The Lovely Reckless (32 page)

“It looks like we're in the basement of the Tommy Ryder Museum,” Cruz whispers.

Abel is sitting in the middle of his bed, surrounded by stacks of paper and photos.

Lex runs over and wraps her arms around him. “You scared the shit out of me. Why did you lock yourself in here? And what is all this stuff?”

“I'm trying to keep my mom out.” His green eyes dart to the door, and Cruz closes it.

“Your mom is out of town,” Lex reminds him.

“She's probably auctioning more of my dad's stuff. I had to buy most of this back.” He waves his arm around the room.

Used scratch-off lottery tickets litter the floor. I pick up a long strip. “Is that why you were buying these?”

“My mom was selling everything—photos and tour jackets, the notebooks he wrote his songs in. Most of the time I had to pay twice as much to buy them back.” Abel looks lost. “That's why I was gambling. I needed more money. I still remember the morning I found out he OD'd. My mom didn't even tell me herself. Dad's manager did the honors. For weeks I saw photos of my father in newspapers and tabloids—lying on the bed in a fancy hotel, with pill bottles scattered around him.” Abel closes his eyes. “His guitars and notebooks, his songs … That's all I have left of him.”

Lex presses her forehead against his. “Why didn't you tell us?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “That my mom was selling everything my dad ever touched, like a pill-popping pawnbroker? I'm not all that proud. She even tried to sell this.” Abel holds up a framed sheet of paper, his hand shaking. “It's the first song my dad ever wrote. It's never been recorded. And she was going to sell it.”

Abel holds out the frame like he wants me to take it. I do. On the sheet of loose-leaf paper, song lyrics are written down the center in black ink.

“The Lovely Reckless”

Sleepwalking through life, damaged and scarred

Wishing and searching for the one thing I can't name

Ugly and destructive, a vessel for the pain

Punishing myself for things I can't remember Paying for ones I can't forget

They find you in the darkness

And lead you back to the light

The lovely reckless souls that hear your battle cry

So beautiful and broken

Making wrong turn back to right

The world stops trying to destroy you

With weapons forged from tears gathered from your mistakes

Mending, stitching, sparing a heart that always aches

Forgiving myself for things I can't remember Owning the ones I can't forget

They find you in the darkness

And lead you back to the light

The lovely reckless souls that hear your battle cry

So beautiful and broken

Making wrong turn back to right

I wrap my arms around my friend. “It's going to be okay, Abel.” I'm not sure how many times I repeat the words, but I don't stop until I start to believe them.

 

CHAPTER 38

SILENT ECHOES

Marco doesn't show up at school the next day, and I can't stop worrying. Even Cruz doesn't know where to find him.

Halfway through English, I get a text from him.

call me. i need to talk to u.

I can't call him back without making things harder for both of us. At least I know he's okay.

Abel and Lex are both out today, too. He stayed home to sort things out, and Lex is helping him until she has to get ready for the gala at the country club tonight. Unfortunately, I promised to go, too. Then I made the mistake of mentioning it to Miss Lorraine. She insisted on giving me the afternoon off so I won't be late.

Without Lex around to pick me up, I'm stuck taking the bus. Last night I couldn't sleep, and I'm feeling it today. My backpack feels like it weighs fifty pounds as I lug it across the rec center parking lot. I yawn.

“Long night?” The voice comes from behind me, and I yelp.

Deacon stops in front of me and twists the toothpick in the corner of his mouth as he watches me from underneath his hoodie.

Where did he come from?

“I'm worn out, too. I've been trying to figure out how I'm gonna find a driver to replace Marco tonight. We've got a big job, and he backed out at the last minute. He wants to ‘be a better man' or some bullshit like that.”

I stop paying attention after he says Marco backed out of a job. Hope swells inside me. Is that the reason Marco texted earlier?

“So thanks to you, I'm a man down.” Deacon snaps his fingers. “Then it came to me. I was thinking about this shit all wrong. I've got the perfect driver standing right in front of me.”

“What?” Now I'm listening again. “I'm not helping you steal a car or anything else.” I cross my arms and jut out one hip, channeling Cruz.

The corner of Deacon's mouth tips up and forms a dangerous half smile. “You've got balls for a rich girl, I'll give you that much.” He narrows his eyes, and the smile vanishes. “This isn't a game. My boss has orders to fill, and if he can't deliver the merchandise, it looks bad and costs him money. Two hundred grand is a lot of fucking money. He's killed people over less. And I'm not putting my life on the line for anyone. You got me?”

Stillness spreads through me, as if I'm inches away from a viper and a single breath could mean the difference between walking away or getting bitten.

“Seems like this is a tough decision for you, so let me make it easy. You're gonna take Marco's place, or I'm gonna have a chat with the cops.”

When I don't respond, Deacon pretends he's shocked. “What? You don't believe me? That hurts, Frankie. I've worked hard to cover my tracks … and make new ones. Guess whose footprint I used?”

My stomach bottoms out.

“I can tell from the look on your face that I've got your attention now, so let me break it down for you. I've kept track of all the illegal shit Marco has done in the last two years—every car he stole, every part he stripped. And I have plenty of evidence to prove it. Taped phone calls of Marco talking about jobs, lists of dates, pickup locations, and serial numbers of the cars he stole. I've even got pictures.” He holds up his phone. “You can pretend you're texting and take a picture of just about anything these days. Marco is into some other bad shit, too.”

This is the power move in the game Deacon has been playing all along.

He reaches toward me in a lightning-fast movement and raises my chin with his finger. “Actually, that's me. But the cops won't know that. People believe what they see, and Marco's dad
is
a car thief.”

“You would ruin Marco's life over a
car
?”

“Better his life than mine.” Deacon turns his cap around. “And it's a pretty sweet-ass car.” He glances from his cell to the street as if he knows he's running out of time. “So here's how this is gonna go down. There's a party at the country club in the Heights tonight.”

The charity gala.

“Be out front near the valet at eleven. I'll meet you there.” He hands me his cell. It's open to a new contact page. “Add your number. I'll text you with the details later. Just be ready to drive. If you follow instructions, nobody gets hurt … or goes to prison.”

“That's it?” I don't believe him. It sounds too easy.

“Yep. Nobody is gonna question a rich girl driving an expensive car in the Heights. It would've been a lot harder for me and Marco to pull off. Do what you're told and there won't be any problems.”

Deacon's cell phone rings. “What?” he barks at the caller. There's silence as he listens to the person on the other end. “Bullshit. We already discussed terms. Tell that bitch we can do this the easy way, the hard way, or
my
way.”

My blood turns to ice in my veins.

Deacon's conversation fades into the background. Doors open in my mind—one by one like dominoes, triggering a chain reaction. Memories collide and overlap as I struggle to process them.

The stench of puke and stale beer. Water glimmering on the asphalt. Noah's baby-blue polo shirt …

I hear voices.

No.

I hear one voice. “We can do this the easy way, the hard way, or my way.”

The hard way, or
my
way.

The words echo through my head, and the memory comes into tight focus.

A guy standing in front of Noah—a guy wearing a blue baseball cap. “Give me your fucking keys.”

“The car has a built-in GPS chip, man,” Noah says calmly. “You won't get very far. If you take off now, I'll pretend this never happened.”

“You think I'm stupid?” The guy's voice drops. “We can do this the easy way, the hard way, or my way.”

Deacon was
there
. I watch the scene replay in excruciating detail.

Deacon holds out his hand, but instead of handing him the keys, Noah tosses them toward the curb, and they fall into the sewage drain. “Screw you.”

Deacon turns his hat around, and his ice-blue eyes settle on Noah. “That was a mistake.”

Fists fly, blood spatters.

I want to scream at Noah and tell him to run, but I can't find my voice.

Deacon throws a punch. Noah falls and his head cracks against the asphalt. But Deacon keeps hitting him over and over and over.

It's all coming back now. Deacon standing in front of Noah, wearing a black ribbed tank and baggy jeans. The sleeve of tattoos on his arm that I hadn't remembered before—the withered hand on his forearm reaching for a girl trapped in a birdcage.

“Are you paying attention, Frankie? Because I don't like to repeat myself.”

It takes a minute for my vision to clear.

Deacon is off the phone, watching me.

I force myself to nod.

He killed Noah. He killed Noah. He killed Noah.

“Good. Then I'll be in touch.” Deacon walks to his car. Before he gets in, he stops and looks back at me. “This conversation stays between us, or Marco ends up in handcuffs—and that's the best-case scenario. You already have one dead boyfriend. I'd hate to see you end up with another one.”

A shiver runs up my spine.

He just admitted to killing Noah. He didn't come right out and say the words, but we both know what he meant. I watch Deacon climb into the Firebird.

For months all I wanted to do was remember.

Now I wish I could forget.

 

CHAPTER 39

OFFENSIVE MANEUVERS

“Come on … pick up.” It's the third time I've tried to call Marco since I realized the truth about Deacon. But my calls keep going to voice mail.

Where is he?

Cruz doesn't know, either, which only makes me worry more. I need to tell Marco the truth about his best friend—a guy who saved his sister's life and Marco thinks of as a brother—is a murderer. How do I tell Marco one of the people he trusts most has been setting him up? It will crush him.

But I don't have a choice.

If Deacon lies to the police, Marco could end up in prison.

I can't shake the image of Deacon punching Noah over and over in the parking lot. Even after Noah stopped moving, he kept swinging. I have to tell Marco about all of it—every hit and every threat.

Deacon Kelley is a monster.

What if Marco already knows?

My worst fear keeps rearing its ugly head. I close my eyes. Marco would never keep that kind of secret.

You know him. You held him when he cried, and he held you.

My head hasn't left the parking lot at the Sugar Factory. All the things I couldn't remember flooded back at once. But the initial fear I felt when the memory returned has transformed into something more powerful.

Rage.

Tonight I'm supposed to steal a car for the monster who killed Noah—a monster who is controlling me. I'm sick of being manipulated, feeling like someone is always pulling my invisible strings.

The only way to make it stop is to cut the strings myself.

I burst through the apartment door, and it bangs against the wall. I open the fridge, prepared to drink a Diet Pepsi even though I hate the stuff, and see a six-pack of Diet Coke.

I consider telling Dad everything … for about ten seconds. He would lock Deacon up, but the likelihood of Marco ending up in jail along with him is too high.

My father made it clear that he doesn't trust me, so I can't count on him. With Marco's future on the line and the possibility of Noah's death going unpunished, I have to rely on myself.

In my room, I stand in front of the dresser with the stupid flowers painted all over it—and six silver frames sitting on top. My hand hovers over the one that's facedown, third from the left. I flip it over, my hand shaking.

Noah grins back at me. It's the same grin he gave me when we rode down the big hill on his Mongoose when he was twelve years old. The same one he gave me when he beat up Bobby McIntyre.

“I'm sorry I couldn't save you, Noah. But I'm going to make him pay.” I run my fingers over the glass.

Tonight Deacon Kelley is going to jail. Dad won't believe his lies about Marco or anything else when Deacon shows up at the dockyard in a stolen car he forced me to drive. And Dad will finally catch the guy Deacon and Marco have been working for—the one who is blackmailing Marco. Telling Dad that Deacon killed Noah is the part I'm looking forward to most—that, and seeing that asshole in handcuffs.