Chapter 23

twenty-three

LOLA

Whispers bounced off the walls of Dayton High for the rest of the morning. By the time I'd grabbed my lunch and dropped to the crowded table, I'd pieced together a vague image of what had transpired earlier that day.

Barrington being assholes was nothing new. What threw me off was the rumor that Hendrix hadn't punched Ethan because he'd sure as hell beaten the crap out of someone. My gaze drifted across the lunchroom to Hendrix.

I had my own problems to worry about, though. Namely, how the hell I was going to pay my rent after next week. I had a total of one hundred and twenty bucks saved up and a slew of rejection emails from most of the jobs I'd applied for over the weekend. And during these "desperate End Times," sometimes we had to resort to desperate measures. At least Church Boy was right about one thing…

I spooned the school's instant mashed potatoes into my mouth, swallowed, then turned my attention to Kyle. "Can you take me somewhere tonight?"

Kyle paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Sure. Where?"

"Church."

He made a weird choking sound, and Robert whacked him on the back. "Church?"

"They're gonna have pizza." And donations. I speared an overboiled green bean and waved it in his direction. "Maybe even your favorite. Disgusting ham and pineapple." It really was the worst combination ever.

"But you want to go to church ?" he said.

"Why do I feel like you're judging me, Kyle?"

His cheeks turned red. "I'm not."

I snorted, and it was only when a beat of silence passed between us that I noticed Robert and his friends had stopped arguing over which Marvel hero had the best powers. In fact, the entire cafeteria was quieter than normal.

A palpable tension hung in the air as though everyone was afraid to speak or breathe too loudly. And fear in this place usually stemmed from one person…

My gaze drifted back to Hendrix's table and the vacuum of space around it, vacant of the usual girls trying to cozy up to Dayton's bad boys.

Hendrix sat in front of his untouched food, shirt still bloodied and ripped, jaw ticcing, bandaged knuckles rapping over the tabletop. He looked like an agitated cat, tail swishing back and forth in warning. Even Wolf darted nervous glances at him.

Suddenly, Hendrix shoved up from his table.

Every muscle coiled as he grabbed some poor kid's lunch tray, crossed the aisle, and swung it at the back of one of the jock's heads so hard the plastic broke.

The football player collapsed onto the dirty cafeteria floor. "How's that for sucking Taylor's dick like a champ? Keep her name out of your fucking mouth."

A collective "oh" echoed around the lunchroom. I felt my cheeks heat when gazes shifted to me. Whatever had happened earlier in the day seemed to be having a trickle effect.

Coach Todd rushed over, snatching Hendrix by his collar and herding him out of the cafeteria.

I couldn't help but feel guilty that Ethan was using me to get to Hendrix. Or was he using Hendrix to get to me? After all, I was the one who had gotten his dad sent to jail.

I looked for Hendrix at his locker after every change of class, and when I didn't see him, I could only assume he'd been suspended. Kyle drove out of the school parking lot while I shot off a text to Hendrix asking if he was okay.

He wasn't mine to worry about, but I couldn't help myself. Hendrix was irrational at the best of times, and given whatever altercation he'd had with Ethan that morning, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd gone to Barrington.

The last thing he needed to do was mess around with Ethan again.

With each ignored text message, I grew more and more anxious, and as I took a seat in the back pew of Parkway Church, I couldn't deny it felt kind of wrong being there without him.

I guess one could say sin and debauchery were our version of a date night.

The pastor gave his spiel about everyone's damned soul while I tried not to let his monotone voice send me to sleep.

Then came the moment I'd been waiting on. The ominous notes of the organ filled the small sanctuary, and one of the deacons passed the offering tray to the lady in the front pew. It circulated through the crowd before it reached me. A fifty sat on top of the mountain of money.

Who knew people in Dayton were so generous?

For the sake of any prying eyes, I took a dollar from my pocket, placed it on the tray, then tucked the fifty into my sleeve. Hendrix and I had resorted to this many times as kids. I was ashamedly proud to say I'd become pretty good at it.

The man beside me took the tray, and I pushed to my feet. The notes of the organ followed me out into the entrance hall, where I swiped a free box of pizza before heading outside to Kyle's waiting car.

I tossed the pizza to the back seat and shut the door.

Kyle sped away from the church, frowning as I stuffed the cash into my pocket. "Did you steal that?"

"You shouldn't ask questions you don't want answers to, Kyle."

"You're going to hell, Lola."

How was Kyle this sheltered? I'd been best friends with him since we were kids.

"Dayton is hell," I said. "And churches give to the poor and desperate. I'm poor and desperate." It wasn't a lie, although stealing charity did seem like a pretty low low.

"I don't think that's what they mean," he said, the engine of his little Honda coughing when it turned onto Hendrix's street.

The car tried to stall a few more times before a terrible noise came from the hood. Then the engine cut out.

"The wheel locked up!" Kyle panicked before the front wheel bumped over the curb and the car came to a stop. "Fuck. It's dead!"

Kyle never swore. "Now, who's going to hell? Profanity."

He took a puff of his inhaler, then another as he tried to crank the car. A disappointing click, click, click came from the hood.

"It's fine." I unbuckled my seatbelt. "We can push it."

We both got out.

Kyle stared at me over the faded roof. "To where?"

I pointed to the rundown two-story at the end of the street. "Hendrix's house is right there."

"No." He adamantly shook his head. "No, no, no. He'll set fire to my car."

Had Hendrix been known to set fire to the odd car? Yes. Then again… so had I.

"He won't set your car on fire, Kyle. He can fix it."

Whether or not he would fix it was a different story. But everyone knew that outside of paying a mechanic, Hendrix and the guys were the best bet for fixing a car in Dayton.

Without much choice, Kyle helped me push the Honda.It rolled to a stop in front of the rusted-out basketball goal in the drive, and a sense of dread filled me. This was going to be a disaster.

Hendrix still hadn't responded to any of my texts, so he clearly didn't want to talk to me. He was probably still in a shit-ass mood, but I needed him to help Kyle. Who he hated for whatever reason.

On a sigh, I trekked up the steps and used my key to unlock the door.

The sound of the PlayStation came from the living room. Pulling in a breath, I moved across the entryway and leaned against the frame. My gaze went straight to Hendrix on the couch. I couldn't help but study his bare, tattooed chest, my name scrawled over his ribs. Every time I saw it, my heart clenched.

He stared at the screen, ignoring my existence, while his bandaged fingers made aggressive moves over the controller. Evidently, his mood hadn't improved. Asking him to fix Kyle's car was going to go down like a shot of puke.

"What?" he finally said, still not looking away from his game.

"You didn't answer my messages. Are you okay?"

"Just fucking great." A loud gunshot rang out from the TV when he blew the head off one of the avatars.

"Did you get suspended?"

Another barrage of gunfire broke out. "No. Any more fucking questions?"

Great. Good chat. So much for softening him. I plucked the fifty I'd swiped off the offering tray earlier from my bra. I couldn't afford to lose it, but it was Kyle… He'd helped me plenty. "Want to earn some money?"

Hendrix's gaze homed in on the cash in my hand. "What do you need?"

"A car fixed." I didn't specify whose car. I was hoping this could be an agree-before-you-know-the-terms kind of thing. "It's in the drive."

He tossed down the controller and then shoved up from the couch, muscles rolling and flexing as he closed the distance between us. His fingers brushed mine when he took the cash from my hand. "Can't promise this'll cover it…" It was going to have to.

He headed to the front door, swearing under his breath before he stepped through it.

I followed him off the porch and toward the drive.

Kyle's eyes widened as Hendrix approached. He did a little shuffle like he was about to bolt. "Oh, no. That's okay, Hendrix. You don't have to. I'll just…push it." He frantically yanked open the driver's door and tried to move the old Honda on his own. It didn't budge.

Hendrix stopped by the car, towering over Kyle's scrawny frame. "Get your ass out of the way."

Kyle stumbled before falling to the grass and dropping his inhaler. I helped him up and led him to the steps, biting my tongue before I cussed out Hendrix for being an asshole.

Kyle said something about Robert, but I wasn't paying attention. Every bit of my focus was on Hendrix.

The setting sun danced over Hendrix's muscles as he popped the hood and leaned over the engine bay.

There was something so sexy about his fixing things with his hands. The grease blackening his forearms, the streaks smearing his chest and abs… This was not good for my already-threadbare willpower when it came to him.

I forced myself to look away.

Thirty minutes later, the little engine whirred to life.

"See," I said to Kyle. "It's fixed."

Hendrix left the car running when he got out and slammed the door. His stern gaze met Kyle on his way to the porch. "Time for you to take your Stormtrooper ass back to the Death Star."

I knew he knew that was the equivalent of a "fucked your mom" joke to Kyle.

Kyle huffed and pushed to his feet. "I would never be a Stormtrooper!" And, of course, of all the times for him to grow a set… This was the hill he wanted to die on. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Thank you for fixing my car." Then he looked at me with sad eyes. "Goodbye, Lola."

He stomped off to his car and got in before reversing in what I thought was supposed to be a dramatic fashion but really wasn't.

"Great," I said, staring up at Hendrix. "Now you've upset him."

"Like I give a shit." Hendrix reached for the front door. "I hate his ass."

Kyle was about as harmless as plankton. Hendrix never necessarily liked him before, but he never hated him the way he did now. Surely, he didn't really think I'd slept with my best friend?

"I'm well aware of how much you hate him for no damn reason."

Hendrix whirled around on the welcome mat, his jaw ticcing, nostrils flared. "No damn reason?" He bit his lip as though he was trying to cage the words that wanted to break free. It didn't last long. "He helped fuck up my entire life. He can eat shit and choke on it."

"What could he possibly have done to you ?"

"I saw you leave the clinic with him!"

There was a beat of silence, a moment of horror that rang through my brain. I'd been too numb to notice much that awful day, but surely, I would have noticed Hendrix?

"You told him. You told Jessica. You didn't tell me. And if you want to know why I really fucking hate him, it's because he took you to abort a child that could have been mine."

Not his. I'd told him as much.

His disgusted gaze flicked over me, and I shrunk beneath the weight of his anger. "You were right, Lola. We shouldn't have unbottled shit. Because there's a helluva lot to unbottle now that I think about it."

I tried to remain calm, to hide the bubbling panic rising within me. I hated lying to him. Before that day two years ago, I'd never lied to Hendrix. There was nothing I wouldn't tell him. I had been both terrified of his finding out the truth and desperate for him to see through the lie.

"I told you; it wasn't yours," I managed through my tightening throat.

"And how the hell did you know that, Lola?" He crowded my space, the smell of grease and his faded cologne washing over me. "We didn't always have condoms. Too poor. Too stupid. Too in-fucking-love."

Hendrix and I had been stupid and poor, and God were we in love, but when we couldn't manage to afford or steal protection, he'd always pulled out.

Johan hadn't pulled out.

Johan hadn't cared.

Not when I fought and cried and begged him to stop. He certainly didn't care about coming in me and leaving a traumatized sixteen-year-old knocked up with her rapist's baby. I guess he thought the money he had tossed beside my crying body absolved him of all morality.

Was there a chance that it was Hendrix's? According to the dates the clinic gave me, no.

When I went to the clinic to confirm I was pregnant and the nurse gave me the conception date, I felt everything inside of me die. The seventeenth of June. The date Johan had turned up to screw my high, passed-out mother and raped me instead. The date right in the middle of the only two weeks Hendrix and I had been apart since we were six. He'd been sick the week before, and it had taken me a week to put myself back together afterward.

Tears threatened, and I closed my eyes, unable to look at him. "The dates lined up, Hendrix."

"That memorable, then? So fucking memorable, you know the damn date?"

"It's just a date," I whispered. One engraved on my heart in an ugly scar.

Every line on his face hardened, the betrayal in his eyes saying no one could possibly ever hurt him more than I had.

His damaged fist met the rotting siding of his house, leaving behind a bloodied knuckle print. "Fuck, I hate myself for being so stupid in love with you." He turned back to me. "And I fucking hate you."

The blow struck home, seizing my heart in a death grip.

"I know." I ducked my chin to hide my welling tears.

Footfalls thudded over the porch before the front door opened, then slammed shut, and the second it did, the tears fell.

This was our tragic fate. Pining and loving and hating and punishing.

Round and round it went.