THUD!

That, along with the roar of a car engine, had jolted her awake the next morning.

Rowen was dazed, ready to collapse back onto her pillow with the way her head was spinning. She had slept hard . . . She wasn't even woken up by Max's usual fist-banging against the bathroom door.

With the lack of her alarm clock ringing, she assumed it was the weekend. There was no calendar on her wall to tell her otherwise because neither she nor Max bothered to hang one. Rowen felt an urge to bury her face into her pillow, pull the blanket over her head and mute out Billy's obnoxiously loud music which inched through the walls of their house.

But, wait . . why was Billy blaring his music on a Saturday morning?

She uncovered her head, blinked the sleep from her eyes until she could see. Rowen surveyed the room. Max's bed was empty and the corner she left her skateboard in was bare. Their door was open . . Through it, she could see Billy's was, too.

Shit . . she thought. It's not Saturday, it's Wednesday.

Rowen cursed. She leaped from her bed as if someone had put hot coals on it; though, in hindsight, that probably was not the best course of action. In leaping, she tangled herself in her blanket and thus subsequently began to flail about, trying not to fall over. She pulled at it, pushed it vigorously in multiple directions, untwisted her feet . . so many things, until she was freed and burst out of her room.

Sure enough, the faint sound of Billy's Camaro could be heard. Rowen ran through the house, making a b-line for the front door, yanking it open. She just caught the familiar blue of his car before it disappeared down Cherry Road, leaving her to slow her pace as she came closer to the curb. Her siblings were gone.

"Asshole!"

Rowen shouted her frustration at an empty street. She groaned, trudging back up the front steps of their house. The door slammed shut and her hair was raked through harshly. She was pacing. Her gaze trailed around the walls of the living room until it landed on a clock. 8:15.

She had to be there in fifteen minutes; no way would she make it in time.

The call she knew she had to make was something she was progressively dreading with every second that passed. It wasn't something she should've dreaded. It was silly, really. But despite her failure to grasp directions along with the many other things she seemingly failed to do, Rowen was very much a perfectionist. Her school attendance wasn't listed in that category, nor was the ability to understand winding roads that confused her in every which way, but when it mattered to her: she tried. She really did, and she didn't want to mess it up, even if the situation was a small bump that was realistically her brother's fault.

It was Powell and Callaghan, though. They would understand. They were the two she saw the most during her time there and they gave a plentiful amount of slack. If she was being more accurate, actually, they were pretty lazy, but they also did their best to make her feel good about what she was doing the same way Flo had done.

So, she picked up the phone, dialing the number to the station.

It rang once, twice . . three times.

No answer.

Fourth ring . . fifth ring . . .

"C'mon you lazy butts. Answer . ." she mumbled.

Sixth ring.

"Hawkins Police Department."

"Callahan, hey. It's Rowen."

"'ey, Rowe'." His voice was muffled by food. "Why 're you allin' the mai' phone?Aren' you suppose' 'o be wor'ing 'oday?"

Rowen shifted her weight back and forth on her feet. "Yeah, about that . . You know how I always leave at three to pick up my siblings, then come back?"

He swallowed. "Yeah? . ."

"I don't have my own car, so my brother and I share his . ." she continued, beginning to rub her eyes. ". . but he decided to be an ass this morning and leave without me. So, I have no way of getting to the station."

"Sheesh. I'm sorry about that. I would offer to come and get you but Powell and I have to head out first thing."

"You're fine. Don't worry about it."

"I'll call Flo and tell the Chief you can't come in today."

"Okay. Thanks."

"See ya."

The line went dead. Rowen plopped their phone back onto its stand with a huff. Looks like she was stuck at the house.

. . .

〝 𝑖𝑖.

HONK!

Rowen looked up to the threshold which led into their living room.

HONK!

It came again. She closed her journal, walked away from the kitchen counter, through the house until she came to the front door. She jerked it open.

Her eyes narrowed. "Hopper?"

There, right on the curb, sat the Chief's tan and white SUV. The obnoxious engine humming was loud enough for her to hear where she stood. Hopper sat inside with the window rolled down, leaning his arm against the edge.

He smiled. "Hey, California."

Her brows drew together. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm here to pick you up," he stated. "Callahan caught me on the radio 'bout ten minutes ago."

She gave him a quizzical look, taking a step back inside to find the clock.

9:23.

She rolled her eyes, realizing she'd been mindlessly staring down at her notebook for over an hour.

"You comin'?" he called out, making her look back towards the car.

"Oh — yeah. One second."

Rowen retreated back into the house, grabbing her bag, snatching the journal she sat on the kitchen counter. Once her jacket was on, she grabbed her key and locked the front door, making her way down the path.

Hopper reached across the seat to get the passenger door, pushing it open before she could grab at the handle.

"You didn't have to do this, you know," she told him.

He gave her an overly shocked expression as she pulled the door shut. "And leave my best employee to sit at home? No way."

Eyeing his terrible attempt to look convincing, she said, "I've been working at the station for two days."

He chuckled. "That should give you your answer, then."

"So you're saying I'm better than Flo?"

His mouth opened, then closed. Then, "Alright, my second best employee," he admitted, pulling away from the curb.

They cruised down the street in somewhat comfortable silence for a few minutes. Once they reached the end of the neighborhood, Hopper stretched an arm towards the radio, turned it on. A low hum of music broke the silence.

He had only looked Rowen's way for a moment . . though, when he did, he immediately wished he hadn't. The bruise on her wrist was quite clear to him now, peeking out from under her jacket sleeve in a shade of green shifting to purple. It was sheer, small . . but it was still there, and it reminded him of what had swirled through his head Sunday night. That possibility made him offer her a job in the first place. He dared to catch a glimpse of it again before he pressed his foot against the break, draping his hand over the steering wheel as they came to a halt at a red light.

"Does it hurt?" he tried.

She said nothing.

He looked at her fully this time. Had it been anyone else asking her, she might have appeared as if she wasn't caught off guard; but she was. It was as plain to him as the subtle tugging at her sleeve.

Hopper had thought she chose to stay silent until she sighed through her nose. "Not much," she muttered, breathing out a weak laugh. "I should've watched where I put my hand, though. My stepsister slammed the car door on me when I went to grab my bag. I wasn't even paying attention."

The first word that came to his mind was bullshit . . but he kept his gaze on the road. "Really?"

No response came.

The light turned green, and they drove in another short silence.

"Listen," Hopper began after passing through the intersection, shifting in his seat. "I don't wanna pry into your personal life. That's the last thing I wanna do . ." he told her, spinning the steering wheel left, ". . but I know slamming a car door on your wrist would get you more than just a bruise."

Rowen fiddled with her sleeve again.

"I know you don't know me that well. Hell, we've only known each other for — what, a week? . ." he paused, pressing his lips together, ". . but if anything like that happens again, I want you to know you can call me, alright?"

As good as she knew his intentions were, Rowen did not want to deal with this. She really didn't. Not with him. Not with a cop. Not when things looked as if they were beginning to improve, as if she could finally see a little sunlight on the horizon. All it would do is churn her insides and make her anxiety come back in full because "calling him", talking about it, was the one thing that could invite that shaky, out-of-breath feeling back in when she had just managed to carve it out. She didn't want another person to know just what it was that gave her that bruise and left her exhausted, crying in a parking lot, lips shut tight . . . because really, what could he do about it?

What could he do but make things worse, and invite more problems and, sure, she would be away from her dad and Billy and Max would finally have some peace, but —

She sighed, put on a face. "I appreciate it, but . . I'm fine. Really."

He definitely picked up on that. After all that had been said, all that he had seen . . At best, she was just hoping he would nod his head and play along with it; but he didn't . . Not at all. She could only see his profile when she dared a glance at him, but it didn't hide the way his jaw tensed, the way his expression held that same disappointment she saw every time an adult tried to help but had that help thrown back in their face.

"You know, a lot of kids 've told me that same thing, that it's fine, everything's fine . . . you wanna know what they said after?"

She didn't want to give him an eye roll. She didn't want to answer his question either.

He went on, anyway: "That what they really needed was help."

Somehow that last word hit her like a punch in the gut; it often did, actually. She was never quite sure how to feel anything towards the word but gut-wrenchingly vulnerable.

"I'm not saying you will," Hopper continued, taking her silence as an answer in of itself. "I'm not saying you have to . . I'm just saying you can. That's what I'm here for."

She had enough in her to smirk, a memory coming to rather quickly. "That's not all you're here for."

"What?"

She chanced another glance at him. "You're also here for saving my brother's ass when he gets himself buried six feet under speeding tickets."

Realization dawned on Hopper. He gave an "mhm". "He's not piling up anything else I should know about, is he?"

Rowen's brow raised. "Actually, no. I wouldn't say you scared him for life, but you did enough to keep him from being a complete idiot."

The chief huffed. "Good to know. That kid's got some scowl on his face, and I don't want to know what put it there."

Even though Hopper's expression never wavered, there was something in the way he uttered those last words that stood out to her like a sore thumb; that slight tone of bitterness mixed with a concern she was no less a stranger to than he probably was with teens that tried to get away with too much. She could hear it in his voice; he didn't know Billy, but he knew that composure, that attitude as if he had seen something similar before.

Rowen made a point to ignore it. "Me, probably," she said, wanting to steer him in another direction with her excuse before he got even more suspicious. It was already bad enough that he had seen her wrist, that he had to interact with Billy at all. "If I hadn't made him go, I don't think he ever would've gone . . He might've run all the way back to California if he knew no one was paying attention."

She heard him hum; it was that same hum that her dad gave, she realized with a sharp turn of her insides, when he was contemplating something. When his grip on his composure was slipping, when that heavy silence hung over them and no one had it in them to move — get away, get away now. When she knew he was going to start cornering them, when she knew he —

"Well, I think he's pretty lucky he's got you . ."

That . . she hadn't expected.

Rowen wasn't sure why she said what she said next.

"I think he's lucky he's not in a jail cell." She shocked herself a little at how easily that had slipped out, how true those words felt. Billy was lucky he hadn't landed himself behind bars with everything he did, almost did, or was kept from doing.

"Hey," Hopper said, and she looked over to see he was already leveling a look at her. "He's not going to be. I'm a chief, not a warden. I just hope he realizes that doing anything more than speeding will get 'im stuck doing something he doesn't want to do."

They looked away from each other simultaneously, one pinning his gaze to the road, taking a left turn, the other leaning her head against the headrest, watching as houses, foliage, and other things passed through the window.

"I hope so too," Rowen muttered after a moment. She was not entirely aware of the fact that she was opening her mouth again, but when she did, it was too late to take back what she added, "He's not the only one who wants to run back home."

The hope that he had not heard her was minuscule. The likeliness that he had not heard her was even less.

"What's keeping you?" The question slipped out of his mouth and Rowen had wanted to laugh at it . . What was keeping her? If only she had the courage to open that can of worms. She wasn't an idiot. Having courage would mean chaining herself to a conversation she did not want to have.

He heard her huff, saw her humorless smile.

"What isn't?" she settled for saying, because it was true. "My brother can't survive a day without me, never mind Max."

"They're gonna have to, eventually." She knew he didn't know who Max was when she said her name. She knew he was probably making up some mental image in his head of a kid that wasn't Billy and was probably way off in the way he imagined her . . But he had said exactly what Rowen was thinking.

"I know," she told him. "That's the thing."

It was painful to say that; to admit to it. She was going to leave one day or another, in one way or another, and Rowen had a feeling that she would more likely than not be leaving alone. Promises made to Billy aside, she had a very strong feeling. The idea that she would get to go home with him was more of a desperate hope that got them through the days that passed in Hawkins than a possibility that would actually happen.

She meant it when she said Billy would try to run home when no one was looking. Max had tried to do it too . . . All three of them did, and all three of them had attempted it alone. It hadn't worked.

But it could work this time, Rowen thought, if she had a car to herself. She was eighteen now, she had every reason and more to get up and go . . . and yet. She couldn't. She just couldn't.

She felt like she was digging herself into a hole and Billy and Max were helping her.

Not only that, but her hatred for Hawkins was beginning to dwindle. She didn't see a point in loathing it anymore when there wasn't anything worth loathing outside her own house.

"I just feel like leaving, sometimes," she admitted. "No warning, no nothing, just . . get up and go."

"Well, I hope you at least give me a heads up before you get up and go. That way I can prepare for Flo's constant pestering again."

He couldn't have made it any easier for her to smile then. If taking his job offer had proved to be anything in the last twenty-four hours, it had proved to be amusing. Flo did, indeed, pester. At least she had something to laugh at.

. . .

〝 𝑖𝑖𝑖.

Max didn't like abandoning her stepsister.

Hell, she didn't like doing anything that left her alone with her stepbrother, even if it was just their usual ride to school. That morning, she wanted to argue about leaving without her, make Billy wait — or at least distract him long enough for Rowen to wake up. But she didn't . . He was already mad enough as it is and, for once, she knew exactly why. She heard every bit of 'why' across the hall the night before until a door slam signaled the end of it.

They got home late, and the fact that Billy wouldn't come out of his room made her anxious. Rowen barely slept — that much was clear when Max woke up before she did. The redhead didn't want to wake her, even if riding alone with Billy wasn't something she wanted to do. So, she set that inconvenience aside, took the note on the fridge with the police station's phone number on it, and stuffed it in her bookbag.

Choosing to go without Rowen wasn't a spontaneous decision. Billy made it very clear that if she wasn't ready when he was that he would leave her to find another way to get to wherever she needed to go. That was before she got a job . . but even after the fact, he never moved to change that 'rule' of his. So, just in case, Rowen wrote down the number to the station. If the time ever came, she told Max to call when they got home.

It wasn't necessary, but if she ever found another way to get to work, then she wanted to know that her stepsister got home. If she didn't, well . . then she would come to pick the thirteen-year-old up. Somehow, some way.

Max wondered if she would show up in a police car, maybe decked out in gear or something that made her look cool. She shook her head at the thought, though. Rowen answered phones, that was it.

And she wouldn't have the chance to pick her up anyhow. Max intended to get out on time. It turned into a challenge over the past few days, a way to prove to Billy she could do something right — or at least keep him from scoffing in her direction for once. Saying she annoyed him was an understatement, even if she had no idea as to why . . Whether it was her constant attitude towards him or getting to the car late after school . . Nevertheless, anything and everything she did? It annoyed him. She was sure that her breathing even made him roll his eyes.

It wasn't a completely one-sided thing, though. Max would agree that the feeling was mutual if she ever got the chance to say so.

It was no mystery that he would yell at her often, throw insults at her, blame her for things whether they were her fault or not . . . but he wouldn't do it when Rowen was there. When Rowen was there he'd leave her alone, because unlike him, the older Hargrove got along with their new sibling.

Rowen was the only thing Max liked about her mom's new marriage . . She didn't like Neil. She definitely didn't like Billy. But Rowen was nice — or at least tried to be. She had her moments when she mirrored Billy more than anyone. They were siblings. She had a temper just like he did . . but she was still nice. If her brother and her dad were even the smallest bit, Max didn't see it. Susan tried to, other people didn't care . . and if Rowen knew something they didn't, she never said. Which was why Max was thankful it was her that Dustin met, not Billy.

Max knew her stepdad was the greater of two evils, though. It wasn't hard to figure that out. Countless nights of sneaking into Rowen's room when Neil would have one of his outbursts or times when he was just blatantly angry and took it out on his equally angry son. She rarely saw it . . but she always heard it, and it made her grateful that she shared a room with her stepsister now. Not only did it make her question why her mom thought divorcing her dad for this guy was the best idea, or make her scared . . but it proved to be more than enough to make her realize just what she walked into. What kind of family she had now. This was her family . . She had to live around it, live with it, tuck it away from other people.

There were parts of it that made her anxious and much smaller parts that made her happy, but right now she was just . . angry. Angry like her stepsiblings. She was angry for them, angry at them, angry at the town they were stuck in, angry at the stepdad that dragged them there. Right now, that was all directed on Billy and the fact that he said she would have to skate home — a statement that debunked her goal to prove him wrong. She knew she could try and beat him to his car after school — and, in all honesty, she really wanted to try . . . but home wasn't where he planned on going.

Max was stuck . . or, at least, stuck until she saw a payphone on the other side of the school grounds.

Her half-eaten peanut butter sandwich was dropped back into the paper bag it came from before her eyes began to scan the yard for one of the guys. She saw Mike first. Her face scrunched up. No . . not him, she thought. Mike didn't like her so asking him for money probably wasn't a good idea. Will was right beside him, but he also wasn't the best choice. He was really quiet . . shy. They barely said two words to each other — mainly because she never tried to . . but still.

Her options were thining, down to Stalker and Dustin. Lucas was nowhere to be seen, oddly . . . Dustin it would be.

"Hey, Dustin!" she called out, catching his attention. "Do you have a quarter? I need to call my stepsister."

His grin flattered as she approached the trio. "Uh . ." he dug through his pockets. "Nope. Guys, you got any quarters?"

They began to search through their own pockets. Mike came up with nothing.

Will was the same after digging through his jacket. Then, "Wait —" he bent down to his backpack, unzipping the front pocket. Soon enough a quarter was handed to her. "Here."

"Thanks." She threw a small smile his way before running to her backpack, pulling out the yellow note with Rowen's handwriting in the middle. Once Max reached the payphone she slid the quarter in and dialed the number she had written down.

"Hawkins Police Department, this is Rowen."

"Hey, it's Max."

"Hey."

Max paused, staring at the payphone in confusion. Rowen's tone sounded sour. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"You don't sound fine —"

"Max, I'm fine . . I'm just tired."

Max shut her mouth. She shifted from one foot to the other, messing with the hem of her jacket. "Sorry about this morning."

"It's no big deal."

"Yeah, but I could've got him to wait longer . . distract him or something."

"Could you?"

She didn't believe her. Max didn't believe her own words either. "No . . He was already starting to yell when I went to get my board," she admitted, shaking her head. "Wait, how'd you even get to the station?"

"Hopper picked me up."

"Hopper?"

"Yeah, he's the chief of police."

Max was suddenly gleaming. "Wait, really? Did he show up in a cool police car or something?"

"Max . ."

"Where the sirens going?"

"Max!"

Rowen's impatient tone snapped her out of it. "What?"

"I have to work. Why'd you call me?"

"Right, sorry," she apologized. "Billy's leaving me here to go out with some girl after school so I was wondering if you could pick me up later."

A muffled sigh came from the other end. " . . I can try to, yeah, but I couldn't take you home. I'd have to pick you up and come right back, so you'd be hanging out with me until I'm done working."

"It's better than being stuck at home."

"Okay. I'll come when I can."

"Okay. See ya."

When the phone was hung back in its place, Max returned to where the guys stood. Lucas was still nowhere to be seen.

. . .