“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dad walks over and bends down next to me.
Because I can’t trust you.
He won’t like my answer, but I’m not worried about his feelings. “Deacon threatened Marco. He wanted Marco to steal a car from the country club tonight and deliver it to the dock, but Marco backed out of the job. Deacon blamed me. He said if I didn’t drive the car, he would pin everything on Marco—including things Marco didn’t do. After what Deacon did to Noah, I believed him. And I knew what you thought of Marco, so I had to do something. I couldn’t let him go to jail.” I look at my father. “But Marco still ended up here.”
“How did you know where to pick up the Gullwing?”
“Deacon didn’t tell me anything about the car ahead of time. A valet at the country club named Brian gave me the keys. I drove it out of the Heights with Deacon, and he told me where to go. I thought we were going to the docks, but he said the cops were tailing Marco and the plan had changed. I don’t know where he was trying to take me. That’s why I crashed the car.”
“You crashed the car on purpose?” The color drains from his face.
I describe the details and Dad cringes. When I get to the part about Deacon chasing me, he goes ballistic.
“Do you have any idea how lucky you are? He could’ve killed you. And if you had hit those barrels too fast or from the wrong angle…” My father shakes his head and scrubs his hands over his face. “You risked all this because you thought I would believe Deacon Kelley?”
I sit up straight and look my father in the eye. “Are you saying you wouldn’t have believed him?”
“I’m a cop, Frankie. I don’t take the word of a convicted felon without investigating.”
“After the deal you offered me, I wasn’t willing to take that chance. You’re wrong about Marco. You can’t see it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Sometimes people do the wrong thing for the right reason.”
“Come with me.” Dad stands and motions toward the door.
Is he taking me to see Marco?
I follow, but when Dad starts to open the door, I block his path. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you arrested Marco.”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Dad opens the door, and I step into the hallway. Tyson is standing at the other end with Marco.
Marco freezes as if he can’t believe I’m real.
I forget about Dad and the deal, and the fact that we’re in the middle of a police station, and I run straight into his arms. Marco catches me around the waist and buries his face in my neck. “You’re here because of me, aren’t you?” I ask.
Marco pulls back and looks at me. “Yes.”
CHAPTER 42
THE HARDEST THING
“You said a cop’s daughter and a car thief can’t be together.” Marco wipes away the tears under my eyes. “That’s why I’m not a car thief anymore.”
“I don’t understand.” He’s not making sense.
“I turned myself in this morning. I tried to text you.”
That’s why his phone kept going straight to voice mail—he was here.
I look at Dad for confirmation, and he nods. “It’s true. Marco gave us all the information we needed on the guy he works for and his operation. I guess sometimes people do the right thing for the right reason, too.”
“But you could go to jail.” I can barely say the words.
Marco nods. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take. Miss Lorraine is going to take care of Sofia.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you, and I don’t want to be that guy anymore.”
I turn to my father. “Can I talk to Marco alone?”
He holds open the door to the closest interrogation room. “Ten minutes.”
When the door closes, I bury my face in Marco’s chest, and the familiar scent of leather and citrus calms me. The story about Deacon tumbles out in bits and pieces, between tears and kisses.
Marco’s arms tighten around me. “I’m so sorry, Frankie. What he did to Noah…” He tenses. “Deacon could’ve killed you.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“We were like brothers. There must have been signs. I should’ve seen them.” Marco’s voice drops. “I never thought Deacon was capable of killing an innocent person. An abusive bastard like Cruz’s dad? Maybe. But Deacon isn’t the same guy I grew up with anymore—the one who risked his life for my sister. How do you go from crawling through broken glass to save a kid to beating someone to death three years later?”
“You’re asking the wrong person.”
Marco lifts my chin, and his eyes search mine. “I didn’t know about what happened to Noah. I would’ve turned Deacon in myself. You know that, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Marco traces the outline of my jaw.
“I couldn’t. You would’ve done something stupid.”
He nods. “You’re right. I would never let anyone hurt you.”
“Then you understand how I feel? And why I did it?”
Marco stares at the floor. “Everything except the part about you breaking up with me.”
“I made a deal with my dad.” The words come out as a whisper. But I know he heard them, because his body goes completely still.
Marco closes his eyes. “What kind of deal?”
“The night you got arrested—” I take a shuddering breath. “My dad told me he’d let you go if I promised to stop seeing you.”
Marco’s eyes fly open. His hands tunnel through the back of my hair and slide around to cup my face. “Does that mean you still love me?”
I look into his beautiful brown eyes. “I never stopped.” I touch Marco’s arm below the sleeve of his T-shirt and trace the black rose. “I don’t know if you can forgive me—”
“For what? Nobody has ever done anything like that for me before.” Marco brings my hand to his lips and kisses my palm. His hand curls around mine, and he holds it against his chest.
I slip my hand out of his and loop my arms around his neck. “I missed you every second, and I wanted to tell you.”
He pulls me closer and my body melts into his. “My life doesn’t make sense without you, Frankie. And I don’t want it to.”
Marco presses his lips against mine and the world slides back into place. I abandon every fear that kept me from giving myself to him, and I let go.
* * *
A lot can happen in two weeks.
Dad agreed to let me see Marco—not that he’s running out to buy the two of them matching sweaters. Marco and I don’t have much free time anyway, now that we both have probation officers and community service.
Richard, my not-so-terrible stepfather, paid for the damage to the Gullwing, and I’m working off the debt at charities of his choice—probably until I’m thirty. When I’m not doing that or going to school, I’m still fulfilling my community service at the rec center.
The district attorney didn’t bring charges against me for stealing the car, since it led to Deacon’s and Brian’s arrests. Tyson said Brian confessed so fast that he barely had enough time to find a pen. Deacon is currently residing at Jessup until his trial. Maybe they will let him share a cell with Marco’s father. I’ll have to testify against Deacon, but I’m looking forward to it.
Marco cut a deal for three years of probation and community service in exchange for giving the police the name of the guy he and Deacon were working for and information related to his auto theft operation. The guy is in jail, where he’ll stay until he goes to trial. Marco will have to testify, but Dad and Tyson busted some of the longshoremen who were involved, so Marco won’t be the only witness.
I stand in front of Dad’s building, waiting for Marco to pick me up.
When he finally pulls up, I hop in the Fastback. “You’re late.”
“Sorry. I was with Chief. He was working on something for me.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“What?”
> “He talked to my old teachers, and I might be able to get back on the AP track for some of my classes.”
I grab his shirt and pull him toward me. “I’m not surprised.”
My lips find his, and the sweet tension I missed so much rolls through me. I lean back to catch my breath. “I sort of have some news, too.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Give it up.”
“I decided to apply to American University in DC. They have lots of creative writing and journalism classes.”
“You’ll kick ass wherever you go.” He starts the car and drives out of the complex.
My admissions essay is almost done. After some prodding from Mrs. Hellstrom—who isn’t as crazy as I thought—I’m basing it on my journal.
It turns out that it isn’t just Noah’s story.
It’s mine, too.
When we reach our destination, Marco hands me the black mesh bag from the backseat.
“Ready?” he asks.
“I think so. Are you sure this isn’t a crazy idea?” I ask as we get out.
Marco takes my hand and we walk toward the building. “I never said it wasn’t crazy, but Sofia couldn’t talk Miss Lorraine into taking Cyclops.”
Miss Lorraine is applying to foster Sofia, and Child Protective Services granted her temporary guardianship. Marco is old enough to live on his own, but Chief insisted that Marco move in with him. Chief claims he’s going to teach Marco how to race for real, as he calls it. Marco said he’s going to teach Chief how to dress cooler.
I take a deep breath and open the glass door. The nurse looks up from the counter and smiles at me. “Someone has been waiting for you.”
Doubtful.
Marco squeezes my hand and I give her the bag. I’m starting to wish Dad hadn’t said yes.
The nurse returns with the one-eyed cat in the carrier. “He’s a little grouchy today, but he’ll let you hold him if you give him tuna and scratch behind his ears.”
I study Cyclops—the cat who never should’ve survived that first night at the animal hospital.
“Thanks.” I take the carrier, hoping he won’t claw me through the mesh. Cyclops watches me with his good eye and purrs when he sees Marco.
“He likes you better than me.”
Marco grins. “I’m pretty irresistible, and I feed him.”
“I guess.”
“Are you sure about this?” he asks. “I think Chief will take Cyclops if it’s either his place or the shelter.”
“I want to keep him, but Dad says we’ll have to see if he and Cujo get along.” I peer through the zippered panel. The cat is a fighter, like me. “And I saved Cyclops, so that makes me responsible for him.”
“Does that mean I can move in with you?” Marco takes my elbow and steers me toward him. “You saved me, too.”
I push up onto my toes and press my lips against his. The kiss burns through me, like it’s the first time.
A few months ago, I thought remembering was the hardest thing in the world. I was wrong. Forgetting is harder than remembering, but forgiving is the hardest. I’m working on that with Dad.
I was wrong about something else, too.
Before I crashed the stolen car, I thought saving Marco was the most important thing I would ever have to do.
One thing was even more important.…
Saving myself.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not exist without the support and hard work of these Lovely people.
Jodi Reamer, my amazing agent—for listening to my crazy ideas and encouraging me to see where they lead, and shepherding my books into the world as if they were your own. Your insight, passion, and faith in this story allowed me to take a risk and tackle a new genre. I’m so lucky you took a chance on me.
Erin Stein, my publisher and editor at Imprint—for your creativity, insight, and never-ending patience. Writing this book was a challenge, but you never doubted the story or my ability to tell it, even when I did. Collaborating with you has made me a better writer.
The “Lovely” Team at Imprint and Macmillan: Natalie Sousa, creative director at Imprint, for her work on the breathtaking cover; John Nora, senior production manager, and Christine Ma, senior production editor, for their attention to detail and diligence; Allison Verost, vice president, marketing and publicity, and Brittany Pearlman, associate publicist, for your excitement about The Lovely Reckless and for creating PR opportunities to spread that excitement; Lucy Del Priore, director school and library marketing, Kathryn Little, associate director marketing, Ashley Woodfolk, marketing manager, and Mariel Dawson, director of advertising and promotion, for thinking outside the box and telling the world about The Lovely Reckless; Caitlin Sweeny, digital marketing manager, for the gorgeous digital content; Jennifer Gonzalez and her incredible sales team, for convincing booksellers and retailers to take a chance on the book; and Nicole Otto, editorial assistant, for all her help.
Angus Killick, vice president and associate publisher at Macmillan—for your enthusiasm for The Lovely Reckless and your innovative ideas. Thank you for making me feel welcome at my new publishing house. I’ll hang out with you at Comic-Con anytime.
Jon Yaged, president of Macmillan—for inviting me to join Imprint/Macmillan, assembling and leading such a gifted group of people, and for sharing your creative vision.
Artist Loui Jover—for creating the gorgeous illustration for the cover.
Elizabeth Casal—for capturing the essence of The Lovely Reckless in a book cover that takes my breath away every time I look at it.
Barbara Bakowski, my copyeditor—for catching all of my mistakes and fixing them.
Writers House, my literary agency—for representing me and The Lovely Reckless. Special thanks to: Cecilia de la Campa, my foreign rights agent, for sharing her excitement about this book with sub-agents and publishers all over the world; and Alec Shane, for answering the same questions over and over and pretending I didn’t ask them before.
Kassie Evashevski, my rock star film agent at UTA—for your intelligence, passion, and innovative thinking. But most of all, for championing this book and everything I write.
My foreign publishers—for sharing The Lovely Reckless with readers in other countries. Merci. Grazie. Danke. Obrigado …
Margaret Stohl and Holly Black, my friends and extraordinary YA authors—for talking me into taking a leap of faith to write the contemporary book I kept telling you about. Margie, thanks for always knowing when to push and for believing I could do this before I believed it myself. Holly, thank you for sitting in my living room late one night and making me write down my ideas for this book, and for reading the draft and giving me notes after I did.
Carrie Ryan and Rachel Caine, my friends, writing gurus, and two of the most talented authors writing today—for reading and re-reading my draft and giving me revision notes that made a huge difference. Thanks for always taking my calls.
Lauren Billings and Christina Hobbs, my friends and superstar romance writers—for the constant encouragement and the early read to make sure there was enough kissing.
Erin Gross and Yvette Vasquez, my “think tank”—for always having the answers, cheering me on, and yelling at me when cheering doesn’t work. You are two of my best friends.
Chloe Palka, my social media assistant—for your social media expertise and creativity and for typing my messy handwritten chapters. You are the Mother of Dragons (and books).
Vilma Gonzalez, my friend, for your advice and enthusiasm. You rock.
Jennifer L. Armentrout, Holly Black, Cora Carmack, Kresley Cole, Abbi Glines, Colleen Hoover, Marie Lu, Tahereh Mafi, Richelle Mead, Katie McGarry, Jamie McGuire, Alyson Noël, Carrie Ryan, Anna Todd, my friends and a group of authors whose novels I adore—for offering quotes for The Lovely Reckless. I cannot thank you enough.
John Racca, my stepfather and a retired police officer from the Washington, DC, Metropolitan Police Department—for teaching me “critical life skills” that I ended
up needing, and for the years you spent as a plainclothes police officer chasing down real car thieves in Auto Squad.
David Stein, automotive aficionado—for sharing your knowledge of auto mechanics, muscle cars, and fast driving to correct my mistakes. You are the real “Chief.”
Bobby Duncan—for answering my questions about street racing and RPMs.
Vania Stoyanova, my friend and photographer—for making me look cool in all my author photos, especially the one for this book.
Lorissa Shepstone of Being Wicked, my graphic designer—for designing my amazing new author website, along with postcards, bookmarks, business cards, and swag.
Eric Harbert and Nick Montano, my attorney and brand manager—for being the guys who watch my back and protect me. You are brilliant and badass, my favorite combination.
Alan Weinberger, my rheumatologist—for making sure that my knees survive tours and events.
Librarians, teachers, booksellers, bloggers, bookstgrammers, booktubers, and everyone who helped spread the word—your passion for reading and love of books is an inspiration. You work, often for little or no money, to inspire a love of reading in others and you have been so kind to me over the years. Thank you for reading my books and sharing this ride with me.
My readers—for supporting me, following me when I write a new book or series, encouraging me on social media, forcing your friends to read my books, sending me letters and fan art, and sharing your stories with me. You bring my books to life.
Mom, Dad, Celeste, John, Derek, Hannah, Alex, Hans, Sara, and Erin, my parents, step-parents, siblings, and sister-in-laws—for your love, encouragement, and excitement. Thank you for always being there.
Alex, Nick, and Stella—for giving me stories to tell and the time it takes to write them. You give up so much for me to do this. I hope you know how much I love you.