Boy Next Door (Parkside Avenue Book #2) by Raquel Lyon Page B

insurance, but patience didn’t
come easy to Kendrick, and my sympathy was in short supply. “Not getting why
you thought I wouldn’t be okay with that. What are you not telling me?”
    “The car …”
    “Yeah?”
    “I wanna race it.”
    Hell, no. “You can fuck that idea
off, right now.”
    “See. I fucking knew it. You’re
such a douche. Lighten up.”
    “You’ve no experience. At all.”
    “I’ll get some.”
    “Uh-uh. No way. I am not going to
another funeral.”
    “I’ll be careful. Just do the
small races, not the big stuff.”
    “Not on my watch.” He was in no
fit state for an argument, but there was no chance in hell I’d be letting him
risk his life for an adrenalin kick. “This conversation isn’t over, but I’m not
being responsible for you popping a blood vessel.” I smashed the tube of cream
and packet of tablets back into the first-aid box and slammed it shut. “I’ll
bring food up soon.”
    The evening dragged. I spent the
majority of it in front of the TV, watching a film with Paps and sketching out
ideas for Cora’s rear garden. But it was hard to concentrate under the deluge
of Pappa’s comments about continuity errors and how modern films had too many
special effects and not enough storyline. I tried to humour him. The old man
had been short of company since Gran’s death, and I doubted Kendrick had been
of much use in that department. When the film finished, I left Paps doing his
late-night crossword, checked in on Kendrick, and got my head down.
    The next morning, I started work
at the restaurant, and completed it a few days later, well within the timescale
I’d predicted. It would have been quicker had I not had to wait for a delivery
of topsoil.
    Despite my job keeping me busy,
my mind constantly wandered to thoughts of Cora. I could still taste her skin
on my lips, hear her sighs in my ears, and feel her body touching mine. I ached
to be with her again, and wondered if she was thinking about me at all. I’d
decided to try the absence makes the heart grow fonder tact, but so far, I had
no clue as to whether it was working. All I knew was, a few days without so
much as a sighting of her was more than I could handle, and I was beginning to
panic that our time apart was undoing any progress I’d made. On the last day of
the job, I caught the bus home and resolved to call round to see her, that
evening.
    A couple of streets from home,
the bus pulled in at the stop in front of the Pocket Scratcher. Down the side alley,
three men stood huddled behind the dumpsters, and an altercation was taking
place. I recognised two of the men as Snakehead and Tattooed Guy. They had the
third man cornered, and Snakehead was waggling something small and white in his
face. An old lady shuffling along the aisle distracted me for a second, and
when I turned back to the alley, Tattooed Guy was holding the third man’s arms
behind his back, while Snakehead pummelled fists into his stomach. I felt every
punch as if it were me. It should have been me instead of Kendrick. The old
lady took her seat, the bus set off, and I saw no more.
    When I arrived home, I went
straight to Kendrick’s room. He had finally dragged his scrawny ass out of bed,
and with the swellings receding, looked marginally more human. The scratches
had scabbed over, and his bruises had changed from purple to an odd mixture of
green and brown. He was sitting on his bed, lacing up his boots, as I entered.
    “Where do you think you’re
going?” I asked.
    “Out.”
    “No shit. Where?” I didn’t have
time to babysit him tonight.
    “Don’t bust a brain cell. I’ll
keep out of trouble.” Kendrick shot to his feet and grabbed his jacket from the
floor. “Lexi’s at a loose end, and I need my kicks, man. I’m going nuts holed
up in this room.” He delved in the pocket, noted the presence of a condom, and
tossed the jacket over one shoulder. “Wanna come? I can ask if Tina’s free
too.”
    “Nah, I’ll pass on the