Friendly Fire

by Cari Z.

  “It’s nothing like that,” Lennox interrupted. “Can you give me the benefit of the doubt for two damn seconds before you go thinking the worst? A friend got into a car accident. He didn’t have anyone else to contact, so I picked him up from the hospital and took him home. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I lost track of time. Can you put Lee on now?”

  There was a long pause. “That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Since when have you had a friend?”

  “Gaby . . .”

  “Fine, fine.” She called for Lee. A moment later his daughter was on the phone.

  “Dad?”

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, the tension in his neck easing at her friendly tone. “Sorry I missed dinner.”

  “What happened?”

  Possibly against his better judgment, Lennox decided to tell her the truth. Some of it, at least. “Elliot got into a car accident. He’s okay, but I had to get him from the hospital. Do not let your aunt know,” he added sternly. “He’s not fit for visitors yet, and she’d want to take over everything. Nobody else knows the details, Lee.”

  “Really? Just us?” Lee sounded hushed but pleased.

  “Just us,” Lennox said. “I’ll make it up to you this week, okay sweetheart?”

  “Okay, Dad. And you could invite Elliot again too, if you want.”

  Did Lee have a little crush? “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. He was fun the other night, and you seem to like him.”

  If only she knew. “You’re right, I do like him. I’ll pass the invite along. I love you, Lee.”

  “Love you too, Dad.” She hung up before Gaby could get back on, which was a relief.

  It wasn’t that late, but Lennox decided to try sleeping anyway. Not in Elliot’s bed this time; he hadn’t been invited. He grabbed another spare toothbrush, then made his way to the second bedroom, which Elliot clearly hadn’t extended his personality into. The room was wallpapered in rows of pale-pink roses, the bedspread was edged with white lace, and the air smelled like desiccated lavender, too old to do much more than vaguely scent the drapes.

  The bed was small, the room cold. Lennox left the light on and the door open in case Elliot called out, then tried to get some sleep. He got that far, but it didn’t last long.

  Dark, cold . . . the reverberating crack of bullets penetrating metal at high speed, Davis taking a shot to the thigh, and Lennox’s hands are finally warm but it’s Davis’s blood on them, not his own heat, and he’s trying to stop the flow but feels like he’s stealing all Davis’s warmth instead, and Martinez is calling out to him, asking whether he should shoot, should he shoot, Sarge! And Lennox says—

  He woke up with the comforter thrown to the foot of the bed, his torso half fallen off the mattress like he’d been trying to lean on something that wasn’t there. Lennox groped for his phone and checked the time. Two sixteen. He’d slept for almost four hours.

  Not bad, especially not in a strange room. Lennox lay back on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling for a moment before he decided that he really wasn’t going to get to sleep again. His hands still tingled from applying pressure to Davis’s leg—lord knew what he’d actually been doing to them to make them feel that way. His shirt was damp with sweat, and his mouth was dry.

  Yeah, that was it for tonight. Lennox rolled off the bed and halfheartedly drew the comforter back up; he’d have to change the sheets in the morning anyway. He washed his face in the bathroom, washed his hands until they were bright pink from the heat of the water, then crept down the hall into Elliot’s room to get a change of shirts. He didn’t mean to get distracted by the quiet scene on the bed, but . . . well. He wasn’t made of fucking stone.

  Elliot was lying on his side facing the empty half of the bed. He’d pulled the spare pillow into his arms at some point, and drawn his legs up until he was lying in almost a fetal position. Holly had tucked herself in the pocket of his knees, and she looked up but didn’t bark at Lennox. Elliot appeared surprisingly peaceful, given what he’d gone through today. Or maybe not everyone was as prone to reliving every trauma in their life as Lennox was.

  Lennox had no real reason to stay there after he’d changed into one of Elliot’s shirts, a V-neck with long sleeves that felt almost shockingly soft. He stayed anyway, though, slipping into the chair on the far side of the room and leaning back and just breathing. Holly held his gaze for a while, her tiny eyes shining green in the dark, before she finally turned around and resettled in her nest. Elliot stirred but didn’t wake up, and Lennox let himself slump down a little.

  Just a few minutes. He’d stay a few minutes, then head downstairs and start composing his apology to Rodney for filling part of his lot with a busted-up Porsche.

  Excerpt from Shockwave’s article:

  Given how little we actually know about Charmed Life’s inner workings, from its inception to how it grabs and holds the high-rolling elite, it’s astonishing it’s been the runaway hit that it has.

  McKenzie disagrees with me, naturally. “No one is perfect, and therefore no one is immune to the need to recover from their mistakes,” he says, sipping from a bottle of Evian. “The urge to confess and be absolved is written into humanity’s most venerable institutions. Unless you’re a psychopath, you’re going to want to share your errors and earn forgiveness at some point. Holding your wrongs inside of yourself is toxic, and it will poison everything you do. Everyone needs release. Charmed Life is one avenue for it.”

  I concede that’s possible, but have to ask: “How many of your subscribers do you think get accounts with Charmed Life just so they can watch videos of you?” Because it seems clear to me that the biggest asset this company has is its CEO, and not because he’s a canny businessman. He knows how to lead people in the direction he wants them to go, how to give them just enough to make them hope for more.

  McKenzie smiles, shrugs, and changes the subject.

  Elliot’s breath hitched with pain the moment he woke up. His hands, which he’d started to extend above his head for the sort of full-body, back-cracking extension he always craved, curled instantly back down to his chest. Every breath ached, and his shoulders and neck felt like they’d been strung through with piano wire that had been tied into a bow right between his shoulder blades. His skin was raw and tender underneath the Army Rangers T-shirt he wore, which— Ahh, right.

  If it was possible to drown in a flood of memories, Elliot might not have minded at that moment. A phantom voice had stolen his brakes, he’d crashed his car, gotten concussed, and called Lennox to come and get him out of the hospital. He’d stolen the man’s clothes. He’d been loopy from the morphine, which, as nice as the reduced pain had been, wasn’t really something he wanted to think about now. And, to top it all off, it was Monday morning, which meant he needed to get to work. Wonderful.

  Elliot gritted his teeth and grunted as he rolled over and up onto his hands, then blinked his eyes clear of sleep to see Lennox slumped down in the cushy wingback chair Elliot usually hung dirty shirts on. He blinked again, to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

  Nope: there was Lennox, hands folded, legs going on forever out in front of him as he snored gently, his head on his chest. Holly had abandoned her usual spot with Elliot in favor of Lennox’s lap. He couldn’t blame her. Elliot reached for his phone, which had been silenced and set on the nightstand, and held it up to take a picture. He had to preserve the surprising level of cuteness that this man was showing.

  The faint click of the camera was enough to wake Lennox up. “Elliot?” He started to straighten, then paused to set Holly on the ground before he pushed his way out of the chair. He stretched the way Elliot had wanted to, complete with a quiet symphony of cracks from his spinal column, then ran a hand through his messy, gorgeous hair as he asked, “How do you feel?”

  “Like I got run over by a mountain,” Elliot said honestly. “But I’ll survive. Why were you sleeping in the chair?”

  Lennox frowned, but it seemed
to be directed at himself instead of Elliot. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep there.”

  “Was the bed in the guest room not comfortable? Or is it that you missed me?” Elliot tried on a smile. It felt far more natural this morning than it had in the hospital yesterday. “You could have hopped in the bed. I wouldn’t have minded.”

  “Trust me, you’d have minded,” Lennox said. Elliot was prepared to argue the point, but his voice dried up when Lennox came over and sat down next to him on the bed. “How’s your head feel?”

  Elliot cleared his throat. “Fine.” Like a herd of elephants is tangoing around inside my skull. “I mean, it could be worse.”

  “I’ll grab you a pain pill.” He got up, but Elliot grabbed his hand before he could go far.

  “What kind of pain pill?” Had they filled the prescription last night after all? It was a little fuzzy. “Because I can’t have Percocet. Addict here, remember?”

  Lennox nodded calmly. “I know. It’s just some Tylenol that I keep in my gym bag. Extra strength.”

  Tylenol. That would probably be fine. “Sounds good.” He sighed and ran one hand carefully over his head. His hair was crispy in places. Gross. “And then I need to shower. I’ve got things to do today and I can’t afford to be out of it.”

  Now Lennox’s frown was definitely directed at Elliot. “Your things can wait.”

  “I’ve got to get to work—”

  “You’ve got to take it easy,” Lennox said gently. “Serena already knows you’re not coming in.”

  “You talked to her?” Elliot asked, horrified.

  “Not directly. I left her a text. I didn’t get too specific, but she knows enough that she won’t expect you to show up.”

  “You left her a text about me not coming in to work? That’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. She’s going to think I’m taking the day off to get over a weekend of crazy, amazing fucking when really I only got a single night of that before everything went to hell.” Elliot sighed. “This was the worst weekend, seriously. You’re the only good thing that happened to me.”

  “Well, I’m glad I qualify. And if you’re that worried . . .” Lennox nudged the phone. “Call her and see what she has to say. If it’s anything other than ‘Don’t come into the office,’ I’ll be stunned. I’ll leave the pills in the bathroom for you, make some coffee and call my work, then we can talk about the rest of the day.”

  “Okay.” Elliot watched him leave, then bit the bullet and checked his messages. There was only one from Serena. Call me when you get this. Oh no, that wasn’t ominous at all. He called her up before he could convince himself to fall asleep again.

  “Elliot! Tell me you’re at home and you haven’t been whisked back to the hospital for a life-saving emergency surgery!”

  “I’m at home,” he parroted obediently. “No surgery of any kind required, I promise. What on earth did Lennox say to you?”

  Serena grunted like she’d just tried to shoulder the world for Atlas. “Oh, that man! He said, and let me quote this text to you because it’s absolutely ridiculous―it’s so like him; he used to drive Gaby crazy with this stuff: ‘Elliot in accident. Doing fine. I’m looking after him. Don’t call tonight―his head hurts. No working tomorrow, doctor’s orders.’ Which tells me everything and nothing, and then he wouldn’t answer my texts!”

  “I like his commitment in the face of extreme pressure,” Elliot joked. “We should hire him to do all the social media posts; people would go crazy speculating.”

  “Elliot.” It was the voice she used on telemarketers who wouldn’t quit. “This isn’t funny. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Part of him wanted to spill the whole story, to unburden himself to the person who knew him best these days. The other parts, though? Those parts of him knew it was a bad idea. Serena would react like any sane person would react, just like Lennox had: she would ask him to tell the police and then, when he didn’t, do it for him. Serena had little in the way of understanding and compassion for Elliot’s sister, and wouldn’t give a shit about ruining Vanessa’s chances to become Denver’s DA. She would put Elliot first, and he couldn’t have that. Not right now.

  “I crashed my car on Lookout Mountain Road,” he told her. “I wasn’t drunk and no one else was involved―I just lost control. I was taken to the hospital and Lennox came to get me because,” and here was a lie he hadn’t discussed with the man, but it was only to save Serena’s feelings, “he was staying over at my house anyway.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then— “Oh my God, I knew it! The two of you got along like a house on fire! Are you the reason he missed the family dinner yesterday?”

  “I was treated for a concussion, and he wanted to stick around and make sure I was okay.”

  “Oh, Gaby was so mad at first! But Lee, she was fine—because she knew, didn’t she! She had to know. Otherwise she’d be furious too. How did all this happen?”

  This seemed like a good place to stop things cold. “Aaanyway, can you tell Ted we need to postpone the shoot to later in the week, when I can wash my hair again?” Elliot said loudly. “And reschedule my meetings? I can handle any paperwork you send along from home—”

  “What, no! No, you do nothing, you need to rest and recover! I’ll take care of everything, don’t worry about work, it’s just a tasting and a few final contracts to review. And Elliot,” Serena’s tone changed. “I’m so sorry about your car. Do you think you can get it fixed?”

  He had no idea. He couldn’t even remember what it looked like, post-crash. “I hope so. Thanks, Serena.”

  “Thank me by being good for Lennox.”

  “I’ll do my best.” He ended the call and set the phone down, then carefully got out of bed and headed into the bathroom. The Tylenol were on the sink, two innocuous little white pills. They’d barely be enough to take the edge off, but he didn’t have any other choice. Except for the morphine he’d been unable to avoid last night, he hadn’t touched anything stronger than aspirin since getting out of rehab.

  Elliot stared at himself in the mirror. He could vaguely remember doing this last night, and the purple expanse on his chest was even more livid in the cool lights of his vanity today, especially where his seat belt had cut into his skin. His eyes were bloodshot and baggy with exhaustion, and his hair was literally a bloody mess. The urge to pop a few pills, crawl back under his covers, and sleep the rest of the day away was so strong it almost made him nostalgic for the brief period when he’d done that every morning.

  Those days were gone, though. Elliot swallowed the Tylenol and rinsed them down with a palmful of water, peeled off Lennox’s clothes, turned the shower to as hot as he could stand it, and got under the spray. He was desperate to dunk his head, but resisted for the sake of the super glue that was holding his scalp together. The worst of it would come out with his comb.

  Thirty minutes later he was clean, dressed in one of his suits, and had straightened his hair out to the point where he wasn’t ashamed to meet his own eyes any longer. He wasn’t bleeding again, at least, so that was a good sign. He folded up Lennox’s clothes, took one last surreptitious sniff of them, then carefully made his way down to the kitchen.

  Lennox was standing with his back braced against the counter, one hand holding a cup of coffee while the other was occupied with his phone. It took a moment for Elliot to realize what was different about him—Lennox was wearing one of Elliot’s favorite shirts, a maroon Henley that complimented his bronze skin. Seeing it cling to his biceps was a lovely distraction, almost enough to make Elliot forget that his lungs felt like going on revolt and refusing to keep up this breathing bullshit.

  The only problem with the pretty picture was how Lennox was glowering at his phone. “Is something wrong?” Elliot asked as he sat on one of the barstools.

  “My boss isn’t too happy with me.”

  That didn’t sound good. “Is he unhappy as in, ‘I’m going to make you work nights and weekends for a month to make up for th
is,’ or unhappy as in, ‘Pink is the new black and you’d better keep an eye on your inbox.’”

  “The first. Pretty sure, anyway,” Lennox said. He didn’t sound sure, though. Elliot had to beat back the hot niggle of guilt that was trying to worm its way into his gut. “I’m basically being ordered to show up and explain why I’m not there this morning, but a beat-up Porsche is.”

  Oh, perfect. “I’ll go with you.”

  “You could stay here and rest,” Lennox said. “Your doctor said that’s what you need most of all.”

  Elliot did his best to exude health and well-being through his smile. “I also seem to recall something about needing to be looked after while I’m recovering, so we’d actually be following his instructions. Besides, I want to talk to your coworker about the car and see if he’s found anything amiss.”

  Lennox’s lips quirked in a little smile. “‘Amiss.’ What are you, a detective novel?”

  “It could be worse, I could have said ‘nefarious,’” Elliot pointed out, delighted to get a positive reaction out of the man. “Or dastardly! ‘Dastardly’ is a good word―it sounds exactly like what it means. Everyone should strive to use ‘dastardly’ as often as possible.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You’re ridiculous. Let me come to work with you since I can’t go to my own.” He tried to bat his eyelashes but failed, since any rapid movement of his face provoked a wince. “I really do need to talk to . . . Kevin, was it? So I can find out if anyone has done something dastardly and nefarious to my car.” The grin ached a bit, but he couldn’t hold it back. “Do you see what I did there?”

  “I can’t believe people pay to listen to you,” Lennox said, but his tone was one of capitulation. “Fine. But I’m making breakfast first.”

  “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  Lennox shrugged before opening the fridge and rooting around inside. “I’m not fantastic, but I have a kid to feed and I have to provide something marginally healthy for her when she’s over at my place.” He paused for a moment, like he was going to say something else, then sighed and pulled out the butter, eggs, and some shredded cheese that Elliot had intended to turn into quesadillas and then forgotten about. “Pan?”