The Lovely Reckless(57)
Marco moves closer, but he doesn’t touch me. “I wanted to, Frankie. I swear. But I didn’t know how to explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain. You’re a thief. Do you know how I found out? My dad dumped a pile of surveillance photos on my bed—of you and Deacon. And me!”
He shrinks back. “What are you talking about?”
Anger explodes inside me. “My dad is a cop!”
My heart pounds, and I can’t catch my breath.
I told him. The one thing Dad asked me to keep secret.
I crossed a line that I can’t uncross.
“You can’t tell anyone, Marco.” I lower my voice to almost a whisper. “Please. He works undercover, and no one can know.”
“I won’t say anything, I swear.” Marco stares at the ground.
“I’m trusting you.”
“I don’t know why.” Marco looks dazed. He turns toward the wall behind him and leans his forehead against the brick, his palms on the wall. “I screwed everything up. My life. Sofia’s. Yours…”
“Tell me why. I deserve that much.” I shouldn’t drag this out, but I can’t force myself to walk away yet.
“When my father went to prison, I inherited his debt.”
“Who does he owe? The bank? Credit card companies?”
“I wish.” Marco turns around slowly, but he won’t look at me. “The car he crashed—the one Sofia almost died in—it was worth sixty grand, and my old man never delivered it. So the guy he worked for came looking for me. He gave me a choice. Work off the money my dad owed him, or watch Sofia grow up in a foster home. He threatened to report us to Child Services. It would take a social worker about ten minutes to figure out that our legal guardian doesn’t live with us.”
“Who is your guardian?”
“My aunt. But she had no idea until my dad was arrested and the court contacted her.” Marco shakes his head, eyes still trained on the ground. “I guess my parents just wrote down her name.”
“If she knows, why isn’t she living with you?”
“She manages an estate for a big shot on Capitol Hill and his family. My aunt is in charge of everyone who works there, and she loves it. But it’s a live-in position. What could she do? Ask her boss to let her niece and nephew move in?”
Or quit and take care of them.
Marco takes a deep breath. “I know it sounds like an excuse, but I didn’t have any options.”
“So you started stealing cars?” I try to imagine the kind of choice he’s describing, but I can’t. Dad was right about one thing. Working at the rec center in the Downs isn’t the same as living there.
“At first I tried to pay off the debt with the money I made working at Kong’s, but the guy my dad owed kept tacking on interest. So I started stripping cars, but it still wasn’t enough to cover the debt.” Marco’s shoulders shake. “I didn’t want to do it. But I couldn’t let them take Sofia.”
At my old school, none of my friends had trouble paying their bills. They bought whatever they wanted. Nobody at Woodley had a parent in prison. Their lives were easy—and until Noah died, mine was, too.
Marco didn’t start stealing cars because he wanted extra money to burn. He was trying to protect his sister, the person he loves more than anyone. I don’t have any siblings, but if I had to choose between stealing and watching Lex or Abel get hurt, I would steal almost anything.
Unless …
“Is there anyone in the cars when you take them?”
Marco’s head snaps up. “I’m not a carjacker, if that’s what you’re asking. I would never hurt anyone.” The shame in his eyes makes me feel guilty for asking, but I needed to know.
There’s a difference between stealing things and hurting people. It’s the line I wouldn’t cross, and Marco hasn’t crossed it.
Eight steps.
That’s how many it takes to reach him.
I slip my arms around Marco’s waist and rest my cheek against his chest. He freezes, muscles tense beneath his T-shirt.
“It’s not your fault. I’m not saying that what you’re doing is right, but I understand why you started doing it.”
He wraps his arms around me. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I just found you. I don’t want to lose you.”
My heart stalls. “I don’t want to get lost.”
He traces a path along the side of my face and tucks my hair behind my ear. “The way I feel about you, Frankie … there’s no going back.”
CHAPTER 27
THE CHEMISTRY OF TRUST
It’s been six days since Dad showed me the surveillance photos, and we still aren’t speaking. Though he makes an exception every morning to remind me that I’m grounded indefinitely. I don’t say a word.
I’m not interested in talking to my father—not even to tell him things are over between Marco and me. Instead, I left him a note on the kitchen counter.
It won’t stop Dad and Tyson from watching Marco, but if they thought we were still seeing each other, Dad would have S.W.A.T. camped out in Lot B.
Now spending time with Marco requires a covert operation. Sneaking out isn’t an option. I’m sure Dad has someone keeping an eye on the apartment to make sure I don’t leave at night—the neighbor who offered to babysit me.