipped town.” When I raise an eyebrow at her, she shrugs, grinning blithely. “What? You haven’t seen Cooper’s temper. It’s self-preservation at that point.”

  Alana and I go into the living room. Steph puts on a pot of coffee. I’m shivering, wrapped up in my blanket cocoon on the couch, when Alana gets a phone call.

  “Hey,” she answers. “Yeah, we figured it out. She’s here, actually. Sure. See ya.” She sets the phone down and takes a seat beside me. “They’re on their way over.”

  “Think I could borrow some clothes to go home in?” I ask. With my stuff in the wash, I’d rather not leave here in nothing but my underwear and Cooper’s rain jacket.