The Lovely Reckless (31 page)

The dog's head jerks in my direction, but I keep yelling. The husky has to think I'm not afraid. It growls, watching me.

It isn't working. What if the dog turns on me?

I'm seconds away from panicking when the husky backs away. In a last-ditch effort, I wave my arms and yell louder. “Get out of here!”

The dog turns and bolts down the hill toward the parking lot.

My knees buckle and I drop down on the grass, trying to catch my breath.

People shout behind me and a couple of guys wearing weightlifting belts tear after the husky and chase it down the street.

Miss Lorraine runs up beside me. “Are you all right?”

I nod and point at the cat. “Yeah. But he isn't.”

Cyclops lies on his side, watching us from his eye. I crawl toward him, hoping he'll sense that I'm trying to help. The second I move, he hisses and lashes out with one of his paws.

“He won't let anyone near him except Marco.” Sofia rushes over with Daniel.

I kneel in the dirt next to the cat. “We have to get him to a vet, or he might not make it.”

Miss Lorraine studies Cyclops. “I'm not sure how to move him without getting our eyes scratched out.”

The cat makes a low sound in his throat and rests his head in the dirt.

“We need a box to carry him in,” I say.

The other kids from my group are outside now. Kumiko cranes her neck to get a better look at Cyclops. “What you need is a cage.”

“Or a milk crate,” Sofia says. “If we slide something under the crate, it will work like a cage.”

“I'll find the stuff we need.” Carlos runs back to the building.

“A milk crate has holes in it.” I look over at Sofia and Daniel. “He'll claw us through them if we try to pick it up.”

“I've got an idea,” Daniel says.

The cat's legs twitch.

“Don't worry,” I whisper to Cyclops. “We're going to take you to the hospital, and they'll patch you up.”

Carlos and Kumiko return carrying a blue milk crate and a huge cookie sheet. Daniel follows, wearing boxing gloves and a thick canvas work jacket that's way too big. He punches the tops of the gloves together like a prizefighter. “Okay, I'm ready.”

Sofia smiles at him.

“How are we getting Cyclops to the vet?” Kumiko asks.

“Will you take him?” I ask Miss Lorraine.

“Wish I could, but I can't leave the rec center until it closes.”

If Miss Lorraine is out, I need someone else to drive. “Sofia, call Cruz and see how long it will take her to get here.”

Sofia pulls her cell out of her back pocket. “I can try calling Mar—” She stares at the ground. “Sorry. It's hard to remember that you're not together anymore.” My heart squeezes. He must have told her.

I touch her shoulder. “He's your brother. You can still say his name around me.”

It takes three of us to hold the milk crate in place and slide the gigantic cookie sheet under Cyclops—plus two extra pairs of boxing gloves. I end up wearing the gloves and the work jacket Daniel borrowed, because our makeshift cage requires someone to hold it together. Cyclops thrashes at first, until the pain wins out and he slumps against the side of the crate.

Ava and Cruz pull into the parking lot. Cruz takes one look at me wearing the red boxing gloves and carrying the crate, and shakes her head. “You can't bring that thing in my car. If it gets loose, it will tear us up—and my leather seats.”

Daniel walks beside me holding the milk crate in place.

“Cyclops could die,” I say. “We need to take him to an animal hospital now.”

Cruz rolls her eyes and climbs in the backseat. “You're going to a lot of trouble for a one-eyed stray cat.”

Cyclops is more than a stray cat. There's only one person who understands that, and I can't call him.

*   *   *

The waiting area in the animal hospital smells like antiseptic and wet dog. I'm alone, holding a pair of shredded boxing gloves in my lap.

“I don't do hospitals,” Cruz announced as soon as we pulled up to the building. Ava helped me carry the milk-crate cage inside and then retreated to the car and her sister.

The vet took one look at Cyclops—a ball of matted hair and blood—and rushed him through a door marked
MEADOWBROOK DOWNS VETERINARY HOSPITAL STAFF ONLY
.

That was eighteen minutes ago.

I called Lex and told her Cruz was driving me home. I didn't tell her about Cyclops. If he doesn't make it, I want to be alone when the vet tells me. It feels like Cyclops is Marco's cat and, in a weird way, like he's mine, too.

Outside the window a skyful of stars blink above me, and it's easy to forget I'm in the Downs. Marco doesn't have the luxury of forgetting. I realize that's what he meant when he said the stars look different from the Downs.

My cell rings, and I make the mistake of answering without checking the display.

“Frankie? Where are you, and why aren't you home yet?” Dad. Perfect.

“I'm at an animal hospital. A cat from the rec center got mauled by a dog.”

Silence.

“If you don't believe me, feel free to come down here and check out the cat blood all over my clothes. Or call Miss Lorraine.”

“When are you coming home?” he asks.

So much compassion. “When I find out if the cat is okay.”

“I'm calling you in forty-five minutes.”

“Fine.” I hit end without saying good-bye. Tense doesn't begin to describe our relationship.

My cell rings again and I ignore it. Dad can text whatever he forgot to say. I'm sure he'll call back in two minutes anyway. I pull my knees up tight against my chest and rest my forehead against them.

The knotted rope of bells on the hospital door jingle and Marco walks in. He stops, and the door hits his back. He has fresh bruises on his face. A cut runs down the center of his bottom lip, and a ripped T-shirt is tied around the knuckles on his right hand.

My first day at Monroe was the only time I've ever seen a mark on him.

I point at his lip. “What happened?”

Marco shrugs and leans against the wall beside the door. “Ran into a guy's elbow.” He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor.

“And your hand?”

He frowns and turns his wrist, as if he forgot about the injury. “A guy ran into my fist. Do you care?”

I rest my chin on my knees. “Of course I do.” I shouldn't say more, but I can't stop myself. “I've never
not
cared about you.”

“Sofia called and told me what you did for Cyclops.” He glances at the door designated for employees only. “You could've gotten hurt. Why would you do something crazy like that for a stupid cat that doesn't belong to you?”

“Maybe for the same reason you feed him.”

Marco rubs the cut on his lip with the side of his hand, and my heart skips. “How long have you known?”

“Since before…”
I kissed you.
“The night of the party.”

He sits in the chair next to mine. “Throwaways like me and Cyclops have to stick together.”

Hearing him talk about himself that way makes me want to kill his father … and mine. “Don't call yourself that. Please.”

Muffled voices drift into the waiting area from the other side of the door. A moment later, a vet comes out.

“Is he going to be okay?” Marco asks.

The vet tucks her hands in the pockets of her white coat and gives us a sympathetic smile. “It's hard to say. Your cat lost a lot of blood, and he's in shock.”

Marco reaches over and takes my hand. The familiar buzz starts in my fingertips.

“If he makes it through the night, I'll be more optimistic.” She holds out a bill.

Marco takes it and follows her to the counter. He opens his wallet and pays in cash. I bet all the money I had left racing Ortiz.

“Leave a number and we'll call you if anything changes,” she says.

“Thanks.” Marco scribbles down a number.

She slips through the door and we're alone again.

“I left your number.” Marco drops down into the seat next to me and takes my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. He stares straight ahead. “Cyclops can't die.”

“He won't.”

He nods, and his gaze falls on our hands. “I miss you.”

My heart aches. “Me too. But that doesn't change anything.”

“It should.”

“We've been through this. I'm the daughter—”

“Of a cop, and I'm a car thief,” he says softly. “But if I wasn't?” Marco watches me. He's playing
what if
, and I already know how the game ends.

“Are you saying you stopped stealing cars?” I already know the answer.

He frowns and bites his cracked lip.

“You have to stop acting crazy and take care of yourself.” I can't stand the thought of what else he might be doing—and if any of it involves other girls. “Sofia needs you.”

I need you
—that's what I want to say.

“I know.” Marco's hand tightens around mine. He closes his eyes. “But when I'm racing or fighting, it's the only time I don't…” He pulls our hands against his chest, and his heart beats against my fingers. “Hurt.”

“Marco—” My voice shakes along with the rest of my body. I'm not strong enough to protect us both. I pull away from him and rock forward, holding myself together.

“I understand why you left, Frankie. You deserve someone who can pick you up at your house for a real date. Not a guy your dad is trying to lock up.” Marco gathers me in his arms and kisses the top of my head. “I wouldn't want my little sister to date a guy like me. I wish I'd met you earlier—before I made all the wrong choices. I love you.” He's out of his chair and through the door before I have a chance to say a word.

 

CHAPTER 37

COLLATERAL DAMAGE

My cell rings right after first period the next morning. “Hello?

“I'm calling from the Meadowbrook Downs Veterinary Hospital for Frankie Devereux,” the woman says.

Knots tangle in my stomach. “This is Frankie. Is Cyclops all right?”

Say yes. Please say yes.

“He isn't doing well. He developed a staph infection after surgery. You might want to come see him tonight.”
Because he's dying.

“Is it okay if I come late tonight?”

“We're open twenty-four hours. You can visit your cat whenever you want.”

My cat.

I end the call without saying good-bye. After the milk crate and the boxing gloves, the one-eyed cat is still going to die. I can't save him—just like I couldn't save Noah from getting beaten to death in a parking lot. I can't save Marco and Sofia from losing each other. Or Cruz from her father or Abel from gambling or Lex from her fears.

I can't even save myself.

*   *   *

Things can't get any worse
. It's a stupid expression.

Things can always get worse. And in my experience, they usually do. So when I get a 911 text from Lex at the end of Shop, I'm not surprised.

“What's the deal?” Cruz asks, reading over my shoulder.

“I don't know.”

The bell rings and I head for the hall to speed-dial Lex.

She picks up on the first ring. “You have to get over to Abel's house now.” I hear knocking in the background. “Open the door, Abel!”

“What's wrong?”

“I don't know. I came to talk to him this morning, and he wouldn't answer the door. I knew he was home because I saw him in the window. His mom is out of town, but I still have a key from this summer, so I let myself in. He's locked in his room, and there's all this banging.”

“What kind of banging?”

“How am I supposed to know if I can't get in there?” She's borderline hysterical. “Can you just take a cab and get over here?”

“Okay. I'll be there soon.”

I hang up and Cruz holds out her hand. “Well, what's the deal?”

“Something is wrong with Abel, and I have to get to his house.”

“Ava can drive us.” Cruz pulls out her cell and starts texting. “You already tempted fate once.”

“There's no time.” I hold out my hand and Cruz gives me the keys.

It takes us fifteen minutes to get to Abel's house.

Lex meets us at the door and she gives me a strange look when she sees Cruz. “He's still upstairs. Come on.”

The second-floor hallway usually looks like a gigantic issue of
Rolling Stone
magazine—complete with framed gold records and photographs of Abel's dad with other rock legends. Today there is nothing on the walls except nails.

“Do you think we need to take the door off the hinges?” I ask.

Cruz bends down in front of the door. “Or we can use a credit card, but I can't do it with one hand.”

Lex hands me her platinum card.

“Now what?” I ask Cruz.

“Run the card down between the door and the jamb. When you feel the card hit something solid, jiggle the knob until you can slide the card in front of it. Then open the door.”

“Okay.” It's a lot easier than it sounds. On the second try, I feel a piece of metal inside the door move. I turn the knob, and the door swings open.

Lex gasps.

“Holy shit.” Cruz stares, wide-eyed.

I've probably been in Abel's room fifty times, and it never looked like a self-storage unit before. Boxes are stacked against the walls, from floor to ceiling—some labeled with a year or the name of an album. Other boxes overflow with clothes and leather jackets, concert photos and memorabilia. Framed albums, most likely the ones that used to be in the hallway, are stacked against the wall. But the guitars are the craziest part. Guitar hooks cover an entire wall, and more than a dozen acoustic and electric guitars hang from the hooks by the necks.