Fast & Hard (The Fast 1)

Twenty One

“I know you are the only one, my little tease of heaven. And you know I am the only one, your bitter taste of hell.” - Drowning Pool - 37 Stitches

Lennox

Orange and red flames dance across the charred twigs and limbs, glowing embers popping and hissing as moisture inside the wood bursts and explodes. The dance of the fire has me so transfixed I don’t notice Mallory’s awake until the sliding door opens and she steps outside to join me at the fire pit. A steaming mug of coffee in her hand, she’s wearing a pair of my sweatpants rolled up several times at her waist, and my Talisker Distillery hoodie.

“What was in the suitcase I hauled in if not your own clothes?” Honestly, I should throw her suitcase into the bay so she has to wear nothing but my clothes, but I still need to tease her.

She smirks at me over the rim of her mug, otherwise ignoring me and taking a seat in one of the wooden Adirondack chairs close to the fire. Her hair is twisted up on the top of her head and she looks like she got fucked half to death then slept for twelve hours, because that’s exactly what happened.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She eyes me suspiciously.

Because the sight of you in my clothes, in my house, in my bed, is doing things to me that I don’t know how to deal with. And we’re here for a different reason, as much as I’d like to pretend otherwise. “How’d you sleep?”

“Mmm,” she moans and rolls her head stretching her neck, “amazing until I woke up with a sandpaper-y tongue licking my face.”

“If I had a sandpaper tongue…”

“Stop!” She closes her eyes and simpers, “too early for that.”

“The black one is Prost, the grey one is Senna. They’re siblings and they fight like hell.” My super lame F1 pun is lost on her.

“So is this what you do when you come home, do yard work and burn things?”

“Men have to start a certain number of fires each year or our balls fall off.” I realize I’m being especially sarcastic, trying to avoid the inevitable.

“You must be a pyromaniac then, your balls are in excellent condition,” she gives me a thumbs up, lifts her knees onto her chair and stretches my hoodie over them.

I’d much rather continue making sexual innuendos or just sit here quietly with her by the fire, but I need to rip the bandage off. “So how does this work, you just ask me questions? You record this or take notes or something?”

Her face falls, her expression blank.

“I’ll answer whatever you ask but my family still stays out of it, they won’t be joining us.”

“I won’t meet your parents?” She creaks, her voice still groggy from sleep or hoarse from screaming last night.

I feel like a prick but I need to remember that she’s here with an agenda, one that I imposed it on her. This is her safety net from her father, Celeritas, and hell, even me when she gets sick of my shit and quits or leaves me at the end of the season. If not sooner. With more edge to my voice than I intend, it comes out, “It’s just a hard line for me. They didn’t sign up for this life, I won’t do it to them.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“I’m sorry, Mal, that’s the only thing off the table. Pick something else. Where do you want to start?” Maybe I should get a knife and slice my chest open for the whole world to see, it’d be quicker and probably less painful.

“Why are you being like this? I didn’t ask for this. I said no, you’re the one who called Cooper.” Her hands are shaking around her coffee mug.

Jesus, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I take a deep breath and run my hands through my hair. “You’re right. I’m an asshole, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not doing it, Lennox. I won’t.”

“You have to. You said you’d do this for me.”

Her lip is quivering and her eyes are glassy. “But you’re doing it for me and I don’t want it.”

She may not want it now but she will eventually. If I can’t be there forever I need to do what I can to make sure she has a soft place to land. I walk over to her, kiss her coffee tinted lips, and pull her phone out of the front pocket of her hoodie. Over her protests, I go back to my chair, swipe up and find the audio recorder app. Turning it on, I set it on the arm of my chair.

“Can we just do this?” I ask with as much patience as I can muster.

“Anything I want to know I wanted to know for me, not for any other reason.” She wipes her eyes with her sleeves. My jaw ticks and I swallow hard to keep myself in my seat, keep myself from storming over there and wrapping my arms around her.