Hendrix
Thor’s current favorite item to chew on are Holiday’s shoes. Never mind that I’ve given him old socks tied around empty water bottles as toys, Thor keeps returning to the pair of high heels. With his head down and butt up, he growls, attacks and chomps on the shoe like he’s taken down a water buffalo.
Holiday fell in love with him at first sight—otherwise Thor wouldn’t be alive. Axle’s not happy with the additional mouth to feed despite the fact that I’m buying the cheapest food I can find, and I haven’t taken him to a vet since Elle was involved. Keeping him is stupid, but it’s all I have left of Elle.
Two weeks have passed since the fund-raiser. I’ve gone on trips, she’s gone on trips, but they haven’t been together. Don’t know if I should be relieved, but each time, I’m kicked-in-the-balls disappointed.
Holiday, Axle and I are in the living room. Holiday is on her stomach rolling a ball to Thor. When it passes him, he bounces on it with both paws, but when it rolls away, his focus returns to the torn-up shoes.
I’m in the recliner that’s older than me, and every muscle in my back aches. Axle got me a job on his crew hammering in shingles for roofs. When I work, it’s twelve-hour days, hot as hell and doesn’t pay near enough. I sweat buckets and come home dehydrated and famished. I make less than Axle’s paycheck, but it’s money.
Axle’s taking a catnap on the futon. As a part of his training to become a paramedic, he just got off a forty-eight hour ride-along that included extracting a family out of a car that flipped eight times. He was also on duty during a kitchen fire in 110-degree heat index.
The window unit pushes in cold air and a standing fan helps circulate it to the other rooms. The central air unit imploded two days ago, Axle’s car died, Holiday grew a foot overnight and needed new clothes, and roofers/paramedics-in-training might as well work for free.
Each time I go to an event, I hear the governor talk about the upswing of the economy. I hear him talk about bettering people’s lives. I can’t help but wonder whose lives are improving because it’s not the lives of the people who sweat all day. His economic improvement strategies aren’t for the people who are forgotten.
The evening news continues, and as I grab for the remote to change the channel to one of the other six we get through the antenna, Elle’s face appears. Bright blue eyes that aren’t hers, and dark blond hair that’s from a bottle. The remote falls back to my lap.
“The Bluegrass Beauty is making headlines again,” the news anchor says. “Today, it was announced she will be next month’s cover model for the largest magazine in the nation. The magazine’s editor said Ellison Monroe is the epitome of grace, charm and intelligence for this generation of women, citing not only her fashion choices, but Ellison’s involvement in social issues.”
Pictures of Elle at various events fill the screen. Each time Elle is breathtaking yet I don’t see happiness. That smile might fool other people, but it doesn’t fool me. It’s her polite one, the one she uses on everyone else.
“Ellison returned to Kentucky earlier this week from a photo shoot in California and is scheduled to be leaving again soon for Washington, DC, where she’ll be traveling with her parents and Andrew Morton, the grandson of Kentucky’s current and retiring US Senator.”
Cue pictures of Andrew and Elle together. Her on his arm and both dressed to kill, them dancing together at the fund-raiser I had attended, them smiling at each other onstage during her father’s speech.
Jealously is a mean bastard.
The camera returns to the news anchors, and they face each other. “Does this mean Andrew Morton and Ellison Monroe are dating?”
“That has been a very popular question asked of the Monroe camp. Each time, the press is asked to give Ellison her privacy in such matters.”
“That doesn’t sound like a no.” A huge sugary smile that causes me to close my fist.
“No, it doesn’t, and the public appears to be rooting for Ellison and Andrew to become a couple. Andrew is a few years older than Ellison, and insiders have suggested the couple is waiting to make an announcement about their relationship when she turns eighteen this week. On a side note, there are rumors Ellison has been ill since her trip to California. A close family friend confirmed her parents brought a doctor to the house, and IV fluids were administered.”
“Like many other Kentuckians, our thoughts and prayers are with Ellison. In other news—”
I turn off the TV and stand. Elle’s sick? Holiday glances up at me, and so does Thor. Axle cracks his lids open, too. Elle’s sick, and I can’t do a damn thing to find out if she’s okay.
It’s like someone reached inside my chest and is squeezing the life out of me. Elle is sick, and I can’t check on her because I told her I was better off without her. I need a release, and a long time ago, that used to be playing the drums.
“Want to go hit something?” Dominic enters from the hallway, echoing the thoughts in my head because that’s where Dominic used to live—in my mind. We were so close that people would mistake us as fraternal twins.
His presence causes me to be off balance as I didn’t hear him enter the house. The kid is the Grim Reaper with his black hair, battle scars and cold blue eyes.
Axle’s gaze darts between me and Dominic, and he rubs at his eyes as he sits up. “You okay, Drix?”
“No,” Dominic answers for me, “he’s not. Come on, let’s go hit.”
“I told you and everyone else, I’m not playing the drums.”
“I wasn’t talking drums. Though you’re an idiot for not playing. You want to make some money? Gigs. We could make bank playing gigs, and we need a drummer for that.”
Dominic doesn’t flinch from the death written on my face. Ignoring the last part of his statement and focusing on the first, he has to be high if he thinks picking a fight with some random guy on the street is in my best interest.
“I’m not talking about that either.” Once again reading my mind. “Come on. Trust me.”
Trust him. Weeks home and Dominic still hasn’t talked about the night I was arrested, and I still don’t know how to be around him.
“You should go,” Holiday says to me, and I feel like an asshole. I promised her I’d try.
I take a step in Dominic’s direction, and, smelling trouble, Axle shoves off the futon. “I’ll come.”
“No, you sleep.” Because Dominic and I need to have it out, and I’m pissed enough that doing this might feel good. I’ll worry about regret later.
Dominic goes out the back, and I follow. He ignores our garage, cuts through our yard, jumps the rusting chain-link fence at the dip from the years of us hiking over it, and he beelines it for the garage in his backyard that’s all busted windows and a sagging roof.
Above us are gray clouds, and heat lightning flashes across the sky. Dominic leaves the door open behind him, and I pause in the door frame. With no electricity, the garage is dark, highlighted only by the rays of dull light streaming through the broken glass. Dust floats in the air. My eyes adjust, and Dominic surveys a worn punching bag.
“So you weren’t talking me hitting you?”
A faint smile marks Dominic’s mouth. “I had a feeling that’s what you were hoping for.” But then the same blackness of the sky covers his face as he turns to me. “You want to take a swing at me, do it. I’ll stand here and take the hit. No swing back.”
Lead solidifies in my gut. This kid has taken more hits than anyone in life should, and I could never add one more. No matter how mad I am. “I don’t know how to get past this.”
Dominic launches a right hook at the bag, and it swings. “I know.”
He catches the bag. I lean a shoulder against the frame and cross my arms over my chest. I told Holiday I’d try. I told her I’d attempt to mend our family, but there’s so much anger swirling around inside me that it seems impossible to speak.
I scan the dirty garage, then Dominic’s broken house. When I was in the forest, the anger didn’t exist. Maybe I’m a better person behind bars.
“I was thinking,” Dominic says. “We should go out like we used to. I talked with Jenna and Renee yesterday, and they were asking about you. Renee told me to tell you she’s around.”
Around as in she’s down to hookup. Renee was good for that. I used to be good for that, too. Renee and I were cut of the same cloth. Neither of us liked attachments. We were on the hunt for anything that made a high run in our veins. Renee’s a beautiful girl, probably one of the smartest girls at our school, but I don’t want the hookup anymore. I want Elle. “I don’t want the hassle.”
“There’s no hassle with Jenna and Renee. They know you’re on probation, and neither of them believe you did the crime. Hell, Jenna’s dad’s serving time downstate for a crime he didn’t do either. He had the same damn public defender you did, and he also took a plea deal. One year looked better than ten. The girls know and understand the score—no drugs, no alcohol. Just two girls, hanging out, relieving some stress. You’re seventeen, Drix. Not fifty. Let’s live.”
“No, thanks.”
“You like the girl.” Dominic’s blunt admission causes my muscles to lock up. “The governor’s daughter. Don’t deny it. I saw the look on your face when you told us how you got Thor, and I saw the same look when you saw her on TV. You finally fall for somebody, and she’s out of reach.”
Thunder rumbles close enough that the ground vibrates. I don’t deny it, and I don’t look away when he briefly meets my stare. There’s a give inside me because Holiday’s not the only one who wants her family back. I do, too. I want my best friend back. I want to shoot the breeze with him until 3:00 a.m., I want to binge play our battered and bruised Xbox, I want to tell him about Elle.
“Which was it? Did she want nothing to do with you because you’re a poor boy, or did she turn her nose up to you because you have a criminal record?”
Neither, and I’m not having this conversation with him. I went to jail for him, and he can’t even thank me. He can’t look me in the eye and tell me he’s sorry. I turn to go back to the house.
“Hey!” Dominic calls, but I ignore him.
“Hey!” Pounding of feet behind me and my arm is wrenched back when he grabs my biceps. Anger pummels my bloodstream when he whips my body in his direction, and we’re nose to nose.
“I don’t want to hit you,” I seethe, “but keep pushing me and getting in my face, and I’ll lay you out.”
Dominic raises both of his hands and shoves my chest at full strength. I rock, and my arms automatically come up. I fist his shirt and push him into the concrete block of his garage. The air rushing out of his lungs with the impact.
“Do it,” Dominic yells. “If it’ll make you feel better, do it.”
“Make me feel better?” Lethal rage pours into my muscles, and my fingers shake with the need to do exactly what he’s asking for. “Rewind time and redo it all. How about you don’t dare me to shoplift because you were pissed I was going someplace with the music and you weren’t? Because you had to feel big and you wanted to make me feel small. How about you had been the best friend you claimed you were and noticed I was too lit to be on my own? How about instead of robbing the store yourself you had made sure I made it home? How about when you heard how I’d been arrested, how I woke in a drunk tank, how I called Axle scared as hell, you stepped up and confessed?”
“Is that what you want?” Dominic asks, back still pressed against the wall, not giving a damn my fists are still pressed against his chest. “You want me to take responsibility for your choices?”
I shove him into the wall again. “I want you to take responsibility for your choices. I saw the evidence. They laid it out for me. Same height, same build. Black T-shirt with the word Renegade written in white. I know you did it, and I want you to admit it to me. I want you to tell me you’re sorry. I want you to thank me for not letting you go crazy behind bars in a small room because that’s how much I love you. I want you to acknowledge our friendship is worth you admitting the truth.”
Dominic leans forward, and there’s danger in those crazy blue eyes. “I didn’t do it.”
As if struck by lightning, my entire body jolts, and my fingers yank free from his shirt as I stumble back. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t rob the convenience store. You went to jail, brother, but it wasn’t for me.”