Chapter 20

twenty

HENDRIX

Half past four on a weekday, and there were only a handful of cars in the parking lot of The Squealing Hog—every one of them with a Barrington High decal hanging from the rear-view mirror. Wolf rounded the front of his truck, glancing at an electric-blue Mercedes convertible. "Cooter Scooter," he laughed when he read the license plate. "Rich people are weird."

I shoved through the double-doored entrance. The old-timey, country-western music blaring through the speakers gave me an automatic headache. It was almost as obnoxious as the thick scent of smoked meat hanging in the air.

"Damn…" Wolf nudged my shoulder, jutting his chin toward the girl in the plaid shirt at the hostess stand. "I wanna ride on her cooter scooter."

I gave her a once over, not the slightest bit interested. Lola had broken me. I snatched a handful of crayons and one of the coloring pages from the stand. "She has a freckle on her nose that looks like a flake of shit, man."

He furrowed his brows. "You've got issues."

Shit Flake strutted up with two menus, grinning as she showed us to our table. I glanced around the restaurant for Lola but didn't see her blond pigtails anywhere. The girl dropped the menus on the table and walked off, and as soon as she did, a balled-up piece of straw paper hit the side of my face.

"Dude. That girl was giving you fuck-me eyes."

I glanced across the booth at Wolf. "I don't give a crap."

"She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named has really screwed you in the head."

"I'm just trying to be more selective. That's all." Selective as in only Lola.

I took one of the crayons and colored in the smiling pig's face.

The way she had looked at me before she left this morning… left something unsettled in the pit of my stomach. What the hell was she hiding? Was she seeing someone else? Was that why she was so hellbent on friend-zoning me?

Maybe I was an idiot, just asking to get my pussy heart tossed into a blender and pureed into a little bitch smoothie again.

"Oh, shit…" Wolf slid his phone across the table. It skidded to a stop in front of my menu. "Look at that crap."

I dropped the crayon, picked the device up, and skimmed the group chat between a bunch of Dayton football players.

@WolfBrooks, check out the message Olivia sent me.

A screenshot of another chat sat right below that message. I read over the exchange between a few of the Barrington football fucks.

Ethan: If he throws the first punch, it's self-defense.

Harford: I'd pay money to have that asshole behind bars.

Jackson: All of them…

Ethan: Hunt has a temper. All it would take is one comment about his whore.

My jaw set. Heat bled over me, instigated more by his stupid comment about Lola than anything else. God, I hoped he came waltzing in here. I shoved Wolf's phone back across the table.

"He's after your ass. So, whatever happens, if he walks in here, you can't go all black-out rage on him."

And that would be a problem. I picked up the crayon again, aggressively coloring more of the picture.

Wolf lifted a bushy brow. "I'll knock your ass out if I have to."

"You probably will."

"I think—" Wolf's attention strayed behind me just before a plaid shirt came into view.

"Hey, I'm Chad. I'll be your—"

I lifted my gaze to Gracie's smiling, blond, trust-fund foster brother.

He went silent, and my jaw set. He and Lola worked together? Which meant she was around him all the time. Working with him. Riding in his shiny, dickdribble truck with him. We can't do anything. Probably because of this blond turd right here.

The territorial silver-back, King Kong-sized beast inside me, puffed out its chest. "Where's my girl, Chadwick?"

The slight, forced smile on his preppy-boy face faded.When he didn't answer, I lifted a brow.

"Did I stutter, Richie Rich? She said she was working tonight."

He swiped a hand through his stupid blond hair and breathed out a "Shit."

"Maybe the pussy's got his tongue," Wolf said, aiming a menacing glare at him.

Chad dropped his notepad to his side on a sigh. "She doesn't work here anymore."

She didn't tell me she'd quit. She'd let me believe she was coming to work tonight. Blondie Fuckenstein was here. So, where the hell was she? "What?" I said.

"I probably shouldn't—"

I pushed out of the booth, towering over him. "You probably should."

"She got fired last Sunday for dumping iced tea all over a girl."

And that sounded exactly like Lola. "Jesus Christ…" I shoved past Chad, calling for Wolf.

Wolf fell in step beside me, shaking his head as we maneuvered through the people crowding the entrance. "Told you your ass was doomed."

"Shut the hell up, Wolf." I shoved through the door. "She doesn't have a job, which means she can't pay rent. Tony's in jail. I'm fucked!"

Zepp got out of prison in a month, and my saying, "Welcome back to life on the outside, the crappy house that was left to us is in foreclosure," wasn't exactly the welcome home I wanted him to have.

I stopped in front of Wolf's truck and kicked the tire.

"We'll figure something out," he said, unlocking the doors. "We always do."

But I wasn't so sure about that this time

The evening news played in the background as I counted my cash, then recounted. I tossed the crumpled stack of two hundred and seventy-five bucks onto the coffee table. That was my cut from the past two weeks of selling weed. Four hundred bucks in a month wasn't enough to cover bills. Much less bills and food. I dragged a hand over my face, then reached for the pile of statements and shuffled through envelopes.

Netflix could go.

Cell phone couldn't.

Power, water—necessities, both of which only had a sixty-day delinquency.

Mortage…absolutely necessary, but it had a ninety-day grace period.

"Fuck…" I dropped my head against the couch cushion, staring up at the cracked ceiling while I listened to the newscaster on TV list out the day's shootings.

Was this really all life was about? Fighting just to scrape by, just to exist? It was hard to imagine anything else. The only people who didn't have to do this shit were the uppity fucks in Barrington. And one thing I knew, I would never have a rat's fat-ass chance of reaching that level of financial stability.

Hell, I didn't really have a chance of reaching any financial stability.

I chucked the bills onto the coffee table, then shot off a group text to Wolf and Bell.

Me: I'm gonna have to pull some shit on my own to get on top of the bills. Just didn't want to seem like a shady fucker.

Stumpy Ass: I get it.

Stumpy Ass: I don't mind helping, either. You and Zepp have helped my ass plenty.

Hell's Bell: Us poor assholes have to stick together.

And that was the damn truth. They had my six, and I had theirs.

I flipped through the channels for a few minutes before my stomach grumbled.It was past nine, and I hadn't eaten anything since the incinerated fried catfish sandwich at lunch. Stress was a ballache.I shoved off the couch and went to the kitchen, grabbing a pot of water and putting it on the eye to boil.

Bubbles broke the surface just as the front door opened. Work my asshole.

I crossed the kitchen, stopping at the threshold of the living room when Lola came in—wearing that ugly plaid work shirt from The Squealing Hog. Man, she was going to some lengths to keep that damn lie.

The jealous dick in me wanted to ask her where the hell she'd been, but where was the torture in that?

I leaned against the doorframe, cocking a grin I hoped screamed smartass. "How was work?"

She shot a suspicious look at me on her way around the coffee table. "Work-like." Then she arched one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "How was Jessica's tongue in your ear?"

A little firework of victory ignited in my chest. Earlier in the day, I'd let Jessica hang off me for all five minutes just to steal the silver locket from around her neck. The jealous-ass look Lola shot at me across the cafeteria was worth way more than twenty-three bucks the pawnshop had paid me for the piece of jewelry. So much for her "friends" bullshit.

"Very tongue-like," I said. Enough of that crap, though. "How much did you make today?"

"I don't know." She stopped by the recliner and pulled the lever, lifting the footrest.

My eye twitched because I knew that woman wasn't about to snatch my Pop-Tarts from their new hiding spot.

"Like fifty bucks." With a smile, she reached her thieving little hands inside the recliner and plucked a foil pack from the box before lowering the footrest. Like I would leave that box there for her vulture hands to grab again. "Blueberry is my favorite."

That was it. That was the last damn straw for today. Lying about work. Stealing my Pop-Tarts with a pretty smile.I pushed off the doorframe and tackled her to the floor.

"Hendrix, you—" she grunted, then elbowed me in the ribs—"dickhead."

"Oh, I'm the dickhead, huh?"

I tried to ignore the way her tits felt pressed against my stomach, but my dick refused. She wriggled under my hold, and it swelled against my zipper.Even when I was annoyed as hell at her, I still wanted to fuck her.

I snatched the pastry from her hands before I shoved onto my elbows. "I know you're obsessed with Stranger Things . And you know, ‘friends don't fucking lie.'" It was a line from the show she'd recited to Zepp one time when he lied about accidentally breaking the tacky chandelier she'd found in an alley and hung in our living room. He had hit his head on it every day for a month before he took it down and smashed it.

She frowned. "You're acting more weird than normal."

"Because you're acting even more like a liar than normal." I just wanted her to come clean on her own, but she was committed, if nothing else. "I went to The Squealing Hog after school," I said, and her green eyes narrowed. "Barrington Ken told me you got fired. Where were you?"

"I did not get fired. Thank you." She shoved at my chest, but I didn't budge. "I quit."

"Bullshit." I shoved to my feet, taking the pack of Pop-Tarts with me to the sofa. "He told me you dumped tea all over a girl."

"Yeah and quit before I got fired."

"Same thing."

On a frustrated groan, she stood up and folded her arms over her chest before falling onto the recliner. It rocked back far enough the headrest banged the wall. "This is your fault. I've had nothing but crap off Barrington ever since you beat up Ethan."

My fault she got fired? That was rich as dogshit. I chucked the foil package onto the coffee table with a glare. "How does me knocking Prince Rapeydick out have anything to do with you dumping tea on someone?"

Her jaw ticced as she glared at a spot on the wall. "One of his bitchy little girlfriends called you white trash. I snapped, okay?"

Her anger sent a little flare of affection shooting through my chest. She had a temper. I had a temper. But nothing compared to the temper we had when it came to each other. And yet… friends . I stared across the room at her, more confused than ever. Her actions didn't line up with her words.

"So, you snapped because some Barrington girl called your white-trash friend white trash?"

Her narrowed attention moved my face. "Yes."

We stared at each other from opposite sides of the room while the voice of an overly enthusiastic man trying to sell Hondas came from the TV. "You don't want to just be my friend, Lola. And you fucking know it."

"We might need to be just friends, Hendrix, but that doesn't mean she gets to call you white trash. No one does."

That didn't make any sense. There was no reason we needed to just be friends—especially not one she could argue. I was the one who'd been wronged. The one willing to forgive. The hiss of water hitting the eye came from the kitchen.

"Whatever, Lola."

I got up and went to turn down the temperature. My emotions ping-ponged all over the place, bouncing from frustrated and annoyed to stressed out about how the hell we were going to live. I didn't know which way was up when it came to her, and I hated it. This wasn't what I was used to with her. It wasn't something I wanted to get used to.

Floorboards behind me creaked when I moved to the pantry to grab a box of macaroni and a can of Vienna Sausage. "I'm sorry," she said, stepping into the doorway. "I was hoping to get another job before I had to tell you. You know I'll always find a way to pay you…"

Deep down, I knew she would. We'd always figured shit out. Nodding, I went back to the stove and dumped the pasta into the pot. Honestly, I was more annoyed that she'd lied to me. Lola had always been one of the few people I never had to try to decipher.

Until I did.

Until Jessica, not Lola, told me Lola was pregnant.

Until I pawned my guitar to buy her a ring, only for her to turn around and tell me it wasn't mine.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe we weren't ready to uncork this shit.

I turned away from the boiling water to face her. "Why'd you lie?" It was a question I'd wanted to ask for two years. One I'd lost sleep over. But she wouldn't know that was what I was talking about right now.

She rested her ass against the edge of the table, fingering a loose thread on the hem of her shorts. "I was embarrassed."

That got me in the stomach. I knew she was talking about the job, but damn if it couldn't be the same excuse for her lying about her betrayal. And there went that emotional ping-pong…I turned back to the stove, stirring the pasta. Yeah. Not ready to unbottle this shit.

"When I came back to Dayton, I thought I'd work while I finished my last year of school. Maybe pay to go to beauty college and make enough to rent a house." A disbelieving laugh left her lips. "I actually thought I might be able to get Gracie back." She sniffed. "If I can't hold my shit together, then maybe I don't deserve to have her."

There went that tight feeling in my chest. I stared at the bubbling water. Gracie was everything to her, and despite the emotional swamp of shit I was trying to swim through, I couldn't ignore that.

I turned around and pulled her into my chest. "No one deserves her more than you." And that was the truth.

Lola's mom was a piece of work.She was the first person I ever saw OD. We were six. I called 9-1-1 while Lola had tried her best to do CPR, based on some crime movie we'd seen. From the time Gracie was born, Lola and I had pretty much taken care of her because her mom sure as hell couldn't—wouldn't.

Lola had done everything for her little sister.

"You'll get her back," I whispered, rubbing a hand over her back. "I promise."

"What if I don't?"

"You will. You're the best thing that ever happened to her." I rested my chin on the top of her head, and she buried her face in my chest, holding onto me like I was the only thing that would keep her from drowning.

"So are you."

I used to be the best thing that had ever happened to Lola, too. I still wanted to be.