Hendrix
“The suits the governor’s office purchased for you should arrive soon.” Cynthia is head down in her cell again. I’m beginning to think she can’t talk if she isn’t texting. “I’ll text you when they’re in, and you’ll need to collect them from the front desk. Please hang them in the closet. We don’t want them to wrinkle.”
We’re in the lobby of a fancy-ass hotel that’s probably as old as the state. Everyone around me is dressed like they’re attending a funeral or a business event. I’m in a pair of ripped jeans and a black T-shirt. Even the hotel workers are looking at me like I’m about to pull a gun.
I checked in an hour ago, and Cynthia summoned me. They call, I show. While I hate it, it’s something I have to learn how to handle.
“What do you mean suits?” I overemphasize the s.
Cynthia’s fingers fly over the screen. “You’re going to be attending many events over the next year. We can’t dry-clean your clothes after every event. Multiple suits is more efficient. We also included some dress-down options for you. Feel free to wear your own style during time periods between events as we travel. We feel the media will enjoy those pictures.”
“Glad I have your approval,” I mumble.
Cynthia cocks an annoyed eyebrow, but still types on her cell. “In the meantime, meet me here at eight, and I’ll walk you around the fund-raiser.”
Her cell rings. She holds up a single finger as she answers, then tucks the cell away from her mouth. “And remember what I told you about Elle.”
To stay away from her at the fund-raiser. According to Cynthia, Elle’s been informed to stay away from me. Cynthia said a lot more. Many words meant as comfort, to hide the truth that the governor and his aides believe I’m toxic. But still...staying away from Elle is what needs to be done, and it’s the last thing I want to do. Being with Elle is the only time I feel like the world isn’t turned upside down.
“Eight,” she says. “Fund-raiser. We will walk.” And I’m dismissed.
Any mention of the fund-raiser creates the urge for me to throw my fist through a wall. I miss the sound of the wind going through the trees of the forest, the chirp of night crickets and a time where the hardest decision I had to make was which tree to piss on.
In the forest, all I wanted to do was go home. Weird how I find myself wanting to go back. I should head to the weight room, lift until my muscles hurt and I’m too damn tired to think, but the walls are closing in. I need space. I need freedom.
I go out the revolving door, and the bright sunlight hurts my eyes as the humid summer heat seizes my lungs. Breathing in is like sucking in water, and it won’t take long for my clothes to stick to my skin. Regardless, I take a right and head for the running path that zigzags through a tree line. It’s not a forest, but it’s better than inside.
A few feet into the canopy of green leaves and the muscles in my neck relax. At this rate, I’m going to end up one of those guys who lives by themselves in a one-room cabin eating only berries and nuts. Talking to squirrels when I’m lonely.
The trail continues through the trees, but it doesn’t hide the rest of the world like how I wish. Airplanes overhead, rumble of car engines on the state road, the tap of someone else running on the path up ahead. A break in the trees and sunlight glitters off water. Now this is what I need. Silence, a lake and time alone. Recharge, reenergize, and make it through this nonsense without losing my mind.
A slamming of a car door, and my head jerks to the right. Farther down the edge of the water, a guy in a beat-up Chevy sloppily weaves what should be a straight line from the front to the back of his truck. He leans over into the bed and his shirt pulls up. What catches my eye is what is tucked into his belt at the small of his back: a handgun.
“Drix.” It’s a whisper, and Elle slips out from the shelter of a tree trunk. She’s in a tank top, athletic shorts and in her hand is her cell with earbuds still attached. Her tan skin glistens with sweat, and she’s so damn beautiful it nearly hurts.
Within a few steps, she reaches me, and we’re shoulder to shoulder. “He’s drunk.”
Yeah, he is, and he’s armed. “You should head back.”
Elle frowns. “Don’t you mean we? If this guy is trouble for me, then he’s trouble for you.”
Tension sets into my jaw, and I work it. Elle stares at me, waiting, and when I stay silent, she crosses her arms over her chest with an annoyed huff. “That’s what I thought.”
“Thought what?”
“That my dad’s team got to you, too. The whole ‘the two of us can’t been seen together’ because, in theory, people are more obsessed with the appearance of us dating than the real issues that affect the real world. People are so stupid. I meet a guy and he’s nice to me, and therefore people assume I’m going to give up my entire identity, pledge my undying love to you and bake you cookies every few days as an eternal thank-you.”
“You mean we aren’t getting married next week?” I ask. Her mouth pops open in shock, and that causes me to grin. “By the way, I like chocolate chip, and I’d appreciate it if you’d iron my clothes. I like my pants pressed at the seams, and I’m not a fan of starch.”
She smacks my arm, and I laugh, enjoying the smile on her face. “You’re awful.”
“I tried warning you.”
She lightly hits my arm again. That picture of the two of us was everywhere, but then the world moved on. Gotta admit, I liked the picture. Like how it captured Elle’s smile. Like how it captured that smile happening toward me. Don’t know why. Maybe because it’s a reminder that for a few minutes, I was her hero.
“Are you planning on ignoring me now because they told you to?” she asks.
My grin runs away. “In public? Yeah.”
She scowls.
“Reminder—I’m on probation.”
“Are you going to ignore me in private, too? If so, I’d appreciate the heads-up, so I don’t make a fool out of myself thinking we were actually becoming friends.”
I should be ignoring her in private, as well. That’d be the smart thing to do, but evidently I’m brain-damaged. I enjoy the peace being with her brings, and I’m not ready to give that up. “I’m still standing here talking with you.”
Elle kicks at a rock on the ground, then peeks up at me. “Is talking with me going to get you into trouble?”
Probably. “I’m willing to live dangerously.”
Elle softly laughs, and the sweet sound dances along my skin and warms my blood.
“So I’m dangerous?”
“Yes.” That body of hers is lethal. So is that beautiful, smart mouth and easy way about her that keeps me drawn in. My eyes roam her from head to toe, and the blush that forms on her cheeks only causes her to be more appealing.
Elle sucks in a deep breath and tears her gaze away from me to the drunk. “I hate running on a treadmill, and I’m so tired of stupid boys ruining my plans.”
“Am I included in that?”
She gives me a look that’s full tease and reprimand. “Yes, guys who constantly do nice things ruin my day. No, I’m talking about stupid guys like that one. I needed this run, otherwise I’m going to combust with stress. My parents are insisting on me playing perfect tonight.”
Nice guy. Did she just call me a nice guy? “You’re the first girl who’s called me nice.”
“Well, I haven’t seen much of the bad you keep referring to. Or am I misunderstanding? Do you mean you’re the bad boy at school who thinks he’s bad, but not? He just dresses bad and does that swagger thing that makes all girls dream of him at night.” She waggles those perfect blond eyebrows, and I’m losing myself in the game.
“You know you dream of me.”
Lust darkens in Elle’s eyes, and that causes a rush in my veins.
Bad. I could be bad with Elle in very good ways. I could give in to temptation. I could crowd her space—press my body against hers. I could put my leg between her legs and walk her until her back is against that tree. I could run my finger along her neck, watch as she closes her eyes, as her chest moves faster with excitement. Lean down, breathe in her sweet scent, and allow my palm to mold into the side of her waist. I could skim my lips along her cheek, hesitate at her mouth and after a brief few seconds of her pulse racing and my pulse racing, we would kiss.
Elle wets her lips as if she’s reading my mind. As if she wants me to make this fantasy a reality. She’s turned toward me. My body has, without my consent, turned toward her. Our shoulders still touching. Our chest centimeters apart. Magnetism pulling us in. A natural attraction that begs to be unleashed.
Blood pounds at my temples and...another bang of a car door and Elle jumps, placing distance between us.
The drunk lifts a cardboard box out of the back of his truck, and he stumbles to the water.
“What’s he doing?” Elle asks. I don’t know, but the mood between us shifts as a sense of unease creeps into my gut.
Elle places her hand on my biceps, and my heart rate picks up speed. From her touch or from the same sense of panic that’s invading my bloodstream that appears to be hitting Elle’s.
“Something alive is in that box.” Her words like a wrecking ball in my chest. Elle edges forward, and I snake my fingers around her wrist, keeping her there. “We have to help.”
“He’s packing, and he’s loaded in alcohol.” My thumb sweeps over her skin. Elle’s beautiful, and she’s impulsive. A deadly combination. “We approach him, he’ll shoot.”
A splash, the box is in the lake and nausea strangles me. The box is floating, but it’ll sink fast.
“The police,” she whispers. “We’ll call the police. There are plenty of them at the hotel for the fund-raiser tonight.”
But the ache in her eye tells me she’s smart, and knows they won’t reach us in time to help the life trapped in that box. I nod my approval, release her wrist, and Elle swipes her finger across her cell.
The engine of the truck roars to life, and dirt flies off the back wheels as it lurches away from the lake. My heart thrashes past my rib cage, and I’m running. Over logs, through thickets, my feet stomping against the brush near the lake. Elle hot on my heels.
The box shakes, a sickening whine echoes across the lake, and the box sinks halfway into the water. Shirt over my head, boots being kicked off my feet midstride, and I dive in. The water’s freezing, knocking the wind out of me, but I push through it as I kick.
Arms cutting through the water, propelling me forward, but the box is almost under.
“Grab it, Drix!”
A lunge as the box is swallowed into the dark. It’s gone, and I suck in a breath as I go under. Kicking down, eyes wide open, blackness and then my hand hits something solid. I shove the bottom of the box up until it breaks through to the surface. I go under with the uneven weight, the lake deeper than I thought, and I tread water with my legs.
The box pitches back and forth as whatever in it shifts. Weight. Dead weight. My heart slices in half, and using my shoulder to anchor the box, I swim to shore. My legs drag with the heaviness of my soaked jeans. Elle wades in at a run until she’s chest deep. My lungs burn, and right as my toes can touch bottom, she meets me and grabs the box.
I stumble forward for land, and Elle’s already on the dirt, ripping at the tape sealing it shut. “Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead. Please.”
Her voice is thick, filled with grief, and I can’t let her open the box. I can’t let her see what might be inside. She slashes through the last piece, and I snatch the box from her, opening the flaps with my back to her.
“Jesus,” Elle says in a whispered rasp. As a prayer. As a plea. “Just Jesus. Who would do this? Why would anyone do this?”
In the corner of the box is a small wet ball of fur, and it’s not moving. I drop my head and silently swear. I should have gone after the son of a bitch. Should have ran out, regardless of the danger, should have socked him in the damn mouth and made him bleed. Should have made him black out. Should have hit him hard enough he’d have trouble remembering his name.
If I was half the man I was from a year ago, I would have done it, and I hate that I paused. Hate that I thought the scenario through because waiting was wrong.
“What’s in the box?” Elle asks.
My mistakes. That’s what’s in the box.
She moves around me, and as I go to close it, Elle’s arm hits mine as she reaches in.
“Leave it,” I say, but she doesn’t listen. I’m beginning to realize, Elle never listens. Does whatever she wants, whenever she wants, regardless of how the outcome’s going to hurt her.
“No.” The gut-wrenching moan that comes from her as she lifts the animal causes me to swear again, fall back to my ass and for my eyes to burn.
“I’m so sorry we didn’t save you,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
So am I. My mouth turns down, my throat thickens, and I rub my hands over my face.
“I’m sorry,” my voice hoarse. I clear it, but it still doesn’t work. “I’m sorry, Elle.”
“Drix,” she whispers, but I can’t look at her. Can’t witness her disappointment. Can’t live with that failure. “Drix, the puppy...he’s alive.”