Lennox (7 page)

“Oh. I see it.” I start to reach out, to trace the fine
trail of scars that race along his right side. The skin puckers at
odd angles like he was burned. It stretches down along his lats and
curves toward his abdomen, winding and twisting. “Wow, those
look really painful. What—what happened?”

Lennox exhales slowly. “Broken glass, hot twisted metal,
burning gasoline . . .”

“Oh.” Oh, god. My stomach churns again, but not with the
same guilty butterfly feeling from before. He’s talking about
the crash.

The night he killed Troy.

“Sorry. I just—I needed someone to see them, I guess.”
Lennox shrugs back into his shirt with a pained grimace, like his
shoulder is still stinging. “I don’t know if you
remember, but they kept pushing back the hearing, waiting for me to
heal up . . .”

“Huh. That’s weird.” I tilt my head at him. “I
would’ve thought the glass sliced you up on your left side.
Since you were driving.”

Lennox shrugs. “The passenger’s side bore the brunt of
the hit. Flew over Troy and hit me, I guess.”

He falls silent. I pick my gauze back up and patch up his forehead,
then start cleaning the crusted blood away from his swollen left eye.
“I’m surprised your attorney didn’t try to make
something out of it, though.”

Lennox snorts. “What attorney? I entered a guilty plea. Got
some crappy public defender to go through the motions for me.”

“But I’m sure the detectives—”

“Elena. It’s over and done with.” Lennox clenches
his jaw. “I just—I guess I just wanted you to know that I
carry those scars with me, too. Inside and out. I may no longer be in
prison, but I’ve got to spend the rest of my life making up for
what I did. Making it right to Nash, and you, and everyone else I
hurt.”

“Well, I don’t think Nash is ready to let you.” I
lower my hand; my thumb grazes against Lennox’s lower lip. His
dark eyes flash up toward me, haunted. “He may never be.”

Lennox’s breath passes over my fingers, sending a thrill up my
spine. “No, probably not.”

I want to keep my thumb where it is. Resting against him. I want to
cup his face in my hands and tell him I forgive him. Standing like
this, his soul exposed to me like this, feels far too much like that
night. Like the promises we made.

If I ever find a way to work an honest job, to be an honest man
for you, if you ever need someone to love you, to care for you
forever, then I’ll do it, Elena. I’ll come running.

What about Amber?
I’d asked.
The crew?

That’s the life I have to live right now,
he’d
replied.
But it’s not the life I want.

He clenched my hands in his.
You are.

I step away from him, my hand falling away. “Um . . .”
I squeeze the washcloth in my hand. “I’m, uh . . .
I’m gonna get some ice for your eye.”

He laughs again. “Yeah. Sorry. I must look pretty awful.”

No, Lennox, just insanely gorgeous.
I flash him a smile. “Be
right back.”

My heart is hammering against my ribs as I leave the bathroom and
head to the kitchen to wrap some ice in a towel. What the hell am I
doing? I was wrong. This
is
a betrayal, of the highest order,
and any reasonable girlfriend would know so. Nash hates Lennox,
therefore I should hate Lennox, too. But as terrified as I am of what
Nash might do or say if he knew I was taking care of his brother’s
murderer—his ex-best friend, no less, whose wounds Nash
inflicted—I think I’d only hate myself more if I stood by
and did nothing to help. Lennox is a good man, deep down. He’s
an old soul, full of compassion and conviction. He’s saved me
from myself more times than I can count. He was the one to talk me
down when it first fully hit me just what my uncle does to pay the
bills.

Nash has never aspired to be anything more than what he already is.
Lennox, on the other hand, has always fought to be a better man. To
find a way out of the dead-end life that, so far, has been his only
option. And life just keeps slapping him right back down.

I wrap the ice in the washcloth and head back to the bathroom. I’m
doing the right thing—I’m sure of it. Caring for someone
who’s been shown too little kindness. Nothing more, and nothing
less. Nash is tomorrow’s problem.

“Hey, El.” Lennox’s smile fills the cramped
bathroom when I return, twisting at my heart. “By the way . . .
I owe you one. For looking after a wreck like me.”

I press the cloth to his eye, gently, and he hisses through his
teeth, but doesn’t jerk away. “It’s the least I can
do. Seriously.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone would do that much.” He closes
his other eye and relaxes against the ice pack. “And maybe
they’re right. Maybe I’m not worth it anymore. Maybe some
sins can never be absolved.”

“No. You’re wrong.” I take a deep breath.
“Listen . . . what you did was terrible. But I
think you’ve paid the price for it. I’m not going to keep
punishing you for it, again and again.”

Lennox’s hand closes around mine; his thumb grazes the ridge of
my knuckles. Heat blooms deep in my gut at his touch—the kind
of touch I dreamed about, all those years. The kind of touch I
thought his promise guaranteed. Before everything. Before he broke us
all.

“Thank you, El. Truly. That means the world to me.” He
releases my hand. “But . . . it doesn’t
change anything. What’s done is done.” He sighs. “Drazic
wants me to keep my distance. So that’s what I have to do.”

“You don’t have to stay away,” I whisper.

“I
do
,” he repeats. “For my sake.”
Then he looks at me with storm clouds in his eyes. “And for
yours.”

Elena

I wake up to the sounds of arguing. Great. I guess the crew is
finally home. I roll out of bed, throw on some workout clothes, and
twist my hair into a quick bun on top of my head. When the cab
dropped me off last night, Drazic’s house was empty. Our
two-story white clapboard house, wedged into the shadow of the
mountain, usually has no less than three people drifting through it
at all times. But the boys must have run off somewhere with Nash to
try to calm him down, or to run a job, or god knows what else.

Well, if their goal was to calm Nash down, it didn’t work.

I pad downstairs, careful not to make the floorboards groan, not that
they would hear me over their shouting anyway. It’s Drazic,
Nash, and Jagger, stomping around the living room, exhaustion heavy
in their tones. I doubt they’ve slept at all. I slip into the
kitchen and flick the coffee maker on, then dig into the fridge for
some eggs.

“We are
not
messing with the McManuses,” Drazic
says in the living room. “I just got done trying to smooth shit
over with Mama McManus, and here you are trying to stir it up again.”

“Like I give a shit,” Nash snaps back.

I cringe. Drazic doesn’t take that tone from anyone, but
especially not from Nash. I’m about at my limit with his
attitude. I can’t even imagine how Uncle D is feeling.

“No. Not just no, but
hell
no. We cannot bring that
ten-ton shitstorm down on our heads. Do you know what they can do to
us? What kind of connections they have?”

“I’m not scared.” Nash huffs. “Not of Mama,
not of Rory, not of any of their friends. I’ll fucking plow
through every last one of them—”

“C’mon, man—” Jagger cries.

“—I will. I don’t care. Eye for an eye, man. I’m
fucking
owed
.”

Jagger flops onto a chair with a rattle of his wallet chain. “Grow
the fuck up, man. I love you, but I’m not sticking my neck out.
Not where the McManuses are concerned. They got the cops deep in
their pockets, man. Their boys inside the prisons . . .
They’re
everywhere.
”

“We don’t exactly want them looking into our own dark
corners,” Drazic says.

“A bunch of fucking pussies.” And with that, Nash slams
his fist against the wall.

I jump, spatula clattering out of my hands. Shit. I really don’t
want to get dragged into a crew argument. For me, crew arguments must
be how it feels for other people to watch their parents fighting. My
chest gets tight and my heart aches, desperately wanting everyone to
be right and wrong at the same time.

But like a little kid, I’m helpless to change anything. I’m
part of the crew and not all at the same time. I only get mixed up in
the crew’s business when they let me. Kind of like my
relationship with Nash. Apparently he’s only shown me his fun,
carefree side. This darkness is something new, and again, I feel
helpless to change it.

Whatever their concern is with the McManuses, it sounds like it’s
better for everyone that I not know about it.

“Fine,” Nash says, after what must have been a series of
harsh stares between him and Uncle D. Drazic always wins staring
contests. “Then I’ll do it on my own.”

“Nash—” Jagger shouts.

“Don’t you ‘Nash’ me. You don’t fucking
get it, all right?” Nash huffs. “I need this.”

Drazic sighs. “So you’d abandon the crew? Elena? Just to
get a cold dish of revenge?”

I grit my teeth. I’m not sure I want to hear his response.

“It doesn’t matter.” Nash’s footsteps move
toward the kitchen. “Nothing matters without Troy.”

He crashes into the kitchen, icy eyes landing right on me. I take a
step back. The eggs hiss against the frying pan, filling the stretch
of silence between us. I want to be angry at him—how dare he
treat me as something so inconsequential? Cast me off so easily over
the memory of his brother? But just like always, I’m the one
who relents. I drop my gaze and wait for him to take control, just
like I always do. I really am a little kid when it comes to the crew.
And especially when it comes to Nash.

“The fuck is your problem?” Nash snaps.

“I’m—I’m just trying to fix breakfast—”

He throws his hands in the air. “There you fucking go again.
Trying to pretend like everything’s normal. Like you can just
cook some fucking breakfast and make everything okay.”

I clench the spatula harder. No. If I get angry, too, it won’t
make anything better. But he’s pushing me closer and closer.

“How the fuck can you stand it, Elena? How can you pretend
nothing is wrong?”

Something in me snaps. This whole week I’ve put up with his
moods, his outrage, his snide comments and all his efforts to rewrite
history. To make Lennox out like this longstanding villain who was
always plotting to destroy us. And I’m done with it.

“One of us has to.” My whole body shakes as I say it.
“’Cause right now, it’s not Lennox tearing the crew
apart. It’s
you
.”

Nash freezes. Goosebumps rise on my arms. Shit. I shouldn’t
have said that. Shouldn’t have even dared to speak Lennox’s
name. “What did you just say to me?”

I turn my back to him and flop the eggs onto a plate, quickly as I
can. “Someone has to hold this crew together.”

“Just—just stop.” He groans. “I don’t
need your fucking Betty Homemaker bullshit, trying to mother us,
trying to be this clingy little leech. All you want to do is keep me
from feeling what I feel.”

“I’m trying to talk some sense into you,” I say.
“Trying to keep you from doing something you’ll regret.”

“Regret? You wanna talk to me about regret?”

I shut off the stove and face him again, crossing my arms. God, he
looks a wreck. Deep, dark grooves under his eyes, veins throbbing
along his temple, his dark blonde hair stiff and unwashed. All week,
I’ve tried to soothe that sorrow away. Tried to pull him out of
that shadow. But now, I feel nothing. No instinct to save him. I’m
tired. So tired of trying.

“Regret,” Nash says slowly, “is that I didn’t
fucking kill that son of a bitch three years ago.”

“God dammit, Nash. You have to stop living in the past,”
I say. “None of this is going to bring Troy back. What’s
done is done. Don’t let it wreck the present, too.”

Nash tosses his head back and laughs. A dry, hysterical laugh, wrung
with exhaustion. I wince, half-expecting him to hurt me, or hurt
someone else. But instead he slumps against the kitchen wall. “You
just don’t fucking get it, do you?” He snatches his
jacket off of the kitchen table chair. “Of all the people,
Elena.
You
should fucking have my back.”

“And why is that?” Does he think I’m blind to
what’s happening? That I’m too stupid to see what he’s
doing to our crew?

“You should support me. It’s your fucking
job
.”

I raise one eyebrow. “Well, it’s not. Not when it’s
threatening my family.”

He meets my gaze. But I am my uncle’s niece. And I am done
caring. I’m not backing down anymore. I’ve spent all week
walking on eggshells, trying to play nice, trying to soothe him,
trying to hold him back. I can’t muster the energy for it
again.

“Then maybe we should take a break,” Nash says.

For a moment, my icy anger shatters. I feel my chest caving in and
tears needling at the corners of my eyes. How do I live without Nash?
He’s been my whole world for two years now. Ever since I became
an adult, he’s been there for me—my first—well,
almost
everything
, and always there when I wanted a good time
or to hang with the crew.

But this is the first real adversity we’ve faced together.
Everything else we’ve sidestepped or ignored—whatever he
gets up to with Uncle D and the rest when I’m not around. I
never ask about the other girls he flirts with at races, because I
don’t want to be That Girl. I never pry into his inner
thoughts, because that’s not what fun, hot girls do. I build
his cars and I cheer at his rallies and I’m always down to get
dirty whenever he wants it.

I tried to be strong for him when he needed it most. And this is how
he reacts? Screw him. I don’t need to carry us both.