Lennox (15 page)

His face is dark as he looks at me from under the dust ruffle. “I’m
ruining everything for you,” he says.

“No! No, you’re not.” I reach out to stroke his
face, but he shrinks away from my touch.

“I am.” He turns his head up toward the bed and laughs,
high and bitter. “You have a whole life without me. A
family—the closest thing you have to one left, anyway. And a
guy who loves you.”

“But I don’t want him anymore.”

Lennox shakes his head. “Trust me, Ellie, I know Nash isn’t
perfect, but he means well. And there’s a whole world out there
for you. You don’t need to be tied to a loser like me.”

Tears prick at the edges of my eyes. “What the hell are you
trying to say? I don’t want him. Or anyone. I want
you
,
Lennox. I always have.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and draws a ragged breath. “I love
you, Elena.”

I smile, feeble.

“But I love you enough to know you’re better off without
me,” Lennox says.

“What?” I cry. I pull back from the bed as if slapped.
“No. No. How can you say that?”

Lennox crawls out from the other side of the bed and slides into his
shoes. “I’m sorry. But it’s true. I don’t
want you mixed up in my business. I can’t risk you getting
hurt. Losing your family. Any of it.”

“I don’t care anymore! All I care about is you.” It
feels dangerous to say, but I want to believe it. I want to ride off
into the sunset with my dream guy and never look back on this scrappy
existence. Leave the crew behind.

“You say that, but you don’t really understand what
you’re saying.” Lennox purses his lips. “Giving up
on your family? The crew, your uncle? That’s too much for me to
ask.”

Uncle Drazic. He was there for me when I had nothing. When my parents
died and not another soul in the world gave a shit what happened to
me. I could’ve ended up in foster care if not for him, or even
on the streets. And the rest of the crew—they made me who I am
today.

But Lennox was a huge part of that. He
is
a huge part of me,
my personality, my dreams. Even if I lost Uncle D and the crew, it
would be worth it to spend my life with Lennox. Wouldn’t it?

“I don’t deserve you, El.” Lennox shakes his head.
“I promised you a someday . . . but this sure as
shit isn’t it right now.”

He heads toward my bedroom window and slides the casing open.
Downstairs, I can hear the sounds of Nash and Uncle D, and maybe even
the rest of the guys, milling around, chatting. But up here, all I
can do is watch as Lennox slips out of my window, taking the last
shreds of my heart with him.

Elena

I’m in a whirlwind of wrenches and motor oil in the shop for
the rest of the day. I try to throw myself into my work on the
Camaro—its insides are looking much better, even if it’s
still just an ugly unpainted shell on the outside—but it’s
not as distracting as I’d hoped. The worst part is I have so
many people to be angry at. Myself, Nash, Lennox . . .
We’ve all fucked up, and I resent us all for it.

It’s Lennox, though, that I really don’t understand. I
don’t care that he’s a criminal. I don’t care about
his past, his present . . . all I see is the boy I
fell in love with years ago. God. I’ve been willing to overlook
so much about him just because he has a clear, honest heart and
determined soul. Why can’t I seem to let Lennox go? Why can’t
I just be happy with Nash, deeply flawed though he is, too?

“Elena. Hey.” Uncle D grabs me by the wrist as I’m
about to bash the blunt end of a wrench against the misbehaving
carburetor. “
Djevojka.
”

I shrug him off. “Look, I’m trying to work in peace.”

“The hell you are.” He releases me and folds his arms.
He’s wearing one of his trademark waffle thermal shirts, oil
stains smeared across the front. Has he been working today, too? I
barely noticed in my self-absorbed rage. “Why don’t you
tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

I give the carburetor a more measured
thwack
and toss the
wrench aside, then exhale deeply. I have to be careful how I approach
this with Drazic. He’s always been so understanding and
supportive of me my whole life, but he’s got a vested interest
in keeping Lennox away from the crew. I don’t know how
sympathetic I can expect him to be.

“I’m tired of feeling powerless,” I finally say.

He frowns. “Powerless? How?”

“It’s like I don’t have a say in my own life. Not
through any fault of yours, but . . . I’ve just
always been on the fringes of the crew. I have no say in how it’s
run. I don’t race. I just work behind the scenes. And I don’t
know how to deal with Nash, either. I wish I could be happy with him,
but I’m just . . . not. He wants to pretend
nothing happened and that we can go on as we were before, but I just
don’t feel what I felt then. I don’t feel
anything
for him.”

“Have you tried telling him that?”

“Kind of.” I wince. “No. I’m a little afraid
of how he might react.”

Drazic nods, his lips set in a thin line. “Yeah. I can
understand that.”

“And then . . .” I brace myself. “I
hate our crew being so torn, too. I mean, I know what you all do—no.”
I hold my hand out as he starts to puff up his chest. “Don’t
lie to me. You’re no saints.” And yet I’m terrified
of losing them, all the same.

“
Djevojka
 . . .”

“No. Don’t try to justify it. It is what it is. You’re
criminals, and yet you feel so high and mighty that you still deserve
to shun Lennox Solt after all these years?”

“Ahhh.” Uncle D props himself against the Mazda he’d
been tuning. “So this is about Lennox, then.”

I raise one eyebrow. “What do you mean?” He didn’t
see us together, did he? Surely he would have said something if so.
My stomach turns at the thought. I was wrong. I’m not ready to
lose Drazic or the crew. Right now, they’re all I have left.

“Yeah, I remember the way you two looked at each other. My
little girl was crazy in love.” He shakes his head.

Oh. So he’s only talking about before—when I was a dopey,
doe-eyed high schooler, lusting after a guy who I thought only saw me
as a little sister. I let out my breath. I’m safe for now.
“Look, you’ve got it all wrong—”

“No, come on, give me more credit than that. You’re not
the only one who sees more than she lets on.” His grin fades
quickly; he scrunches his forehead. “He hasn’t tried
contacting you since his early release, has he?”

I can’t meet his eyes, so I pretend to dig around in my box of
spare parts. “It’s not like that, Uncle D. Seriously.”
My pulse is hammering in my ears. I can’t lie to him—not
directly. “I just . . . I don’t think he’s
the monster you’re all determined to make him into.”

He isn’t a monster at all. Tender, passionate, concerned . . .
I remember the care he took in caressing me, the way his mouth arced
against my skin, and how he sought to make sure I was comfortable and
happy and sated every step of the way—

Oh, fuck. My face is bright red. I duck my head farther as I root
around for some metal ties.

“Okay,
djevojka
, monster or not . . .
promise me you won’t even think about it. Lennox Solt is bad
news. Especially if he’s working for the McManuses. Bad news
for all of us.”

“Uh-huh.” I find the metal ties I’m looking for and
turn away from him, back to the guts of the Camaro.

Drazic’s silent for a few minutes. I’m hoping we’re
done with this interrogation. I can’t stand lying to him
anymore. Not that it matters. Lennox doesn’t think he belongs
in my life right now, either. Why doesn’t anyone want to see me
with him, happy with him, aside from me? Dammit. Powerless. That’s
exactly what I am.

I have my family. My crew. My work. I’d be devastated if I lost
any of them. Why can’t this be enough for me? Why can’t I
be happy with this anymore?

Then Uncle D loops around the Camaro to take a peek at my work. I
brace myself again, thinking he might scold me for not spending my
time on a paying project, but instead he smiles to himself, assessing
my craftsmanship. “It’s looking good,” he says.

“Still has a long way to go before it’s pretty enough to
sell.” I crank the metal tie into place around the newly
replaced tubing. Then, since I’ve already dug a nice, deep hole
for myself this morning, I figure I might as well keep digging. I
look away from him. “Actually, I was thinking, um . . .
maybe I could start racing, too.”

Drazic sputters. “Who? You?” Then he forces himself to
stop laughing. “Oh, come on,
djevojka
. You can’t
be serious.”

I cross my arms and draw myself up to my full height. “Why
can’t I? It’s not like I don’t know how these
things work, inside and out.” Lennox didn’t laugh at me,
I can’t help but recall. When he let me drive the Mustang last
night, he said that I had the skill, the intuition, everything I
needed to be a good racer. That I just needed a chance to prove
myself.

A chance he didn’t think I’d get.

Uncle Drazic jabs a finger my way. “I tell you what. You got
the Camaro running?”

“Yeah. It’s not pretty, but the new transmission on her
is working out pretty nicely.”

He nods. “Good. Why don’t you take her out to the
raceway, then? Burn off some steam. Learn the tracks. Then, maybe
some other time we can see about letting you race.”

So no racing tomorrow night, then. Not that I’m surprised. My
fate is out of my control. I’m the crew’s pawn, for
better or worse. They’re the only family I’ve got, so
maybe a dysfunctional family is better than no family at all.

And Lennox thought he’d bring me down. Ha. I was already there.

*

I head out to the tracks once I’m done tweaking the carburetor
on the Camaro and run through the circuit, over and over. Even though
the Camaro’s in far better shape, it’s not nearly as fun
without Lennox here to goad me on. I listen to the roar and clip of
the engine, feel all the new parts I put in it working seamlessly
together to give me power. The car’s running great. But my
thoughts are all over the place.

I want to hold on to the memories I made with Lennox last night. They
cemented the life I’d always dreamed I’d have—me
and Lennox, racing off into the sunset together, flipping a middle
finger to rules and restraints. But we’re both caught up in all
kinds of restraints right now, and they’re showing no signs of
letting up.

I want to race. I want to be free.

And I want Lennox Solt to be free with me.

Elena

The next race is downstate, hosted on the Calaveras boys’ turf
in another run-down desert town called Villareal. The Camaro still
looks like shit on the outside, but I clean it up enough to drive it
down with the rest of the crew. We convoy south on the highway,
passing each other repeatedly, jockeying for position in the line,
laughing and waving at each other all the while. It feels good to be
behind the wheel with them—with the guys treating me like I’m
their equal in this for once, their partner. Like we’re all in
this together.

We park a block from the starting point and wade into the thick crowd
already gathered for the race. Nash slings an arm over my shoulder. I
try to duck out from under him, but his grip is firm, so I loop my
arm around Cyrus’s waist at my other side.

“Nice steering, Ellie,” Nash tells me, shouting to be
heard over the thudding dubstep.

“Glad to see you got that little boy to run for you,”
Jagger says. Then he cuts his eyes toward Nash and smirks. “That
other
little boy, I mean.”

Nash releases me and takes a playful punch at Jagger’s gut.
“Like you’re one to talk. I could snap you like a
breadstick.”

“Let’s go!” Jagger whoops, shoving his sunglasses
up on top of his head. “Hey, ladies, who wants to place their
bets on me to kick this pretty boy’s ass? Winner gets to take
me home!”

A couple of the girls around us snicker and exchange glances; more
than a few others give Jagger and Nash both a second look. Jagger
bounces on the balls of his feet, fists curled, and throws some air
punches while Nash laughs and dodges out of the way.

“Better watch it,” Cyrus tells me. “Looks like you
might have some competition.”

I grit my teeth and shrug him off. They can have him. I’m done.

Uncle Drazic weaves his way through the crowd toward us after
checking in with Sleazy D. “Calm your tits, Jagger. Gather
‘round.” He pulls us into a huddle. “I locked us in
for two spots. Tried to argue for three—sorry, Cy—but
they’re adamant this circuit is only good for ten racers, max.”

“It’s cool, man,” Cyrus says. “I’ll get
next pick. I like runnin’ point for you boys, anyway.”

“Are you going to race this time, D?” I ask.

Drazic shakes his head. “Nash and Jagger again. It’s a
good track for you both. I’m confident we can place both of
you, and one of you can take top prize.”

Nash and Jagger. Always them. “What about . . .
what you and I talked about?” I ask, hesitant. “About
letting me race.”

All eyes turn toward me; Nash’s brow is furrowed, while
Jagger’s eyes are wide with disbelief.

“Real funny, El,” Nash finally says, and pulls me in for
an embrace. I squirm against him, but it’s no use. “We
need you back here, keeping us on track. Right, Drazic?”

Uncle D frowns. Nash lets go of me. “Wait. You’re not
serious, are you?” He spits onto the gravel. “You’re
not actually considering letting her race?”

I jut my chin out, defiant. “I’ve seen you losers walk
away from plenty of crashes. I know how it works. And I want to race,
too. The Camaro runs like a champ now. Besides, this is an easy
track—lots of straightaways, only a few switchbacks.”