Damaged Elite (The Darlington Elite Book 2)

by Waverly Alexander

  I step in front of Tommy, yanking the Cheetos out of his hand to make him focus on me. “That preppy fuckwad was giving her a hard time? When? What did he say? She didn’t tell me that.”

  Tommy takes the Cheetos back, tosses them in the cart, and then gives me his full attention. “I didn’t like the way he was talking over her. She was telling him she doesn’t eat meat, and he ordered for her anyway, then basically told her she’d never had high-quality food and she’d change her mind. It was condescending as fuck.” Tommy rolls his eyes. “She could have handled him, but I wanted to bash his head in for talking to her like that.”

  “To be fair, that night you didn’t really give her a chance to tell you anything,” Henry says to me, materializing out of nowhere like he often does. For someone who has no interest in dealing with a relationship, he sure has a lot of goddamn advice about women.

  “Things are confusing right now, and I’m trying to make things better before they get much worse,” I say in my defense, but I still haven’t forgotten about what Tommy told me. That motherfucker Tim better hope I don’t get my hands on him…which is exactly what Kennedy wouldn’t want.

  “Listen,” Henry starts, and he puts some weird bread in the cart that probably costs ten dollars before taking in a deep breath. I wonder if he takes that pause sometimes to try and simplify what he really wants to say for us common folk. He steeples his fingers in front of his mouth, tapping them together in thought before continuing, “You’re lucky enough that your heart and your dick picked the same girl. Get your head out of your ass and do better, okay?” Leave it to Henry to summarize a year and a half of angst into two sentences. He pats me on the shoulder as if to say ‘good talk’, and then he’s pushing the cart away in search of fifteen-dollar cheese to go with his ten-dollar bread.

  “Henry’s smart and all, but even I don’t think you should tell Kennedy your dick picked her,” Tommy says seriously as we head off in search of Henry. I rub my hands over my face.

  I should have stayed home.

  When we round the corner, Tommy nearly plows into our forgotten cart, and I see Henry a few feet away talking to Ms. Anna’s daughter, Isobel. She has a busted lip, and he’s hunching down to accommodate her short stature, clearly checking her injuries. She swats his hand away and he obliges, stepping back and giving her space. I’m surprised to see her here, because I can’t imagine her living in Darlington but working in Salisbury since the towns are an hour apart, especially in that dumpy diner. But since we are out in the middle of nowhere, both towns share the nearest large superstore, so I assume that’s probably why she’s here.

  “Woah, look at her face,” Tommy whispers, but it’s Tommy, so everyone in the fucking store probably heard. Isobel adjusts her purse and looks around frantically, like a fawn dodging highway traffic.

  “Isobel, wait,” Henry reaches out, but stops short of touching her arm like I would have if Kennedy was hurt.

  She spins on the heel of her black boots and points a shaky finger at him. “Just leave me alone, okay? I fell. Ask my mother, like I know you will, and she’ll tell you the same thing.” Her voice is bitter, she breathes in deeply, and I suspect it’s to keep herself from crying. But then, surprisingly, her voice softens when she says, “I’m sorry, Henry. Just stay away.” She sets the carton of milk she was carrying down in the center of the dingy tile floor and bolts for the door.

  Henry stands there, watching her retreat, hands in the pockets of his jeans, showing no emotion on his face. The silence is deafening.

  “Are we going to go after her or…?” Tommy asks after a few moments.

  “No,” Henry says cooly, picking up the milk and placing it in the cart like that whole scene didn’t just go down right in front of my eyes.

  He’s trying to make it seem like he’s unaffected, but he’s walking faster than he needs to toward the checkout, and his jaw is ticking like he’s about to explode. Apparently, what it takes to ruffle Henry's feathers is Isobel.

  I’m about to push him to find out what’s going on, but I hear Kennedy’s voice and realize that Tommy has her on video chat.

  “Do these have milk in them?” he asks, swiping a box of pudding pops out of the cart and holding them up for Kennedy to assess, like a five-year-old would show his mom the macaroni necklace he made.

  “Read the box, dummy.” Her voice is strained, and I forget about Henry for a moment to listen in on their conversation. “And don’t come home yet, I’ve got a situation on my hands.”

  Situation? I know Kennedy, and I can hear the stress in her voice. She’s holding back, which is never good with her because she usually blurts everything out she’s thinking.

  Tommy’s dense because all he has on his mind are those damn pudding pops. “Milk in these, yes or no?” he demands, holding the box closer to the screen.

  “Those are fine, don’t buy the ones in the blue box, though. There’s all kinds of stuff hidden in that shit.” She sighs. “I gotta go, Tommy, but I’ll see you when you get here.”

  I catch his attention and mouth the words ‘ask her’, but he shakes his head furiously like a dumbass.

  “You won’t see me when you get home?” She sounds confused.

  “Zach wants me to ask you what’s going on at home, but I don’t wanna hear any more scary period stories.” He scrunches his face up and I hear her try to stifle a laugh before she ends the call, and I smack him on the back of the head. I can tell by her tone that she’s not in danger, but something is going on that’s making her uncomfortable. I feel the urge to call her and demand that she tell me what’s going on, but I refrain because I don’t want to be that guy. She doesn’t need me to be that guy.

  Henry already has the money and is dealing with the googly-eyed cashier when I say to Tommy, “Kennedy turned you vegan?”

  He rolls his eyes, swiping a candy bar that is most definitely slathered in milk chocolate and tossing it on the belt. I’ll let Kennedy have the honors on that one.

  “Fuck no. Just gave up dairy. I need meat to maintain this godlike physique.” He lifts his hoodie and slaps his stomach loudly with his palm, then winks at the cashier as she blushes and looks down. He turns his attention to me, his face now serious. “She told me about all the germs, man. It’s not clean.” He shakes his head, wiggling his fingers in front of him to indicate he thinks it’s dirty. “No, thank you.” All I can do is shake my head and chuckle inwardly because I’m fairly certain she’s made up a bunch of shit that his aversion to germs wouldn’t allow him to see through.

  As we head out to the parking lot, I mentally add another point to Kennedy’s side of the Elite boys vs. Kenndey scoreboard. Technically, it says Elite boys vs. Kendra, because Patrick vandalized it and gave the boys a point.

  “Holy shit!” Tommy exclaims, but Henry quiets him with a look as we take in the scene in front of us. All four of the tires on the Escalade have been slashed, and all the air expelled. What a fucking nightmare.

  Henry pulls his phone out and walks to the front of the car. I can hear him calling roadside assistance, and I realize that he wants to quickly get home instead of investigating what happened. It doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to know who’s behind it. Really, it’s nothing compared to the other shit we’ve been through, but it’s just enough to let us know they’re watching our every move. I’d call Kennedy to make sure she’s okay, but she’s with Patrick, so I know she’s safe. And she didn’t sound truly alarmed earlier, just uncomfortable. I quickly open the back hatch and then elbow Tommy to help me survey the parking lot. When I reach back around to the cart, I notice a police cruiser sitting two rows over. There are two deputies in the car, both watching us intently.

  I leave Tommy to keep an eye out in the rear and head to the front to talk to Henry.

  “There’s two…”

  “Deputies. I know,” he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “I found out this morning that my father thinks the chief of police isn’t just on Coach Leary’
s payroll, he thinks he plays a much more significant role in all of this.” He leans back against the hood of the truck. “Which would explain Darcey’s botched toxicology report, and the whole Dalton coverup.” I look at him expectantly because why the fuck doesn’t he tell us this shit as soon as it’s uncovered? He sighs, like I’m the one giving him a hard time. “I wanted to be sure before I said anything and got everyone’s hackles up. I like things to be calm.”

  “We’re in deeper shit than just some punks fucking with us because we’re threatening their cash flow,” I say, not really expecting him to expand on anything.

  “Uh, guys,” Tommy says, and when we head to the back of the truck, we see Beth get out of the back of the police car. She heads over to the same small red car I saw Kevin and Coach arguing by the other day, slipping in slowly like she’s in pain. She slams the door and speeds out of the parking lot.

  I’m already aggravated that it took so long to get a set of new tires. In reality, anyone else would have had to wait at least until tomorrow, but Henry’s dad pulled some strings with a local repair shop. Even though we give him a lot of shit about his wealthy father, I’m really grateful for all his help. But as we pull up to the house, my agitation turns to straight-up rage. I want to know why the fuck that dipshit, Tim’s, car is in my driveway.

  This shit isn’t going to fly. Not in my own house.

  I slam the door to the Escalade, leaving Tommy and Henry to take care of the groceries, and bound up the front steps.

  I stalk around the first floor in a rage, not really even processing where I’m going until I reach the kitchen. Kennedy is sitting on the counter with her legs dangling, swinging slightly like they do when she’s nervous.

  Patrick is standing by the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and glowering at Tim. I can only assume he hasn’t snapped him in half because he’s waiting to let me do the honors. Tim’s sitting at our kitchen table, glancing at his flashy watch and acting like him being here isn’t a big fucking problem.

  “What the fuck are you doing in our house?” I direct the question to Tim because I don’t want to take any of this out on Kennedy. The mood I’m in, I’m liable to snap, and I’m at least thankful that I know my limits.

  “Hey, Masters,” Tim says, and his nice-guy voice from the other night has been replaced by what sounds like I’m a rich prick and I think I’m better than you. He glances at Patrick as he stands up, and then focuses on me.

  “I’m hoping we can work out our differences. I want to get to know Kennedy, but it’s clear she’s worried about what you think...” He’s cut off by Kennedy’s agitated groan as she hops down from the counter to stand next to me.

  “The only thing we’re working out is when you’re leaving.” I grit out the words, puffing my chest out and crowding him. I want him to feel small; I want him to be afraid of what I’ll do to keep him away from Kennedy.

  “Listen, Masters…” he holds his hands up defensively, and backs up, only to bump into Patrick. He’s fucked unless we decide to let him limp out of here.

  “No, you listen!” Kennedy snaps. “All of you.”

  My eyes travel over to Kennedy and she looks absolutely exhausted. I know I’m partially to blame for it, and the fact that she’s not bouncing around tells me she’s had enough. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I don’t want to kill her spirit. I want her to be so happy, and everything is just screwed up right now.

  “I’ve tried to be polite to you for the last two hours. I’ve made excuses, I’ve flat out told you I’m not interested.” She points at Tim and then tucks her hair behind her ear. After a long inhale, probably trying to compose herself, she pokes me in the chest with her thumb, her eyes never leaving his. “He does not decide who I go out with. But he will fuck you up if you don’t leave me alone. And don’t you ever treat a girl the way you treated me the other night. I have a 4.0, I think I can handle reading a goddamn menu, and I can certainly decide who I want to date.”

  Before the prick can open his mouth to retort, she glances over to Patrick, who is grinning like a proud father. “Don’t start,” she warns before storming toward him, attempting to duck under his arm to leave the kitchen, but he scoops her up so she’s dangling over his forearm like a child.

  She twists her head to glare at him, but her expression softens when he says, “He walks out of here or he’s carried out, your choice.”

  “Just get him out of here, please.” She bites her lip, and as soon as he lets her down, she’s gone. I don’t wait to see which method of ejection Patrick chooses to use on Tim because the only thing I care about right now is Kennedy.

  I catch her just as she reaches the top step. She’s heading to her bedroom, and I know if I say the wrong thing, I won’t see her for the rest of the night. It’s not lost on me that she doesn’t soften when I pull her to me, or grasp my biceps with her tiny hands to steady herself. She looks at me intently. It’s my move, but it’s her game.

  “I can’t keep doing this to you,” I croak out, reaching up to brush back her blonde curls. “I’ve gotta explain everything, and I have no idea how. I don’t even understand...” I let the words hang, but I realize I’ve messed up on several different levels. I won’t apologize for how I acted with Tim, because I’m not sorry about that, and she wouldn’t believe me anyway.

  Kennedy leans in, resting her forehead against mine, breathing out a long, slow breath. “You know where I stand on all of this, Zach.” She shifts her lips so they’re hovering over mine, and it’s physically painful not to grasp her hips and yank her toward me. “You need to figure out if you’re playing on my team or on your own because it’s becoming very apparent that we could destroy each other.”

  She pushes at my chest and starts to head for her room. She halts, her back stiff as she reaches into the pocket of her jeans. Turning, she holds up the friendship bracelet she always wore on her ankle, then presses it into my hand without a word. I’m stunned, standing there wondering when she stopped wearing it. I need some fresh air, or I’m going to punch my fist through a wall. I’m so angry at myself, and I have no idea how to fix it. I thunder down the stairs and see an exasperated Everly, then my eyes drift over to Patrick and Tommy, who are squeezed on the couch with Tim held hostage between them. I’m guessing Patrick was in the process of helping Tim out to his vehicle when Everly intervened. And Tommy’s just along for the ride, eating a pudding pop and enjoying the show.

  “What the fuck are you two doing?” I huff and Tommy shrugs.

  Patrick’s arm is around Tim in a headlock, but he squeezes harder when he says, “We were just about to escort numbnuts out to his car, but he wanted to talk about how his dad’s a lawyer.” He grins at Everly, clearly trying to get a rise out of her. I think he likes watching her get flustered. Tim lets out what can only be considered a yelp.

  “Patrick Carter, you let him go, or you’re sleeping on the couch.” Everly, having missed the ruckus in the kitchen, puts her hands on her hips, her long blonde hair fluttering as she shakes her head.

  “Is that so?” He leans forward, sizing her up, and I’m suddenly uncomfortably aware that this is some sort of mating ritual for them. That quickly he’s off the couch, apparently allowing Tim to live, as Tommy finishes off his popsicles like nothing is happening around him. Patrick scoops Everly up and tosses her over his shoulder, causing her to squeal and giggle as he stomps toward the stairs.

  “You cannot just beat up anyone you feel like,” she grits out as she hangs down his back, and slaps Patrick hard on the back like that’s going to deter him. She’s trying to domesticate him, and I’m not sure that’s a realistic goal at this point. But I do have to admit, he’s gotten a lot better lately compared to what he was like when they first started dating.

  As they’re almost out of earshot, I hear a loud slap of skin on skin that can only be Patrick’s palm on the back of Everly’s thigh, followed by a sequence of yelps and giggles that tells me she’s not really m
ad at him. “Kennedy said I could,” Patrick barks before I hear their door slam.

  “They’re gonna bang,” Tommy announces with a toothy, chocolatey grin, and I look around for Henry, who would already have order in this chaotic mess. He has a way of avoiding senseless drama like this, though.

  “Yeah, I caught that,” I hiss, because even though we’re not blood, she’s still my cousin and Patrick’s like a brother to me.

  Out of nowhere, Tommy looks over at Tim, chocolate still on his lips, and says, “Funs over, get the fuck out.”

  13

  Kennedy

  I’m more scared now that we know for sure that the police are involved in the scare tactics, which is kind of dumb. We already knew that when Patrick’s sister’s autopsy paperwork had clearly been altered. I’m trying to stay positive, but it’s really difficult with all of the tension going on within the house, and I’m still not talking to Zach unless I have to because whatever I have to say to him won’t bring either of us any peace.

  We just got back from one of the boys’ games, and honestly, I’m not sure how much longer they’re going to be able to play. The tension is getting worse because the situation with the Learys isn’t dissipating whatsoever. We still don’t have any answers about Patrick’s sister, Cassandra or Beth. The only reason I went to the game is because they all have to play, and I can’t be left alone or with anyone who isn’t one of them. And while I know it’s for my own safety and that they can protect me better than anyone else, it’s still annoying because I’m not used to depending on other people.

  I’m so irritated by Zach and the way he’s been acting lately, and I’m annoyed by the fact that I can’t even go home to cool off. This is my home now, and after I take a breather, I’ll remember how grateful I am for that, and for these people that I’ve grown to love so quickly. But after the display last night between Zach and Tim—well, Zach can shove both of those friendship bracelets right up his ass so he can see them more clearly, since that’s obviously where his head is right now. I shake my head and let my shoulders fall because I don’t want to lose my friendship with Zach, but I’m not going to lose myself to keep it, either.