Chapter 31

thirty-one

LOLA

Monday afternoon, I got into Kyle's car, grateful as hell to be out of school. That was the day from hell.

Daniel Baites had asked me out. In the cafeteria, with everyone, including Hendrix, watching. And Hendrix…did nothing. Not even so much as a jaw tic. Worse, Daniel said Hendrix didn't care.

He was past jealousy…past caring.

I had finally gotten Hendrix Hunt to give up on me, and wasn't that what I'd wanted? To keep him at arm's length, put distance between us…

He'd done that, though. The moment he had killed Sid. That murder might have been the death of us, but Hendrix giving someone else the okay to date me? That was a funeral pyre, burning our remains. And God, did it hurt.

Because I loved him. And I hated him. And I didn't know how to stop doing either.

Kyle dropped me off, and I trudged inside the house, then hurried to my room. Hendrix was the last person I wanted to run into right now and seeing as I lived with him, that was going to be difficult.

I'd just flopped down onto my bed when a loud crash rattled the house.

"There's shit on my face!" Hendrix shouted, panic lacing his voice.

Oh, God. A pipe in the bathroom must have exploded. Sewage everywhere—including Hendrix's face. I couldn't help but laugh at the thought. Karma was a bitch.

Footsteps pounded up the steps. "You've gotta be kidding me," Zepp's voice came from the hall.

I got off the bed and slowly cracked my door, expecting to see a river of shit flowing freely over the floor. Instead, Hendrix shot into the bathroom, covered in dust and debris like some kind of war survivor.

"How the hell did the ceiling fall in?" Zepp stood in front of the open bedroom door, gaze aimed up.

"Hendrix was probably swinging off the lampshade," I mumbled, taking in the plaster and dust and bits of bird's nest that covered Hendrix's bed.

Oh, he was going to love that last one. He'd had an aversion to bird shit ever since we'd watched a documentary about pigeons carrying sixty different diseases. And if the crap on his face was bird shit…

I glanced at the closed bathroom door and smiled. Karma. "E-coli," I said, loudly enough to carry over the running water of the shower. "Salmonella."

Zepp's dark gaze met mine. "Not the time, Lola."

It was absolutely the time. Ignoring Mr. Grumpy, I went back to my room to do some homework.

I'd nearly finished my calculus assignment when a loud conversation between Hendrix and Zepp floated through the door.

We can't afford to fix that.

Well, we can't just let it rot.

Zepp had just gotten out of prison. Hendrix barely scrounged up enough selling weed and stealing stuff to cover half the bills… And it wasn't like I was raking in loads by hotwiring cars once a week for Sweet Willy.

I scribbled out an equation, trying to ignore how desperate they both sounded. I didn't want to give Hendrix a thing after what he had done to Sid. But I also didn't want the house to become condemned…I could give him an in with Willy. It wasn't like it would take money out of my pocket.

I worked out another problem, then another, trying to block out their raised voices. The house finally fell silent, and after I had finished a few more questions, I went downstairs to grab a glass of water.

Through the kitchen window, I could see Hendrix pacing in the shaded part of the yard, every once in a while glancing up at the roof.

I wanted to leave him to his misery, shirk all responsibility where he was concerned, but guilt niggled at me. Hendrix had always shared everything with me. His house, his food, his love…

Afternoon sun warmed my face when I pushed open the screen door on a sigh and stepped outside. "I know a guy who buys cars."

Hendrix's gaze moved to me, and the frustration on his face shifted. " You know a guy?" A dark, cynical brow lifted.

As if I couldn't possibly know anyone.

I wanted to flip him off and keep my secrets to myself, but I fought the urge and tried to be the bigger person. "I've been paying rent, haven't I?"

"From stealing cars?" He snorted a laugh. "You're shit at hotwiring."

Calm, Lola. "Do you want my help or not?"

He moved past me, the backdoor groaning when he yanked it open. "I have to go to House Depository and get a tarp. Maybe they know a guy, too."

"Fine. Figure it out on your own, dickhead."

The sun hadn't even set that evening before someone knocked on my door. Of course, Hendrix didn't wait for an invitation.

I looked up from my book as he stepped into my room, his gaze drifting from my bare legs to my face.

"So, how does it work with your guy?" he asked.

"Oh, so now you're interested?" Annoyed, I turned my attention back to my book.

"Do you like having a roof over your head? Because if that doesn't get fixed, your room is gonna cave in next."

Didn't mean he had to be such an ungrateful asshole. "You steal a car. He gives you money, obviously."

"Any car?"

"Yeah."

"That sounds shady as fuck."Hendrix was the definition of shady.

I slammed the book and glared up at him. "Because stealing cars in the first place isn't shady as fuck?"

"There are fifty shades of shady as fuck, Lola." He stole some change from my dresser and started for the stairs. "Come on."

"Come, where?"

"To take a car to the guy you might know."

Like he expected to just snap his fingers and I'd follow. I waited for a second, groaning, when I realized how badly we all needed the money. "The guy I do know…" I said, jogging down the steps.

"Whatever. I saw a car when I was over by the Home Depository. It should get us a good chunk of change."

The street lights flickered on, casting an electronic glow over the empty Dollar Lobby parking lot.

"How much do you need for the roof?" I asked, following Hendrix across the cracked asphalt.

"I don't know. Zepp thinks about five grand."

Shit. That was a lot of cars.

I picked up my pace when he disappeared around the brick side of the building. As soon as I stepped around the side, I stopped. Hendrix popped the lock of a white Firebird with a golden eagle stenciled across the hood. Only two kinds of people owned a car like that in Dayton. Pimps or drug dealers.

Before I made it ten steps, he had his ass behind the wheel, fiddling with the wires in the steering column.The engine roared to life, headlights flickering over the parking lot. Jesus Christ, he was fast. I'd still be picking the lock.

My door had barely closed before Hendrix took off in a screech of spinning tires.

"Do you need to call him or something?" he said over the loud rock music blasting through the stereo.

"No." Willy was always there.

Hendrix gripped the stick shift, his tattooed forearm tensing when he shifted gears. "Again," he said. "Shady as fuck." Then he floored it.