Keep Me Safe

by Raquel Lyon

  “Why what?”

  “Why he matters?”

  “He doesn’t. That’s the point.”

  “Then don’t race him.”

  “I have to.”

  “No. You don’t. Tell him you’ve changed your mind.”

  “And look like a pussy? No chance. He’d be back chasing after you, like a dog on speed, but if I beat him, I’ll gain his respect.”

  “And lose mine. You promised you’d always be here for me. How can you do that if you're dead? If you love me, you won't race.”

  Kendrick ran his hands down the back of her arms and gripped her by the elbows. The look in his eyes told Molly he wasn’t ready to surrender. “And if you love me, you'll be there to cheer me on.”

  It was their first argument and the first time the word love had been mentioned by either of them. It hung in the air like an unexpected cloud. Molly wondered if it would it float on by to reveal the sun, or darken into a thunderstorm. The churning in the pit of her stomach predicted the latter.

  “Is this what we’ve come to? Emotional blackmail? Really? Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t do it,” she said, shaking his hands away. “I have a bad feeling about it, and I will not be part of your childish games.”

  “Don’t be like that. You have to be there. I need you on the starting line to keep my spirits up.”

  “Why does it have to be me? If it’s female support you’re after, ask one of your revolving door girlfriends. The one you were talking to a minute ago wouldn’t take much encouragement.”

  “Lex is busy.”

  The way another girl’s name flowed from his lips, as if he would happily have asked her had she not been otherwise engaged, was the last straw. She turned to Yvonne. “That invite to my flat… How about now?”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah. Can I cadge a lift home with you?”

  “Sure. I’m dying to see where you live.”

  Kendrick snagged her arm. “Moll? You said you wanted me to spend the night at your place.”

  “Don’t tell me what I said. I know what I said. But I’ve changed my mind. I want to be alone tonight,” she said, shucking his hand away.

  “I’ll come round tomorrow, then.”

  “No. Don’t bother.” It was the worst time to do this to him. She knew that, and she hated leaving him to grieve alone, but so much had happened in the last few hours, she needed time to make sense of it all. “I can’t breathe. I need space. I think we should take a break.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Kendrick

  Kendrick made it through the whole week without seeing Molly, and it almost killed him. He was bored shitless. Usually, when he was bored, he went to see one of his girls, but since that was no longer an option, he’d had to make do with the odd visit to the Pocket Scratcher. He’d managed to play a couple of rounds of pool, but lost every one. His mind wasn’t on his game, and the heavy atmosphere just made him want to hit the smokes.

  Take a break, she’d said. How long was a break? How long was she going to hold out on him? He’d been expecting her to visit the garage, all week, and her no-show was beginning to piss him off. Patience had never been his strong point, but as much as he wanted to be with her, he didn’t see why he had to stop doing what he loved. She knew who he was, and he wasn’t about to change. He’d give her until after the race, and then he was going to her flat and talking some fucking sense into her.

  The forced separation might have been more bearable if being at home wasn’t so depressing. Johnny had taken Pappa’s death hard, and when he wasn’t wandering zombified around the house, he was sitting comatose in Pappa’s chair. Which was precisely where he was now, staring into space and taking no notice of Kendrick racing through the levels of his computer game. Johnny looked like shit. Grease had darkened his hair to almost black, and instead of being neatly combed, it hung in tendrils around an unshaven face—and a pungent smell of sweat hung in the air, as if he’d forgotten what a shower was.

  Kendrick had been talking about Sprout, trying to coax a coherent response from his brother all evening. Perhaps he should have tried plants as a subject instead of cars? Johnny had never been much of a petrolhead, but then what Kendrick knew about gardening would fit on a pinhead, so that option was out.

  He paused the game and tried again.

  “Have you heard from the coroner, yet?” he said, speaking to himself as usual. “Shouldn’t we organise a funeral, or something?”

  Johnny blinked slowly and his eyes fell on Smokey—Pappa’s black Labrador, snoozing on the hearthrug.

  “Smokey needs exercising. Pizza teas are making him fat. Why don’t you take him out? I bet you could both use some fresh air.”

  Johnny resumed staring at his feet.

  Kendrick’s frustration rose. “How long are you going to sit there? Won’t your girlfriend be wondering why you’ve been absent, all week?”

  Johnny’s hands planted firmly on the arms of Pappa’s chair, and he shot to standing. “Cora is no longer my girlfriend,” he said, storming from the room.

  Shit. So that was his problem. Not grief for the old man, like he’d thought. Johnny had been blown off, too. Well big, fucking deal. So what? It didn’t give him the right to act like a moron. He wasn’t the only man with woman problems.

  Above him, a bedroom door slammed. Johnny was clearly gone for the night.

  Kendrick turned off his console and whistled to Smokey through his teeth. Maybe a walk would ease some of his tension?

  A short while later, he realised what a bad idea it had been.

  Curiosity had led him to the store. He tied Smokey’s lead to a lamppost, walked up to the entrance, and peered inside.

  Christ. There she was. A diamond behind the glass. Even her butt-ugly overalls couldn’t disguise how beautiful she was, especially now he knew what lay under them. He pictured her moaning beneath him. Damn, he’d been starved of that sight for too long.

  Fuck waiting. He pushed the door open and strode towards her.

  She handed a customer his change before noticing him. “Unless you’re here to tell me you’ve changed your mind about the race, I’m not interested,” she said.

  “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Then, I’m not interested,” she said, determined not to look at him.

  “Why are you being like this? You’ve had plenty of time to get your head straight. Stop being so fucking pig-headed and come back to me.”

  Her head flung round. “You don’t see it, do you?”

  “To be perfectly honest? No.”

  “Then I’ll tell you,” she said. “A month ago, I knew who I was and where I belonged. Yeah, it was shitty, but it was consistent. You changed that. You made me look at my life, and you made me care for you. Since you came into my life, I feel like I’m in the middle of a tornado. The world is spinning around me, and I can’t see a way to stop it, so I have to slow it down. Concentrate on one thing at a time. I can’t do that when you insist upon pushing the boundaries.”

  Where was all this coming from? “I didn’t know there were any boundaries.”

  “There aren’t. As such. But I was just getting used to leaving home and living on my own, when you dropped the bombshell that you wanted us to live together.”

  “I’ll find somewhere else, then, if that’s what this is about.”

  “Then, I see you getting cosy with your old girlfriend.”

  “Lex was never my girlfriend.”

  “Just one of your harem?”

  “Yeah… I mean… no. I don’t have a harem. I admit I went a bit crazy on the one-night stands, when I moved here, but I’m over it. I’ve got you now… or I thought I had.”

  “Then why are you putting your life, our life, on the line for some stupid grudge match?”

  Now it was she who wasn’t seeing it. “The guy’s an idiot, and I can’t stand the way he treats you.”

  “That’s my problem.”

  “Not anymore. When we became
a couple, your problems became our problems.”

  “I was fighting my own battles long before you came along.”

  “But you don’t have to now.” He should run behind the counter, take her in his arms, hold her close, and tell her she was the only thing he cared about, that he would call the race off, if only she’d come back to him, but he couldn’t. Things had gone too far, and he had to see them through.

  “I will not have you killing yourself for me.”

  Why was she being so melodramatic? “It’s just one drag. Ten seconds of our lives. I was gonna race anyway. I’ve thought of nothing else for more than a year. What does it matter who’s behind the other wheel? I have to do this, Moll. I just wanna know if I can cut it. Can’t you understand wanting to know if you’re good enough?” She lowered her eyes and drew her bottom lip into her mouth. What was she thinking? “Well, can’t you?” he repeated.

  “I can’t deal with this, right now. Please go,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Molly

  Molly waited, close-lipped, for him to leave, refusing to argue further. She understood more than he knew about needing to feel good enough, though she couldn’t bring herself to tell him why. It was something she had to do for herself, on her own, and then if nothing came of it, she wouldn’t have to suffer the condolences and constant reminders of what could have been. Another reason for anyone to pity her was the last thing she needed. No. If it didn’t work out, then it was better that no one knew it had ever been a possibility.

  It had been almost a week since Yvonne had told her the news that she’d received an online message from an agent wanting to know all about her video. Was she the girl singing the rain? Had she written the song? Did she have any more he could take a look at? She’d explained that her role was strictly behind the camera, and that it was, in fact, Molly who was the star of the show. Then, after learning that it was one of Molly’s own pieces getting all the attention, and that she had tons of similar stuff, he’d become quite insistent upon meeting her. Molly was still in shock.

  She’d struggled to take it all in. Things like this didn’t happen to girls like her. She’d always dreamt of making her music her career, but knew the chances were slim to none. Was it true that an agent actually thought she possessed the talent to succeed at it? Of course, it could be a scam of some kind. She wasn’t naive enough to believe it wasn’t a possibility, but Yvonne had googled him, and so far, his credentials had seemed to check out. This could be her chance. It was a gamble, but even if the guy turned out to be a con artist, it was a gamble she thought worth taking.

  When she’d phoned him to set up the meeting, he’d asked her to bring along some publicity stuff he could shop around the record labels. She’d been working on her bio, every spare minute she had, and a friend from college had even agreed to take some professional looking photos. She couldn’t be more pleased with how they’d turned out. It was just a shame packing in a hurry meant leaving more than her charger behind at her Dad’s house. Some of her favourite songs were in her bedside drawer—ones her teacher hadn’t thought suitable for her course—but no way was she going back to retrieve them. He would have to make do with the few she had on the CD she’d made in the last few days of college.

  With everything in place, the only thing remaining was her nerves, and Yvonne hadn’t helped them.

  “Make sure you meet him in a public place,” she’d said. “Just in case he turns out to be a rapist or something.”

  “Gee, Yvy. Why don’t you go the whole hog and tell me how he’s going to slash my throat and throw me in a sewer somewhere?”

  She’d shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

  “You were the one who set this thing up. Are you telling me you don’t think I should go, now?”

  “Of course not, but I don’t like the idea of you going alone.”

  “Then come with me.”

  “I wish I could, but I can’t. It’s my parent’s anniversary, and I’m being forced to go to their boring shindig.”

  Over the following days, Molly’s disappointment at having to make the trip alone faded, but was replaced by apprehension over whether the agent would like her stuff. Some of it was a bit unconventional, written on her darker days. He’d seemed pretty keen on the phone, but what if he told her she wasn’t marketable, that he required more commercial songs? Was she willing to change her style and sell out for the sake of her career?

  She knew it was useless worrying. The big day was almost upon her, and after the train ride down to London, she would find out if she was good enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Kendrick

  Leaving nothing to chance, Kendrick arrived early to give Sprout one last run over. Not that she needed it; he’d been preening her, every spare minute he had. She was ready to roll, and he had every confidence she’d pull through for him.

  Checking the oil, one last time, he smiled. Sprout would make someone a sweet ride, when he sold her. Now he was about to become a man of means, he could afford a top-notch machine. But until the money found its way into his bank account, the old girl would see him right. He was sure of it.

  He’d been trying not to think too much about the money. It didn’t feel real yet. Until a few days ago, he’d had been worried about keeping a roof over his head and had all but lost hope of Johnny joining the real world again, so when he’d returned from work to find Johnny sitting at Pappa’s desk, surrounded by paperwork, he’d thought he was hallucinating.

  One solicitor’s appointment later, Pappa’s will was located. It stated he’d left everything he owned to his two grandsons, and the figure still fuzzed Kendrick’s brain. The old codger must have been stashing the cash for years. He couldn’t wait to tell Molly he wouldn’t need to move in with her, and that, in fact, she could move in with him. Surely she’d come to her senses with the cherry of a comfortable home dangled before her? He had to make her see what a good life they could have together, but before he could work on winning her back, he had one last thing to do.

  He wiped his oily hands on a rag, as Rhys’s irksome grin appeared in the doorway. “All right, dude. What’s up?” he said.

  “Same shit, different day.”

  “Not quite. I heard what’s going down tonight.”

  “It’s not a secret.”

  “Tough call, though.”

  Kendrick discarded the rag onto a workbench. Why did everyone presume he was setting himself up for a pasting? Barbie might have won his fair share of races, but since becoming the meet’s resident bookie, he’d not been behind the wheel as often, and Kendrick was banking on him being out of practice. “Is this the part where you try to convince me not to race, because I’d be happy to skip it?”

  “The race?”

  “The pep talk.”

  “Actually, I’ve got money on you.” He beamed.

  Kendrick cocked a brow. Finally, someone with an ounce of faith. It wasn’t like Rhys to lay down his cash. Hopefully his confidence wasn’t unfounded. Behind Kendrick’s cocksure exterior, the nerves were kicking in. Things had to go his way. It wasn’t an option for them not to.

  Liam gripped the doorjamb and stuck his head around it. “Look lively, mate,” he said. “You’re up in five.”

  Kendrick nodded. “Well girl,” he patted his hand on Sprout’s roof, “I guess we’re on. Don’t let me down.”

  Rolling the car out of the garage and onto the strip, he eased his way through the crowd, and it was a big one, tonight. The monster bass systems were in full force, and all around him, kids sat on car roofs with their phones held aloft to record the evening’s activities. Pumped with adrenaline, he pulled up behind the start line to await his slot.

  A group of onlookers parted to reveal Barbie leaning casually against his car, surrounded by a group of girls, as usual. He glanced over and his lips curled into a lopsided sneer. “All alone? No one here to hold your hand when you lose?” he taunted.

  “I don’t nee
d anyone to rub my ego,” Kendrick shouted back with a smile in his eyes.

  “If your new piece of tail’s deserted you, I might consider letting you have one of my sloppy seconds as a consolation prize,” Barbie said, slapping the ass of the nearest girl.

  In the corner of Kendrick’s eye, a streak of silver closed in on Barbie. Jackpot. He knew she wouldn’t let him down. “I’ll be too busy celebrating your defeat,” he said, before his eyes ran over Lexi’s body.

  Boy, she was a knockout. Her dress sheathed her body like a silver condom, stopping at the top of her thighs, with only a few inches of smooth flesh visible above a pair of thigh-high, black leather boots. Why had she never dressed that way for him? A guy could cream his pants just by looking at a sight like that.

  “Step aside, girls. There’s only room for one pussy around here, and right now, I’m top cat,” she said, pressing her ample curves into Barbie’s chest. “Tonight’s your lucky night, baby.”

  He stared down his nose with a half-smile. “Is that so?”

  “Definitely. You don’t need those wannabes,” she said, trailing a finger down his T-shirt. “They wouldn’t know what to do with a man like you. What you need is a real woman, one who knows how to treat you right, and baby, I can do things to you that would make your toes curl.”

  His smile widened when her hand reached his crotch. “If your walk is as good as your talk, maybe afterwards, I’ll see about letting you test that theory, but for now, hold that heat on simmer, darling. I’ve got a race to see to.”

  Kendrick climbed back into the driver’s seat, convinced his plan was working, and inched up to the starting line. Barbie joined him, a few seconds later.

  “Bring it home, baby,” Lexi shouted from the sidelines.

  Kendrick allowed himself a grain of satisfaction, knowing her comment was aimed at him. At least he had one cheerleader—although he would have preferred it to be his girlfriend. He’d been secretly hoping Molly would show up to surprise him. The surprise was that he’d actually thought it a possibility.