Chapter 41

forty-one

LOLA

Chad pulled into his neighborhood and came to a four-way stop. I peered out the window at the house beside us. A woman in a black dress walked to a car, followed by none other than dickhead Ethan Taylor. I wanted to flip him off, but then I took in his black suit, stooped shoulders, and finally, the tears I could see on his face, even from here.

I didn't give a shit about that asshole, but… "What happened to Ethan?"

"His dad died."

His dad… White noise filled my head, and my stomach bottomed out. "That's sad," I breathed.

Chad snorted and pulled away from the stop sign. "No, that's karma. The guy was a sex offender. No one wanted him living right next door." A chilling numbness swept over me as I tried to process what he was saying.

I didn't even know Johan had gotten out. I was supposed to. They were supposed to notify me— "I feel kind of bad for Ethan, but not his piece-of-shit father," Chad said, but whatever followed, I didn't hear.

"Lola?" Chad turned the truck into his drive. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." My voice came out choked and hoarse. "I uh. I don't feel well. Can you take me home?"

His brows furrowed. "You need me to take you to a doctor?"

"No. I just need to go home."

A suspicious look crossed his face, probably because I never turned down the chance to see Gracie, and I hated disappointing her, but he nodded and restarted the engine anyway.

We rode in silence back to Dayton. I couldn't help but wonder if he could sense the brewing breakdown teetering at the edge of my mind. If he did, he never said anything.

"Just text me later and let me know if you're feeling better?"

"Yeah." I shut his door and went into the house, thankful Hendrix was still at Bellamy's.

As much as I wanted him to pull me into his arms and make everything better, I couldn't pretend right then. Although, I guessed that now, I didn't have to.

I no longer had anything to hide. My secrets had died with Johan Taylor.

Silent tears fell down my cheeks as I sat on the edge of our bed. What they were for, I didn't know… I was just shocked.

The man who had raped me was dead. So why didn't I feel relieved?

The scars he'd left me with burned at the mere memory of his name on Chad's lips.

I lay back on Hendrix's Spiderman sheets and clutched Sid to my chest until my tears had dried and the sunlight streaming through the window had all but disappeared. Until I lost all ability to feel anything besides a blissful numbness.

The front door clicked. Voices drifted up the stairs minutes before the bedroom door pushed open. "I thought you were going to see Gracie?"

"I didn't feel well." It wasn't a complete lie. I felt terrible. Sick. Numb. I could have just told Hendrix about Johan, I supposed, but we were good, happy—and I'd lied to him for two years.

A lie that had torn apart both our lives.

What if, after all this time and everything we'd been through, that was what made him turn his back on me? The thought broke me.

Hendrix took a seat on the edge of the mattress, stroking my hair from my face. I didn't trust myself to look at him without fracturing wide open.

"You know I don't like when you lie to me."

And I hated lying to him after all the untruths, but I wasn't ready to talk about it, to risk losing him.

"I feel sick."

He lay down beside me, the scent of pine and citrus soothing my fraught nerves. I clung to that emotional ledge by my fingernails, and it took everything in me not to fall apart the moment he pulled me into his arms.

"I'm sorry, Lola Cola." His lips pressed to my forehead, and I closed my eyes, absorbing his heat that felt like pure sunshine on my face.

"How's Bellamy?" I asked, just to stop him from asking any more questions, to stop myself from spewing more lies.

"Just as much of a dickhead as usual. Drew wants to do some dirty-Santa-bullshit party." He shook his head, his stubble brushing my forehead. "Her and her rich-girl crap."

I'd usually banter with him, and I tried to allow the meaningless conversation to distract me, but everything was lackluster, blanketed by a dark cloud. "I'm sure it'll be fine, babe," I said, the words sounding hollow.

He pulled the comforter over my shoulders, cocooning me against him. I was wrong in thinking I'd have been better off alone right now. This was the only place I wanted to be.

Fingers swept through my hair as I listened to the steady beat of his heart. "I was thinking about starting a legitimate business with this raffle crap," he said. "I texted Star Wars Kyle about doing a website."

That almost made me smile. "Why can't you just call him Kyle?"

"Why is the sky blue and not shit brown? Some things are just what they are, Lola."

I snorted. "You should do a website. You're good at it." I slid my hand across my name tattooed on his ribs and pressed closer. "You're good at everything." Making me smile, loving me…making me forget.

"I want to be really good at taking care of you."

"You already are."

He took care of me emotionally, physically… He held me together at that moment, even though he didn't know it.

"Like get-us-out-of-Dayton take care of you. Maybe take a trip to Atlanta one day. Or Nashville."

It was a nice dream, and I wanted him to hold on to it.

Hendrix had never left Dayton, never been farther than Casperville. I'd been across the state with foster care, and I didn't want to tell him it was all shit, no matter where you went.

Anywhere without him was shit. I'd have lived in a drainage ditch and been happy as long as I was with him, but what harm could dreams do?

"I've always wanted to see Bourbon Street," I said.

"That's a legit dream, isn't it? Imagine us. Highfalutin and shit in New Orleans." He swept a hand over my side. "We'd probably go to jail, though. So, we need to save up some bail money."

"Probably." I smiled. "Like Bonnie and Clyde."

He placed a finger beneath my chin and tipped my face to his. "My ride-or-die."

Then he kissed me, and I realized that for the last few minutes, I'd forgotten everything that wasn't him.

That was what Hendrix did. He made me forget, made me smile. Made my world better.

"I love you, Hendrix," I breathed against his lips. "So much." And I couldn't lose him again.

After Hendrix fell asleep, I lay there for long hours, my mind spiraling round and round and round. As I got over the initial shock of everything, I started to wonder…

I rolled away from Hendrix and took my phone from the nightstand, first searching for Johan's release date. Sixteenth of December.

Less than a week ago. And that felt too perfect, too coincidental.

I turned on the pillow to glance at Hendrix, the faint glow from my phone screen playing over his beautiful face. Could he have somehow found out?

No, even I didn't know, and I was supposed to. The man was a sex offender. Any number of people could have wanted him dead.

Next, I searched his name on the local news website.

Johan Taylor, recently released sex offender, was found dead at his family home in Barrington on December 17 th . He died from carbon monoxide poisoning from a gas leak… I skimmed the rest of the text. He was the only casualty as his family was on vacation in Aspen, Colorado.

I blew out a breath, tension ebbing from my shoulders.

A gas leak. Looked like karma really came for that bastard. Twenty-four hours after he was released from jail.

Johan was dead, and he could take all my secrets to the grave with him.