Chapter 24

twenty-four

HENDRIX

The dates didn't match up. God, I was an idiot for thinking we could be together again.

I slammed the bathroom door behind me, fighting back the emotions I had buried. When Jessica had told me Lola was pregnant, I was scared shitless. We had already struggled to make sure Gracie was taken care of, but I wanted it. With Lola. More than anything.

I took my guitar, the only present my mother had ever given me, the only thing I'd ever been good at, and traded it at the pawnshop for a small ring. Asking her to marry me was the one thing I was going to do right. I stole fairy lights and candles from Wal-E-Mart and had this grand, stupid idea that I would ask her to marry me in our treehouse…Then Jessica texted and said Lola had asked her to take her to the clinic. That she wouldn't, but someone else had.

I called and texted Lola a thousand times, begging her to talk to me about it before she did it. Promising we could make it work, although, in the pit of my stomach, I knew we couldn't afford a baby. By the time I sprinted the mile to the makeshift clinic, she was already coming out. Kyle's arm wrapped around her while she cried. And that was the beginning of the end of my damn life.

My busted knuckles ached when I gripped the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror. God, this was pain. This was terrible, awful pain, like vultures clawing at my insides, ripping my heart to shreds.

I hated myself right then. Because I couldn't just let her go, and damn did I need to. But how the hell was I supposed to? What we'd had wasn't some lust-love bullshit. Our love had grown out of desperation, out of necessity and survival. Nothing about our story was pretty. Not a damn thing. We'd grown up in homes where the only thing that drove our parents was the next high. We were just kids with no one to look after us aside from each other, and as the years went on, Lola became my everything. My goddamn everything. She'd seeped into my marrow, and how was I supposed to get over her when I felt her bone-deep?

But how long could I keep loving something that hurt?

My grip on the vanity tightened, the torn flesh of my knuckles splitting back open. I'd let her go too long without giving me answers. I was done with it. I wanted to be done with her.

I jogged back downstairs and outside.

Lola sat in the same spot on the porch steps, her head buried in her hands.

The door banged shut behind me. "Who the fuck was he, huh?"

I'd tried like hell to find out after she had left. Threatened Kyle. Fucked Jessica, thinking she'd tell me.

"Who meant so damn much to you that you remember the date?"

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears. An ache rose in my chest, and I fought it. I had to stop protecting her, especially from me.

"Who was it, Lola?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You remember the date! Don't tell me it doesn't fucking matter."

"I was pregnant, Hendrix! It was the difference between your kid and…" She dropped her gaze to the porch. "The date mattered."

I felt sick right before rage consumed me. "I can't believe I wasted two years missing your whore ass." I wanted to take those words back the second I said them, the moment I saw the hurt flash through her eyes.

Without looking at me, she pushed to her feet, swiping at her face as she crossed the yard to the drive, then headed in the direction of Kyle's.

After she had disappeared around the corner, I went to the bus stop and took the number five over to Barrington.

Ethan Taylor wanted a fight. I'd fucking give him one.

"Dude…"

I shoved my backpack into my locker and then glanced around the open door at Wolf's shocked face. "Whoa. You must have been pissed if you let someone nail you like that."

My jaw hurt like a bitch. Ethan had a harder punch than I'd given him credit for. And given the emotional shitstorm I'd been trying to sail through, I took it with a damn smile. Right before I knocked his ass out in the middle of Pizza Palace.

"Taking the first blow was worth it just to nail that smug fuckwad in the skull."

And the beauty of it? There were plenty of witnesses who heard him call me "worthless white trash" right before he threw the first punch.

"You went and hunted Taylor down?"

I slammed my locker. "Laid his ass out on the all-you-can-eat pasta buffet at Pizza Palace."

"Classic." He patted me on the back before thumbing toward the restroom. "I'm gonna roll a victory joint for you. Want to smoke it before class?"

The mood I was in, a little weed couldn't hurt. "Is the Chocolate River made of Oompa-Loompa shit?"

Ten minutes later, I was high as hell, shouldering my way through the packed hallways and into Smith's class.

She glanced up from her desk and gave me a judgmental shake of her head. "Done gone and let someone mess up that pretty face."

The class's attention shifted to me. I fought through the weed fog, looking past every single shocked expression to Lola.

Her gaze lifted from her notebook, and I took that little stab of pussy-ass pain, forcing myself to feel it while I held her stare for a beat. Having her right in my face, in my house…it was a form of suicide.

The second I saw worry crawl over her expression, I cut my attention away.

The bell rang, and Smith huffed before shoving out of her rolling chair as I started toward my seat.

"We're going over the female reproductive system. And I don't wanna hear none of y'all giggling about vulvas and vaginas. Don't be calling it va-jay-jays or a bajingo or a penis fly trap. Whatever slang words your dirty minds use these days. Keep them to yourself."

Good for Smith. I was too high to screw with her today.

Halfway through class, she pointed her laser beam at a diagram of a vagina, circling the red dot over the clitoris. "You know what…" She moved to her desk, scribbled out a pass, then marched down the aisle and slapped it on my desk. "Mr. Hunt Number Two. Get your muscley behind on down to the nurse's office."

"What the hell did I do?"

"Nothing." She dug a fist into her hip. "And that's the problem. I've gone over testicles and vaginas, and you mean to tell me your dirty self hasn't wanted to make one comment about cats or roosters? Nah-uh. Something's wrong with you, Mr. Nasty, and I don't want your cooties all up in my classroom."

Swiping the pass to the nurse's office, I pushed out of my seat and grabbed my books.

Something was wrong with me. And it came in the shape of a blonde, five-foot-two Medusa.