Damaged Elite (The Darlington Elite Book 2)

by Waverly Alexander

  “I still fucking love her,” Andre grits out, his eyes snapping over to Patrick. “I would have done anything for her, but she was worried about what you’d think. How upset you would be if you found out she was dating someone on the team, especially someone with a reputation like mine.”

  Patrick puts his hands on the back of his head, elbows sticking out as he breathes in through his nose like he does when he’s actually upset. Not the kind of upset he gets with me, but when he’s really trying to hold his shit together.

  “She’s his sister, he wanted what’s best for her. Nobody would want one of us dating their sister.” Tommy defends Patrick as he stands, reaching one hand over his shoulder and lifting his dirty shirt off with such ease, I suspect he’s practiced the maneuver to impress his female conquests.

  “I don’t mind it,” Andre says, nodding his head toward Miles, who bows his own head in acknowledgment. They seem to have an understanding that Miles will look after Cassandra, and I agree with Andre. Miles is so in love with her, and I just hope she accepts it when she wakes up and doesn’t keep pushing him away.

  “What happened to my sister?” Patrick asks again, and when Everly goes to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around his naked torso and pressing her face against his back, I feel the atmosphere in the room shift. Patrick lets out a breath, placing his hand over Everly’s and then breathing in deeply. “Why were you at our house tonight?”

  “Can you cut that shit out, Henry? You’re making me anxious.” Andre gestures toward where Henry’s resumed pacing. Henry lets out a bored sigh, opting to lean his shoulder against the wall closest to him and crosses his legs at the ankle. He waves a dismissive hand to Andre as if to say ‘go on’.

  “I wanted to tell you what I know and clear the air, get everything off my chest because if you haven't noticed, things aren’t looking so good for me.” Andre rubs his hand over his short hair and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “You’re going to have to figure something out, because they’re not going to back down until you either leave town, which I know you won’t do, or until they shut you down.”

  “Figure something out?” Tommy pipes up again from where he’s lounging on the pullout couch like he didn’t just have everything he owns burned to a crisp. It’s not healthy that any of us are handling things this well, but I suppose it’s better than a room full of sobbing college students. The calmness I feel is probably just the shock of everything that’s going on. I hope when it’s all over, I don’t break down into a million tiny pieces. “The police are sucking your father’s dick, and you want us to do something?” Tommy shoves up on his elbows, as if leveling Andre with a look will fix any of this bullshit. “What do you want us to do, call the fucking news station and have a helicopter land on the fucking roof of the frat house?” He flops back down, scrolling through his phone and mumbling under his breath in either Italian or Spanish, but I’m too tired to try and decipher any of it.

  I glance over at Henry to see what he thinks of the news station idea because, in my nearly delirious state, it doesn’t sound half bad. He’s always unreadable, though, and I’m not about to interrupt the Patrick vs. Andre extravaganza that absolutely needs to happen for everyone to get closure. I feel Zach squeeze my thigh as he moves to sit next to me, sliding his arm around me. I’m zoning out and I don’t mean to, tonight has just been a lot, and there’s no end in sight.

  “It’s convenient that the night our house is torched, you just happen to be hanging around on the front porch.” Henry’s tone is dry, but emotionless. He’s giving Andre nothing, waiting to see what reaction he gets in return.

  “It’s also convenient that I risked my life to save those fucking idiots,” Andre replies, swinging an arm out toward Tommy and then to Patrick, who only knits his brows to ensure everyone understands he’s not happy. “Look, I’ll admit, I fucked with you every chance I got after Darcey died, and I used Everly to do it. For that part…” he leans to the side to look Everly in the eye. “I wish I could take that part back because I know Darcey would have been so fucking livid, and you didn’t deserve that.”

  I lean into Zach and watch as Everly offers Patrick a smile. The sadness is palpable between them, and I’m amazed at how Everly seems to always forgive so easily. But it hits me that maybe she’s doing it for Darcey, too.

  Everly steps around Patrick, probably satisfied that he’s not going to fight Andre again. “She’d want you to tell us what happened that night,” she coaxes him.

  Andre sits down, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his palms over his face roughly before looking at Patrick directly, man to man. “I was with her the night she fell.” He clears his throat of the emotion that’s begging to be released before he continues. “We were supposed to go on a date, but we never made it out of the frat parking lot.” He breathes in deeply through his nose. “I was so angry with her because she wasn’t ready to tell you about us. She said she loved me, really loved me. But she wouldn’t tell you, so we had to keep sneaking around. Putting Everly in the middle of it to cover for us.” He shakes his head, wiping his eyes quickly before any tears can fall. “I said some shit I shouldn’t have, and she stormed out of the car and headed to the back parking lot where her car was parked.” In one quick moment, he’s up, and hurls his water bottle so hard that I flinch, moving onto Zach’s lap and gripping his shirt in my hands. I’m not generally jumpy, but my body feels absolutely rigid with stress.

  But I see Henry pushing off the wall, and he catches the bottle with a quickness I can’t fathom. Without saying a word, he sets the bottle on the mini-bar before casually leaning against it, putting himself between Patrick and Andre.

  I meet Henry’s eyes for a brief second, and he’s clearly amused at my shocked expression because he smirks, crossing his arms across his chest and then looks away. That was not hockey training or athletic reflexes. There’s so much more to Henry’s story and I wonder if we’ll ever find out what he’s really been through.

  Andre points at Patrick, who is grinding his teeth, his jaw flexing with the movement. “I should have fucking went after her, swallowed my pride, and told her that I’d be with her no matter what. Instead, I went back to the party.”

  “Do you know what happened to her?” I blurt out, and I almost immediately wish I hadn't, but Andre’s anger seems to dissipate when he turns to look at me. His voice softens. “No. God, I’d give anything to go back to that night—” he breaks off, choking on his words and sitting back down in his chair, covering his face with his hands. Miles moves over and places his hand on his back, biting his lip and looking down at his feet. I know he’s worried about Cassandra, and if this will be him in the future, regretting all the things he didn’t do if she doesn’t wake up.

  “Was Darcey drinking that night?” Henry asks in an even, nearly bored tone.

  “No. Not a single drop.” Andre looks up, his expression is hard and final. “She was mad at me but completely sober.”

  “Why would your brothers have an issue with Darcey? Did they know you were…” Patrick seems to struggle to find the right word before he settles on, “Together?”

  “No one knew. Only Everly, and she didn’t know for very long.” Andre stands again, and all the moving around is making me feel restless, so I move to sit on my knees. Zach’s hand moves to my lower back, his thumb tracing an invisible line above the band of my leggings. His touch brings me such comfort and I turn to look at him, wanting to convey just how much I appreciate him. But I’m gobsmacked when I meet his eyes. The pure adoration I see there is deeply humbling, and something I’ll probably never get used to. I hope that he feels the same way when I look at him. I hope he feels it way deep down in his soul.

  “Why then?” Tommy blurts, because we’re the same that way. Our words spill out before we can think better of it.

  “I think she saw my brothers doing something illegal and they panicked, and then during the struggle, she fell down the stairs. I don’t know if it was
an accident or if they meant to hurt her,” Andre seethes. “It doesn’t matter. I think they forced the drugs on her to make it look like she was wasted and like she fell down on her own.”

  “What happened to Cassandra?” Miles is the one who speaks up next, but my eyes are drawn to Patrick’s movements. He pulls Everly to stand in front of him, and I watch as he wraps his hand in her hair like some sort of grown-ass-man security blanket.

  “I was at Darcey’s grave when that happened.” Frustration rattles in Andre’s gravelly voice.

  “This isn’t the first time Beth has accused you of violence, though,” Henry comments, so nonchalantly that it almost doesn't sound like he’s accusing him of anything.

  “Do you think it could have been self-inflicted?” Everly asks out of nowhere, and I wonder how long this has been on her mind. “Not Cassandra, obviously,” she quickly adds. “Beth is left-handed, which means she could have shot Cassandra and then pointed the gun at her right arm and pulled the trigger.”

  “Motivation?” Henry shifts his body to face Everly, silently telling her she’s piqued his interest.

  “Just a theory.” She shrugs. “She accused Andre of beating her, which wasn’t true, and it seems fishy to me that someone would have harmed Cassandra in such a brutal way, and then leave Beth with such insignificant wounds and the ability to identify who did it.”

  “I can tell you why,” Andre says, slouching in his chair. “She blames me for Dalton’s drug use and ultimately his death, but I repeatedly tried to get him to quit doing the drugs that Kevin got him hooked on.”

  “Did he really overdose?” Zach asks what we’re all wondering.

  Ande nods quickly, not even second-guessing his answer. “They had zero reasons to hurt him. He wasn’t a threat, loyal to a fault, and he was their little gopher.”

  “We’re running out of time,” Patrick says.

  “Too much is going on, I can’t fucking focus,” Andre complains, covering his face with his palms again.

  “Well get your shit together, because we have to figure it out.” Patrick’s voice is rough. “For your sister, and mine.”

  “I think I know someone who can get us footage of what’s going on in that cellar,” I tell the group. “But you’re going to have to take me to my old dorm in the morning.”

  22

  Zach

  It’s got to be about six AM and none of us have even slept, but thankfully we’re all showered and were able to get fresh clothes. On the way to campus, we drove by the wreckage of the Elite House for Kennedy to check on her fox, and it’s safe to say that nothing is salvageable. Tommy will be happy about the incinerated couches, I suppose. Kennedy insisted that while Miles and Tommy are headed to the hospital to see Cassandra, Andre is trying and probably failing to sleep off his exhaustion, and Patrick and Everly are keeping an eye on him, that Henry and I bring her to her old dorm.

  “Kenney, what’s going on? Why won’t you tell us where we’re going?” I lean up from the middle seat as Henry pulls the SUV into the all-girls dorm she used to live in. God, those days feel like a lifetime ago—when all I had to worry about was keeping my feelings for her hidden. Now I just worry about making sure she knows how much I love her, how essential she is in my life.

  “Because you guys will mess this up, and you’ll try to make me wait in the car if I tell you what we’re doing,” she chirps, and I’m amazed at how adaptable she is, how she keeps her spirit no matter what’s happening. She turns in her seat to wrinkle her nose at the idea of waiting in the car where she’d be safe. My eyes take in her delicate features as I brush her hair behind her ear.

  I fucking love her.

  “No one’s getting out of the car until you explain why we’re here. Or why you requested I join you specifically.” Henry puts the SUV in park after he expertly glides back into a parking space far enough away from the building so as to not cause our vehicle to stand out.

  Kennedy grabs the door handle, popping it open and hoping down before smiling up at Henry. “That’s why I wanted to sit in the front, the whole child safety lock bullshit is a little controlling, don’t you think?” I cover my face with my hands because she’s one hundred percent channeling Bruce Willis in Die Hard. We’re in the middle of a shitstorm with no positive outcome in sight, and here she is talking smack.

  Henry doesn’t have a reaction, other than to appraise her slowly with his eyes until she says, “And honestly, fucking with Patrick is losing its zing. I figured I’d see what makes you tick.” She claps her hands together to indicate she’s ready to go before adding, “Come on, boys, we’ve got some bad guys to take down.”

  And for the life of me, I don’t know why, but we both get out of the vehicle and follow her crazy ass with no real explanation.

  “Now, just let me do the talking because I don’t need you scaring her, okay?” Kennedy says when we’re just about to get off the elevator on a floor I don’t recall ever going to when sober. Henry reaches out and presses a button, which triggers the doors to close.

  “Where are we going?” His voice is stern, but I don’t step in. Not yet. She’s capable, and quite honestly, pushing his buttons.

  “One of us is going to jail if you don’t let me off this elevator.” She quirks an eyebrow, challenging him. And for the first time in all the years I’ve known Henry, his eyes flash to mine in bewilderment. He doesn’t know what to do with her. “You for kidnapping, or me for homicide. I haven’t decided which one.” I shake my head and laugh because she talks a good game for such a tiny girl.

  “Hey man, I say we just ride it out. It always turns out fine when she gets like this as long as she gets what she wants,” I say, holding my hands up defensively because I know I sound just as insane as she does.

  After a moment of deliberation, Henry pushes the button to open the doors and Kennedy glides past him with a chipper, “Thanks!” like she didn’t just threaten his life. I shake my head, silently laughing and wave him on to follow her.

  We’re in front of a bare door, no pictures, no nameplate. It looks like no one even lives here. Kennedy raises her hand to knock, but I snatch her away from the door.

  “Look, we’re playing your little game,” I say, spinning her around to face me. “But I’ve gotta make sure you’re safe. Let us knock.”

  She huffs, but nods, waving a hand out expectantly toward the door.

  I knock loudly, probably a little too hard, and I realize then why she wanted to do it herself. That would scare anyone, especially a girl alone in her dorm, who judging by the lack of info on her door, doesn’t want anyone to know she’s here.

  “False imprisonment,” Henry says matter of factly while we wait. Kennedy blinks at him, tilting her head up with a dimpled smile as if she knows she’s gotten under his skin, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think it was funny too.

  “I’m going to need more than that.” She leans back against me, and I watch as she studies him, and I’m starting to understand why Patrick calls her a little troll. But she’s my little troll, and I love her.

  “Kidnapping requires moving the victim to another location without their consent, even a short distance. False imprisonment only requires keeping the victim from leaving an area from which they want to escape.” His tone is cool, but it doesn’t have the desired effect because she looks him up and down as she reaches out to knock, more softly than I did, on the unanswered door.

  “While I appreciate the effort you're putting in trying to freak me out, I don’t think you’re a serial killer. The Learys wouldn’t be a problem if you were.” Kennedy rolls her eyes, lifting her hand again to knock before adding. “But I do think you’re an uptight control freak, and probably really kinky in bed.” She says it so matter of factly, like she’s reading a grocery list, that I almost choke trying to clear my throat.

  Just as Henry is about to retort, the door opens to reveal a still bruised Jackie Bower.

  “What do you want?” She sounds as tired as she lo
oks. She has a tight grip on the door, but I step forward, pressing my foot against the bottom just in case she decides to slam it in our faces.

  Henry cocks his head at Kennedy as if to tell her that the floor is hers.

  “Look, Jackie, I know you don’t like us, and that’s fine. But if the Learys are stopped, your problems go away. They already released the sex tape, so why are you still letting them use you like a pawn? Because I know that’s not who you really are.” Kennedy’s tone is assertive but still sympathetic, and I realize now why she wanted to be the one to do this. We would have fucked it up.

  “It’s none of your business what I’m doing.” Jackie scowls but then winces because the contortion of her face must hurt with all the bruising.

  “You’ve got direct access to that basement,” Kennedy says. “If we could just get them on video, something, all of this would go away. No one is safe. They burned our house down with all of us still inside. If it wasn’t for Andre, we probably wouldn’t have all made it out.” Kennedy’s voice cracks and I realize that even when she seems okay, I need to remember that she’s still scared and hurting. I reach out, cupping the back of her neck with my hand, hoping I’m offering some sort of comfort.

  I see the surprised look pass over Jackie’s features, and it’s clear that she doesn’t know everything the Leary’s are doing. Her swollen lips press into a line when she says, “Andre didn’t do anything they’re saying he did. He was a fucking prick most of the time I knew him, arrogant as the rest of you, but not a criminal.” She gestures to Henry and then to me, and neither of us are offended because...she’s not wrong.

  “Why do you let the older Learys push you around? The sex tape is already public, so why?” Kennedy implores, and I see Jackie shift. “What do they have on you? Tommy knows about his son...what is it?”