Hendrix
The sun beats down on me. Fire in the form of rays. I’m on the roof of a house that’s two stories at the front, and thanks to the walk-out basement, I’m three stories high from the back. One slip of my footing on the slanted roof and I’d better hope Axle added me to his health insurance. Otherwise, he can leave me on the ground to die.
I pound one nail after another into black shingles. Sweat pours down my back, and along my brow. The perspiration has dripped and dried several times, and it’s only noon.
“Drix,” Axle calls from the ground. “Take a break.”
I stand tall, and my entire back aches from being bent over for hours. Sad part? I don’t want a break. I want to keep pounding in nails. I can’t think then. Too focused on keeping my muscles moving. Too busy settling into numb. I do well in numb, and physical activity brings me to that state. Marching in a forest, pounding in nails. Guess it’s good this works for me as this is the best I can hope to do with the rest of my life.
“Drix,” Axle shouts again, and I head for the ladder. One step down after another. On the ground, I head over to a towering maple. Once in the shade, I unhook my work belt, drop it off to the side, plant myself next to it, and pull my cell out of my pocket.
Elle. Her name falls into the hollow pit in my chest. I haven’t heard from Elle. In her defense, I haven’t reached out to her either. I said some cutting words, and I don’t know how to take them back. That’s wrong. I do, but I’ve never been good at apologizing. That means sucking up my pride, and my pride is all I have left.
But I think of her in my arms, her soft skin, her smile, her laughter...her trust. She deserves better than me, yet I flip my cell around and turn it on. Yes, she deserves better, but it’s me she’s going to get. Texting would be easier, but I’m used to things being hard. Wouldn’t know what to do with myself if anything in my life was smooth and painless.
I push Call and place my cell to my ear. One ring, then another. When the third ring hits I lower my head. Asshole. Why do I always have to revert to being an asshole when life goes to pieces? I go into voice mail. “It’s me. Leave a message.”
A few seconds go by. Long enough I’m surprised I didn’t get kicked out of the call, but I finally speak. “It’s me. I’m sorry. I was—” hurting “—wrong.”
“See, I told you it wasn’t so hard.”
My head snaps up, and Elle is gliding toward me with a bottle of water in her hands. She’s gorgeous as always. Blond hair pulled up into a messy bun, those sexy dark-rimmed glasses on, intimidating blue eyes on me and a dangerous smile that could get me into all sorts of trouble I wouldn’t mind being in with her.
I go to stand, but she waves me down. “I’ve watched you from my car for the past hour. You need a break.”
She sits beside me and offers me the water. Dehydrated, I suck it down so fast the bottle crackles. It’s cold and refreshing and I have a fresh wave of energy. But the energy is from Elle because she’s contagious.
“How did you know where I was?” I ask.
“I stopped by your house this morning, and Holiday told me where to find you. I hope you don’t mind, but I need to talk to you, and I didn’t want to do it over the phone.”
I crack my neck to the side because that sounds like breakup words, and I deserve it. Saying I’m sorry isn’t enough. Nothing in my world is enough. The other day was the second time I sent her away. At some point, she was bound to break.
“I wasn’t mad at you.” I scratch the back of my head as if that can force my mind to come up with better thoughts. Something more poetic than the dirt inside me. “I was...”
“It’s okay,” Elle says.
It’s not. “What do you need to talk about?” Might as well get it over with.
She straightens the rings on her fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Don’t have to ask her what she’s referring to. “Besides the fact it would have sounded like I was giving you a line so I could try to get into your pants?”
She tilts her head in acknowledgment. “But what about later? When things started getting serious? Why didn’t you trust me? Why did it take Kellen asking for my help? Why didn’t you?”
“Until recently, I thought Dominic did it. I got this stubborn side of me where I don’t want the people I love to go to jail. I already served the time. I’m already screwed. There’s no reason for that robbery to mess up anyone else’s life.”
“Is that why you accepted the plea deal? For Dominic?”
Yes and no. “I accepted the plea deal because they found me on the ground passed out behind the convenience store with the gun used in the robbery in my hand and because the surveillance video showed a guy with my build and my height. The damn shirt the guy was wearing in the surveillance video was balled up next to me as well, as was the hat and the bandanna.”
“Could they not argue it was planted on you?”
He shrugs. “The police said I passed out while changing and that the reason I didn’t have the money is because someone else probably stole it off me after I passed out. I accepted the plea deal because the public defender assigned to me had no clue what was going on, and I was going to be charged as an adult if I didn’t plead guilty. I had two bad choices, and I picked the one that stunk less.”
She reaches into her purse and extracts a folded-up piece of paper. “I found this in Dad’s binder about you.”
I open it, and it’s a picture I’ve never seen before. A still frame image of the surveillance video. I was only shown certain parts of the video and certain pictures. Elle reaches over and a painted fingernail points to the forearm. “Whoever did it has a tattoo. You didn’t do it, and now we have proof.”
My eyes narrow in on the tattoo of a vine and a cross on the forearm. Red-hot rage explodes through me, and I’m off the ground.
I’m going to kill him.
I’m going to go to real jail this time, and it’s because the bastard is going to be dead.