Damaged Elite (The Darlington Elite Book 2)

by Waverly Alexander

  I’m not even two steps out the back door when I hear, “Hey, get your ass back in here.” I spin on my heel to see a shirtless, fresh-from-the-shower Patrick peeking out the back door, glaring at me as he fights to differentiate between the arm and neck holes of his t-shirt. “You’ve gotta stop wandering off by yourself,” he huffs.

  I quirk an amused eyebrow because he’s lost his damn mind if he thinks I’m going to let that tone slide. Plus, I haven’t ruined his day in a while. I smile at him before I yell, “EVERLY!”

  “I hope that fox claws your stupid face off,” he growls when we both hear Everly responding to me from inside the house. Tommy let it slip that Patrick is trying really hard to “adjust his attitude” for Everly because he feels like she deserves someone better than him. And she does, the girl is a saint, and he’s…well, Patrick. But I know better than most people that we can’t pick who we love.

  “Tommy’s down by the shed chopping wood.” I point with my thumb because even though Patrick is a giant asshole sometimes, he means well. “And thank you for caring enough to try and keep me safe, even though your execution sucks.” I grin at him.

  “Did you call me?” Everly asks, peeking her head out the door. She has a face mask on, and her long, dark blonde hair is plaited in two french braids.

  “We just missed you,” I say, sticking my tongue against my cheek in order to keep from laughing as I wrap an arm around Patrick’s waist and feel him tense up. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much glee in my life. He’s stuck in my web and he knows it, and I’ve got a direct line to his only kryptonite. If he shoves me down into the snow like I know he wants to, Everly will be upset.

  Everly smiles, looking back and forth between the Neanderthal she’s fallen in love with and me. “Aw, you guys,” she coos, throwing one arm around Patrick and the other around me. She gathers us into a huddle that would be a hug, except for the fact that Patrick is slapping my arm away while simultaneously trying not to pull away from Everly.

  “Ew, Kennedy, get off me,” Patrick bites out, wiggling his arm like I’m a rabid coyote.

  “What did you call me?” I ask, finally unlatching myself from his arm, mostly because I’m afraid if he swings too hard, he’ll toss me across the back yard and into a snowdrift.

  “Kimberly,” he lies, and Everly and I burst into laughter, which he doesn’t seem to find amusing.

  “I’m gonna check the fox, but I’ll see you guys in a bit.” I turn back to stick my tongue out at Patrick as Everly leads him by the hand inside, and he flips me off quickly before ducking through the doorway.

  Tommy doesn’t stop chopping wood, even when I know he sees me approaching to check the little resort we’ve built for the fox. I don’t anticipate that I’ll see the fox for a couple reasons, the main one being that Tommy is being super extra dramatic with that axe. I’m wondering whose head he’s envisioning, Jackie’s? That slimy coach and his sons?

  I can’t say I blame him, or that I’m surprised. Tommy’s been his usually loud, jokey self lately, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Despite his peacocking and over the top bravado, Tommy’s not the type to find out he’s got a secret baby and just brush that under the rug. At his core, he’s a family man, and fiercely loyal. He’ll do the right thing, even if it’s hard and even if he needs to stomp around and pout for a while.

  Tommy glances over at me as I kneel down to inspect the fox’s house. The canned cat food I left out is mostly gone, and I can see where the bedding has been moved around. I saw the fox early this morning, and it seemed to be moving with more ease.

  “Do you mind?” Tommy finally says with a bite in his words, nodding his head toward the house, indicating he wants to be left alone. I stand, wiping my hands on my thighs and then walk over to him with purpose.

  “I know you’re going through some stuff right now, but I’m getting whiplash here,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. He glowers, and I elaborate, “Tell me what you’re feeling, Tommy. I can’t help you if you’re just shoving it all down and acting out when it gets too real.”

  He slams the axe down into the old tree trunk they’ve been using as a chopping block and moves closer, leaning down to look me in the eyes. “I’m the fuck up. Everyone knows that. That’s my role in our little group, and I play that part really well. I’m the distraction when the other guys are getting shit done.” He pauses, and he doesn’t have to explain that he means on and off the ice. I’ve seen how they work as a team, and he does play that part. The unnecessary fights on the ice, distracting the nurses, but he’s so much more than that too. I guess I was too wrapped up in my own stuff with Zach to realize he doesn’t think he is. He shakes his head in frustration and continues, “But this is the first time I’ve fucked up someone else's life.” He breathes out heavily, his long lashes fluttering over sad grey eyes as he grits his teeth like he’s in physical pain.

  “You didn’t ruin her life, Tommy. It takes two people to have sex—” I cut myself off because he’s shaking his head.

  He rubs both his hands over his face, and I wrap my arms around my middle because the wind is really picking up.

  “That kid, I ruined that kid’s life because of selfishness.” He turns away, hands behind his head, elbows out. I stay quiet because I’m learning that sometimes the silence is where you hear the most.

  Turning back to me, I see the tears glistening in his eyes, his long lashes blinking them back before they can fall on his windburned cheeks. “I act like an inconsiderate asshole, like I don’t have a care in the world, but I’m careful, Kennedy. She’s the only one I didn’t use a condom with.” He huffs out a long breath.

  I assumed it broke or something, and that’s how he ended up in this situation, but this is news. ‘Wrap your willy’ might as well be in the Elite credo, because they’re known for never sleeping around without using protection. Everly told me that Patrick had a rule about condoms until he met her, and that they decided that she should get on birth control because she was nervous they would get caught up and forget. Zach confided in me early on in our friendship that he’s never had sex without a condom, and since he seems to share a brain with Patrick, Tommy, and Miles, I figured it was like a team decision or something. And then there’s Henry—I can’t decide if he finds sex a waste of time or if he turns into Christian Grey when his bedroom door is closed. Does he sip tea while the girl does all the work and he critiques her performance?

  I shake away the thought, because I’m about to go ask him if I ponder this any longer, and Tommy really needs a friend right now. I never saw a need to be on birth control, so I can’t really fault Jackie if she wasn’t. Especially freshman year. I’m on it now, but no one except for Everly knows that. Back when I first moved into the Elite house, things were pretty up in the air with Zach. One minute I thought we might cave and rip each other’s clothes off, and the next I wondered if we’d even kiss again. I just wanted a safeguard because condoms aren’t a hundred percent effective, and they can break. And I’m a little busy with all this fearing-for-my-life shit to birth a hockey team.

  “You still have a shot at making it right.” I reach out and touch Tommy’s arm, and he lets me. “It wasn’t selfish. You forgot the condom. It happens to a lot of people when they get caught up in the moment.”

  His eyes peer into mine when he grits out, “I didn’t forget. I didn’t care about the consequences. I slept with her more than once, and you know I never do that. I’ve never wanted someone that much in my life, Kenney. It was more than just sex, I fucking craved being around her, but it scared the shit out of me. So then…” He breathes in sharply before continuing, “...I ignored her. I made sure there was no chance of anything happening between us.”

  My jaw must be on the floor because he throws his head back with a humorless laugh. I tighten my fingers on his forearm, asking him to come back to me. “Jackie? But she’s so—” I stop short because I’m trying to take a page out of Everly’s book by not jumping to judge peop
le so quickly. She’s been awful, but Everly is right. I don’t know why she’s that way. “I just didn’t imagine her being your type.”

  His short laugh sounds more like a bark before he says, “The way she is now is nothing like she was freshman year. She was innocent, sweet, way too good to be wrapped up with any of us.” He huffs again, breath fogging the cold air, and swings a long arm out to his side in exasperation, conveying to me that he wishes he’d been better then. I wish I could tell him that he’s better than he was and that’s all that matters, but honestly, I can’t wrap my head around the fact that Jackie was ever anything other than the Leary’s cutthroat princess.

  Tommy leans down, his teeth clenched, but his anger is directed at himself. I know he just needs me to absorb it, to let him say out loud what he’s been feeling for longer than I probably noticed. “She was really something back then. I don’t even know her now, what she’s become. She should have told me about the baby.”

  I tell him what my grandmother used to say about any problem any of us ever had, “What’s done is done, now what are you going to do with what you’ve got?”

  “I can’t have a kid.” He shakes his head. “He’s too old by now, probably hates me for not being there.”

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, but you do have a kid, and he looks just like you.” I roll my eyes at his attempted copout. Yeah, this is all scary as hell, but he’s not thinking of the kid, he’s thinking of himself. “He’s what? Two? At the most? He deserves to know you, despite what Jackie wants.”

  He breathes in deeply, and this time a tear does fall, but he wipes it away quickly. I’ve never seen this side of Tommy, and at this moment, I want to hug him and throttle him at the same time.

  So I do both.

  I reach out and pull him into a hug, and say clearly, with as much conviction as I can muster, “If Jackie is as bad as everyone says she is, you need to man up and go get your son. At least make sure he’s okay. If she’s wrapped up with the Learys, even if he’s with her sister, is he in danger too?”

  He wraps his arms around me and I feel his chest shake with his pain. “I’m not cut out to be a dad.” I pat his back before he breathes in, pulling back and wiping his face.

  “You don’t know that.” I link my elbow with his as we begin walking toward the back of the house. I have a thought, and like most things, it pops out of my mouth before I can think it through. “Who was the most important person in your life when you were growing up, aside from your mom?”

  Without even a beat of hesitation, he says, “My old man, one hundred percent.”

  I stop, and he nearly drags me behind him before he realizes and plants his feet, pulling me easily to stand in front of him. His brows furrow, and I’m trying to decide if he needs tough love or to hear the truth delicately.

  “Your son doesn’t have either of those people right now.” I see him flinch just before the back door swings open to reveal Zach. At first I think he’s angry that I’m out here with Tommy, but he holds a finger up to his lips as he pulls the door closed behind him with extra care.

  Tommy and I wait for Zach to approach, and when he’s close enough to be heard while keeping his voice low, he says, “The police are inside talking to Henry. I saw them when I was coming up from the basement. We need to keep our mouths shut.”

  Just as I’m about to ask him what the police are questioning Henry about, the back door opens, swinging on the hinge and making a squeaking noise. Two police officers with clipboards approach us, walking with so much swagger it makes my stomach roll. Zach wraps his arms around me from behind, enveloping me like we’re not in the midst of a friendship-altering fight.

  Tommy’s voice is barely recognizable as the broken boy who just cried on my shoulder a few moments ago when he says, “Hey, fellas. What brings you to our neck of the woods? Did you catch the game tonight?”

  I don’t hear either officer’s answer because while Tommy is playing his part, distracting them, Zach lowers his face to my hair, appearing to be my affectionate boyfriend. But instead he gruffly whispers, “I’ve got you, no matter what.” Chills run from the base of my neck and down my spine. The things he can do to me with just his voice will never cease to amaze me.

  I squeeze the hand that’s rested intimately against my stomach to let him know I understand. We’ll always have each other’s backs when it matters, and right now I feel like I could jump right out of my skin. I’m surprised to feel a cloth bracelet on his right wrist because he always wore the one I gave him on his left. I feel discreetly for his left wrist, finding the slightly thicker bracelet. He’s wearing my anklet, the one I threw at him last night.

  Zach doesn’t let go of me, but I feel him straighten behind me, and I wonder if he’s trying to use his height and broad shoulders to intimidate the much shorter officers. My eyes flash down to the gun on the hip of the officer closest to me. I doubt Tommy and Zach have theirs, but one thing I’m certain of is that these cops are on Coach Leary’s payroll. I can feel it. They reek of it.

  The officer closest to Tommy, whose nameplate reads Hannigan, looks me up and down, and I can feel Zach’s fingers flex against my flesh. I know he saw it too, and I’m glad he didn’t pull a Patrick and try to tackle them both at the same time.

  “We’re sure you’re aware that Cassandra Leary was in a serious carjacking with another female student.” Hannigan’s beady eyes bounce from Tommy to Zach, before landing on me. “We’ve been told that she resided here at the…” he trails off, then looks over at his partner and smirks before saying, “Elite House.”

  Zach’s arms tighten as I shift because I want to tell them that yes—Cassandra lives here, she’s one of us, because her own family is terrible and they’re probably behind the whole incident.

  “Yes, she stayed here from time to time. Her brother is on our hockey team,” Zach answers, and I wonder if anyone else can hear the anger in his voice that he’s trying to mask.

  “Hmm,” the other police officer says. His badge reads Sanders, which I commit to memory. “And Andre Leary? What can you tell me about him?”

  “He’s a really good goalie,” Tommy says, and I almost snicker out of nervousness. Neither officer looks amused, and I feel Zach breathe in, his thumb rubbing soothingly back and forth across my abdomen.

  “Look, we’re going to come out and ask. Does Andre have a vendetta against the people living in this house? We’re being told that one of the residents here…” He trails off, glancing down at his handy-dandy clipboard before saying, “Patrick Carter got into several public altercations with Mr. Leary.” I want to ask which Mr. Leary because I’m pretty sure Patrick reamed all of them out in the last couple weeks.

  When the boys go silent, I speak up, and I feel Zach go rigid behind me. “With all due respect, sir, Patrick would fight a brick wall if he thought it was looking at his girlfriend.” I smile and try to keep the shakiness out of my voice.

  “She the pretty blonde in there? Long hair?” Hannigan asks, writing something down when I nod, biting my tongue so that I don’t tell him that he’s being really unprofessional. Of course, slashing someone’s tires probably ranks higher in unprofessionalism.

  “You wouldn’t know where Andre is by any chance, would you?” Sanders asks, his dark eyes piercing into me like he’s trying to read my soul. I notice he has tattoos on his knuckles, and it stands out to me because we studied prison tattoos in my Social Inequalities class. I glance over to Hannigan, and he has them too. I stiffen, because last time I checked unless we’re in a The Fast and The Furious movie, they don’t let ex-cons become police officers.

  “Haven’t seen him,” Tommy and Zach answer together, perfectly in sync, and I cringe because it just makes it sound like they’re hiding something.

  Hannigan’s eyes sweep my body, lingering on Zach’s protective hand before he turns his attention to the boys. “His family seems to think you might know where he’s hiding.”

  “He hasn’t been at practic
e in a while,” Tommy says, tone cool and practiced, and I kind of wish Henry was here to hear him.

  “If we see him, we’ll be sure to let him know that you’re looking for him,” Zach lies, and pulls me to stand next to him, allowing me to duck under his arm and hide myself from Hannigan’s skeevy stare.

  “Hmm,” Sanders muses, and I can tell he’s more of a live wire than Hannigan. He’s more fit than Hannigan too, shorter than the boys, but it’s clear he lifts weights. I notice his knuckles are scuffed, just like Patrick’s always used to be, and I wonder if he could possibly be the one who attacked Beth and Cassandra. When I meet his eyes, all I see is violence—the type of man who doesn’t fight because he’s broken, angry, or desperate for help. No, he’s the type of man who fights for the fun of it. He likes to see people squirm, and my blood runs cold at the smirk he shoots me when he catches me staring.

  “Would you guys mind showing us out?” Hannigan finally says, gesturing toward the side of the house that leads to the driveway. I feel like grabbing their arms and dragging them to their car as quickly as I possibly can. But I keep my cool, just nodding silently as Tommy and Zach begin walking. I’m thankful that both Hannigan and Sanders stay slightly ahead of us because I wouldn’t trust them walking behind me where I can’t see what they’re doing.

  When we reach the driveway, I see their patrol car double-parked behind Henry’s black Escalade. Hannigan hands Zach a card with his information on it, I guess deeming him the most responsible out of our little trio.

  “Call us if you see Andre or you remember anything important,” he says, like it’s rehearsed, like he absolutely knows we’ll never call him for anything.

  We stand in the driveway and watch as Hannigan hops in the passenger seat of their car, but Sanders pauses as he stands by the open driver’s side, his eyes fixed on the Escalade's back tires. My stomach drops when he looks right at me and asks, “Those are a really good brand. Are they new?”