Dray (9 page)

Chapter 16

Dray

I handed the dock boss my doctor’s release. He barely glanced at it before handing me my job assignment. I was going to spend the hot day below deck with the engine fumes, shoveling gravel onto a conveyor belt, and I couldn’t have been happier.

Hand surgery had left me with limited movement, a badass scar and a huge debt to Clutch, but I had two hands to use and I was back at work.

“They must be desperate if they let little weasels like you have a shift,” Bill shouted down from the window of the side-handler.

“Yeah, I heard they took you off the stacks because you’re a careless idiot,” I called back to him. “Now, we just have to hope you don’t run anyone down.”

He scowled down at me. “You’d better watch yourself, Grunt.”

I raised my hands and shook them to show the extreme fright he instilled in me with his marshmallow-assed threats. Greg, the other grunt who’d been assigned to the hold for shoveling caught up next to me.

“I heard that
Blackbeard
proposed and the
wench
turned him down,” Greg snorted. “Blackbeard, my ass, that pirate would be spinning in his grave if he knew who was using his nickname.”

I smiled. “So true. She turned him down? She was smarter than she looked then.”

Two shovels and pairs of extra heavy duty gloves were waiting for us outside the hold. Greg stared down at my slightly shriveled hand as I pulled one on. “That’s a nasty scar. I heard you broke your hand in a fight. Did you win?”

“It was just a practice session, but my hand was already broken when I stepped into the ring. I hurt it in an unrelated incident.” I shot an angry look back at the side-handler. Bill was still glaring at me. That asshole was obviously still embarrassed about the fact that I’d saved his fat ass from a certain death. Now he hated me more than ever.

A mountain high pile of gravel took up most of the space in the cargo hold, and it left a bitter, opaque cloud of dust in the air. The conveyor belt would take it up to the deck and deposit it into containers, which would then be loaded onto a chassis.

Shoveling gravel was a more intense workout than anything I could get at the gym and with the added bonus that I was getting paid for it. I’d missed fight night, and it seemed that my theory about Josh rigging some of the fights had rung true. From what I’d heard from a friend who spent a great deal of time at the gym, Tank was extremely unhappy when he found out what his stepson had been up to.

I gripped the handle of the shovel the best I could, but my fingers had lost a lot of strength after being trapped in a cast. I had to make up for the loss of grip with my other hand. The muscles in my arms twitched with sweet fatigue as I drove my shovel into the gravel, scooped it up and threw it back over my shoulder onto the conveyor belt. The temperature inside the hold was climbing fast, and every movement of our shovels sent another puff of gritty dust into the air. Eventually though, we fell into a rhythm, and the stifling heat and solid air became easier to ignore.

“What’d did you do to keep yourself occupied while your hand healed?” Greg asked without breaking the tempo.

I stopped just long enough to wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my glove and then rammed the shovel into the pile again. The jarring sensation vibrated up my arms and across my shoulders. Shoveling required a back made of steel.

“Not much I could do. A friend of mine had me over to watch his brother’s movie and porn collection. But even that got pretty fucking boring after awhile.” Barrett was between construction jobs, and he’d talked me into spending time at Clutch’s house to waste away our free time together.

“I hear ya. They really need to put more plotline into those flicks. Although, I’m always up for watching some girl on girl action, no matter what the story.”

“Have you been getting a lot of shifts out here?” I asked.

Greg managed to pull off a semi-shrug in the midst of his shoveling. “Sort of. But it still seems like a fucking long haul to become a casual. It’ll all be worth it if we can ever make it to longshoreman status, but I just don’t know if I’m patient enough. And it really pisses me off watching these big, old softies getting handed cushy clerk jobs just because they have a card.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Did you hear what happened to Farfield?” Greg asked.

“That dude with the long red beard and handlebar mustache? No, what happened?”

“He was under the hook, and the dock boss called him. He spun around too fast and crowned himself on the side of a swinging container. I was on the stacks. The dude must have flown back ten feet before landing like a giant rubber doll on the dock.”

“Shit, that must have hurt. Is he all right? He was one of the few cool guys out here.”

“He’s alive, but I don’t know if he’ll be out here again or not. Can you imagine? Worked all those years, put in all those hours, and then
bang
, one wrong move and it’s all wiped away. Might never make sense when he talks again, but I guess he’ll get some good benefit money. Bill, that asshole, was actually laughing about the whole thing. Man, someone needs to give that jerk a good pounding.”

“Believe me; no one knows that better than me.”

“Hey, it’s been awhile since we’ve worked together. Are you still with that cute little thing with the glasses?”

His question threw me off my rhythm, and the pile of gravel on the end of the shovel missed the conveyor belt completely.

“Hey, talent, watch what you’re doing,” Greg quipped. “She took off to take pictures or something, didn’t she? Is she back?”

“Yeah, I mean, no. She’s not back. She moved to New York.” I jammed the shovel into the pile. “We’re not together anymore.”

“Sorry about that.”

We finished the day with less talk, and I was fine with throwing all my energy into mindless shoveling.

***

I bought two water bottles from the vending machine and finished both before I even reached the parking lot. Blisters were already forming along my thumb and palms, and my arms felt as if I’d been lifting weights for six straight hours, which was technically what I had been doing.

A few of the guys were still standing around their cars bullshitting about stuff. Bill was leaning up against the side of his truck laughing about something. I pushed my hands into my pockets and stared at the ground hoping to avoid eye contact or contact of any sort for that matter.

Bill had different plans. “Hey, Grunt, heard your old man kicked the bucket. From what I’ve heard, he was a mean old sonavabitch.” His buddies had a nice chuckle.

I could have let his comments pass. They were, after all, pretty spot on, but I was tired and his goading struck a nerve. I stopped and looked at him. “You’re just never going to live down the shame of knowing that I saved your life, are you?” I’d definitely gotten the attention of his friends, and Bill’s eyes popped out like the eyes on a doggie squeeze toy.

I turned to walk away. “You cowardly, little piece of shit. You never saved my life.”

I looked back over my shoulder. “Yeah, I did, but I wouldn’t fucking do it again. Learned my lesson the first time.”

I turned away from him and a rock hit the back of my head. “Fucking runt. You talk about being some big shot fighter, but I haven’t seen anything to back up your bluster.”

My mind bounced back and forth between wanting to finally shut this jerk up by flattening him and not losing my position on the docks. He wasn’t worth it, and I needed the job. I kept walking. My car was just a few feet away. I’d nearly made it clear of the asshole and his asinine comments when he shot the last one over the bow, and it struck like a torpedo.

“I heard your dad spent a lot more time with the whores downtown than at home with your mom because she was such a cold fish.” It sounded like a typical schoolyard taunt from an ignorant bully, but this one rang true enough that it knocked the wind from me. I’d always known that my dad had been sleeping around with other women, and my mom had known it too. We’d just always considered it as time he spent away from the house, and that was always a good thing . . .no matter what he was up to. I hadn’t spun back around, but Bill’s friends fell noticeably silent.

The jerk knew he’d hit a cord, and he decided to pull it tighter. “Well, is it true, mini mouse?” I took a breath and glanced back at the dock. Most of the men had cleared out, and the sun had started its slow descent to the horizon. My hands, arms and back ached from an endless day of shoveling gravel, but I’d been glad to have the work. I faced him. His tobacco-stained teeth gleamed out from beneath his greasy black mustache. The two men closest to him took several subtle steps away from Bill. “Was your mom a frigid bitch?”

I shot at him as if I’d been the ammo in the center of a giant slingshot. The smirk was sucked off his face by the time I reached him. Before he could react I brought a hammerfist up beneath his chin. His teeth clacked together in his big ugly head. He fell back against his truck. I grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him to his feet. “What’s wrong,
Blackbeard
? You look like you’re going to piss your pants, just like that day when I pulled you off the edge of the container.” I pulled his face toward mine. He sputtered and groaned. “You remember that day, asshole? You fucked up my hand that day, so I won’t forget it.” I showed him my scar. “I wonder if a jab hurts more when there is a metal bar behind it.” I threw my fist straight into his face, and he dropped like a lumpy bag of potatoes. I looked around at his friends, but none of them seemed inclined to help poor, old Bill.

I walked toward my car. Before I climbed inside, Bill had come to enough to spit a string of curses at me. “You fucking little whore’s bastard, you’ll never work in this port again.”

I climbed inside of the car. The blisters stung as I gripped the steering wheel. I’d just blown any chance I had at making it up to casual status. Once again my temper had gotten the best of me. I looked out the window. Two guys were helping Bill to his feet. He was holding his hand beneath his nose to catch the river of blood. I’d really fucked up this time, but it had been totally worth it.

Chapter 17

Cassie

“Cassie, brilliant work on the protest in front of the public library,” Mr. Evans said over the usual Monday morning din in the conference room. “You really caught the passion of the movement of those bookworms. The pictures really showed their pain in having the library’s hours cut back so drastically.” Sometimes it was hard to tell if the man was joking or serious, but there was no sarcasm in his tone.

“Thanks,” I said hesitantly, again not completely sure if he was being earnest with his compliment or not.

Dash leaned over. “Hey, I heard there were some little old cat ladies gathering to protest the hike in cat food prices outside of the pet store. Maybe you should warm up your magical camera for that. It should be quite spectacular from a human interest point of view.”

“Hey, shut up. It’s not like I pick the assignments.” I looked down toward the end of the table where Mr. Evans had fallen into a conversation with one of the journalists. “So, was he just teasing me? I have a hard time reading him sometimes.”

“Actually, I think he really meant it. The pictures were good. I saw them.”

“Thanks, Dash, that means a lot. I just wish I wasn’t feeling so—”

“Unfulfilled?”

I relaxed back against the chair. “Yep, that’s the perfect term for it.”

He took my hand. “Look, Sweetie, this is just a place to get your feet wet. Don’t think of it as the final rest stop in your photography career. I, myself, dream of shooting super models for magazines, but, in the mean time, I’ll settle for dull art and a little civil disobedience by a group of book nerds. The real stuff will come. You just have to wait for it and work hard. Plus, it’s nice to be able to pay bills.” He lifted the end of his scarf, a vivid blue and white confection with long tassel ends. “And buy new scarves.”

“That one really suits you, Dash.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me.”

A slightly disheveled and less put together Jolene slid into the conference room and dropped into the empty chair beside Dash. She sank down on the leather seat in an obvious attempt to go unnoticed.

“Nice of you to join us, Jolene,” Mr. Evans called from across the room.

Jolene smiled weakly and waved her long sparkly nails at him.

Dash cast a cool, almost angry scowl at her. “Don’t you dare tell me that you’re late because you were up all night have raunchy, thigh burning sex with—”

I placed my hand on his arm to stop him. He’d only glanced her way, and, in that short span of time, he hadn’t noticed the expression of grief on her face. The swelling around her eyes made it painfully obvious that she’d been crying for a good part of the night. It was a puffy-eyed look I’d seen too often in my own mirror, and even though Jolene always went out of her way to seem unfazed and callous about life’s events, there was no mistaking the look of heartbreak.

“Rex broke it off last night.” She grabbed a donut from the plate in the center of the table and picked at the sprinkles.

Dash reached over and put his arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry I was such a meanie, Jo Jo. I had no idea.”

She ripped off a large chunk of donut and stuffed it into her mouth with a shrug. “No biggie.” She took a second bite, which was completely out of character for her. Then she tossed the half-eaten donut onto the table and slumped down. “They are all such assholes.” She looked past Dash to me. “Am I right?”

“I’d have to agree with you there,” I said.

Jolene sat up. “Wait, whatever happened to that dreamy hunk from down under that you met at the bar? Did he call you?”

I nodded and Dash leaned in. “Details, girl, details.”

“He wasn’t my type.” It had been my first real date since my break up with Dray, and it had only deepened the hole in my heart. I’d astonished myself by spending the entire date with a completely decent and extremely charming man pinpointing every little thing about the man that didn’t measure up to Dray. “We had a nice date and then I realized I wasn’t ready to meet anyone yet.”

Mr. Evans tapped his coffee cup on the table to get everyone’s attention.

Dash leaned over and spoke quickly before the meeting started. “Now we’re going to have to hear all the details about the guy you left behind. Today in the lunch room over Greek yoghurt. Don’t be late and be prepared to dish.”

***

I’d spent the morning editing pictures and was thankful not to have to travel through traffic to get to some mundane photo shoot. I had a crapload of emails to go through, mostly spam, but some important stuff too, especially one from Scotlyn that had a picture attached. I opened the email and scrolled down.

The top half of a large thumb covered a photo of Clutch standing in front of his race car holding a trophy that would have looked massive in a normal person’s hands but that looked small in his. Taylor was stretched out on the hood looking beautiful in a way that only Taylor could look. And Scotlyn was in her usual spot beneath Nix’s arm. They all looked incredibly happy, but Dray was noticeably absent from the shot. I could only assume that the thumb blocking the lens belonged to Barrett.

I scrolled back up to her email. “Hey, Cass, how’s the Big Apple? Thought you might appreciate the pictures below. Unfortunately, Dray was still recuperating from surgery on his hand when Clutch won this race. He’s been kind of a party pooper lately too. But I’m sure he’ll come around. I’m sure you’ve probably already figured out who the thumb belongs to. I swear, only Barrett would find a way to photo bomb a picture that he was actually taking. I did manage to click off a picture of Dray when we went to see him on the Lucy. I thought it was a really good one. Hope everything is good with you, and we’ll talk soon. Love Scottie.”

I scrolled down below the group photo and sat back against the chair. Dray was sitting on the deck of the boat with a blue cast on his hand. His pales eyes were shiny in the sunlight, and his mouth was turned up in that crooked smile that always grabbed my heart. And he looked completely lost. Dray was always a total puzzle when it came to extreme emotions. One minute, he could be so cocky and confident it bordered on irritating, and the next minute, he could be as lost and susceptible as a stray dog. In the picture it was clear that he was putting on a good face for his friends, but I could always see past that layer of steel. I’d always convinced myself that that was why he needed me. He needed someone who could see through his suit of armor down to his core.

“Oh my, dark and dangerous. I like him.” I hadn’t heard Jolene walk up behind me. “Who is that tattooed hunk of muscle?”

“That’s my
artsy, quiet type
back home.”

“O.K., never in a million years would I have seen you with someone like that. I don’t know whether to be impressed, shocked, or baffled about how I could have gotten it so wrong. I’m usually an excellent judge of pairing up people.” She leaned down and looked closer. “What’s in the picture above?”

I sat forward and grabbed the mouse. “Those are all my friends in California.”

Jolene’s mouth dropped open. “I’ve just made a life changing decision. I’m moving to California.”

I smiled. “Those two guys are very much taken.”

“I can see that, darn it. The best ones always are.” She leaned out of my cubicle. “Dash, come here a minute. You wanted Cassie to dish about her guy back home? Well, here’s his picture.”

Dash scurried over. Three people seemed to be the maximum capacity for my cubicle. Jolene scooted aside so Dash could lean over my shoulder. “Who the hell is that Greek god with the trophy? Is that him?”

I pointed to my monitor. “That’s my friend Clutch, and his girlfriend, Taylor, is the one on the hood of the car. This is Nix. He was my boss back in California.”

Dash leaned closer and squinted at the picture. “And you left that job? I don’t think wild horses could’ve dragged me away from that boss.”

“Nix was great to work for. They’re all great friends and just looking at this picture makes me really miss them.”

“So, where’s your guy?”

As much as the picture of Nix and everyone evoked a dreary feeling of homesickness, Dray’s picture made it feel like the homesickness had seeped directly into my heart. My chest felt heavy as I scrolled down.

Dash stared at the picture. “All right, did not expect that. He looks considerably different than I imagined. Why is his hand in a cast?”

“Dray is an amateur fighter in his spare time.”

“Holy shit,” Jolene gasped, “you went for the full dose of testosterone, didn’t you?”

I laughed. “I did. Don’t know why. There was always something about him that drew me in. He is best friends with my ex-boss. On my first day of work at Freefall, I was standing at the counter eating my sandwich and chips. Dray walked in with this swagger that made me think ‘oh this guy thinks he’s tough shit’. It turned out the swagger wasn’t a pretense. He’s as tough as he looks.”

I smiled thinking back to that first encounter. “He didn’t even know me, but he walked over, smiled at me and then reached in and took a chip— without asking. And for some damn reason, I was hooked.”

“For some damn reason?” Dash repeated. “Just look at the guy. Every inch of him is melt worthy.”

I clicked out of my email. “I’ve got to get back to work,” I said sounding pretty lost myself, and that was how I was suddenly feeling, rudderless and alone.

Jolene gave me a cursory hug. “It will get easier, Sweetie. Everyone misses home at first, but, eventually, New York will feel like a home too.”

I nodded weakly. “I’m sure it will.” The second they left, I pulled up the email to look at the picture again. It seemed impossible to think that any place could ever be home without Dray being there.

***

My phone beeped and I squinted into the wavering shadows. There was a constant stream of street lights skewering the threadbare curtains on my bedroom window. I’d grown used to having the urban night light. It was one in the morning. I reached over and picked up the phone to read the text.

“Tag, you’re it.” I sucked in a breath. It had been such a long time since I’d seen that text and seeing it now was completely unexpected. It was a game Dray and I had invented. We’d send sexy text messages back and forth to each other until one of us had to
tap out
meaning we were either so turned on we couldn’t keep going or we had to get back to work, which was sometimes difficult to do. Anything was fair game— pictures, dirty talk, or reminders of something wild we’d done where the sex had been mind blowing. Which, with Dray, had been just about every time. I was always sure that Nix had known what I was up to. It had been hard to keep the blush from my face when I read the texts. Sometimes Dray and I had been so hot for each other we could barely get into the house after work without tearing each other’s clothes off. It was strange of him to start the game now.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” I typed.

“And very horny.”

“When aren’t you horny? And why do you need to play tag when you’re already close to
tapping out
.”

“You’re killing the moment, woman.” Then a picture came over. We’d made a rule of never sending our faces over just in case we lost a phone. He was shirtless and his jeans were unbuttoned. His thumb was dragging down his underwear so that the long dark line of hair was exposed. Dray had a chest and shoulders that could steal a girl’s breath. I could still feel every familiar ridge of muscle in my fingertips. My skin warmed as I thought about running my hands over his bare skin.

“This isn’t fair. It’s one in the morning here.”

“Oops, forgot about the time difference. Drunk, remember.”

I got out of bed and turned on the light, amazed at how easily he’d gotten me to play along and doubly amazed at how one picture of him had already gotten me hot. I stared down at the long gray t-shirt I was wearing. It had belonged to Dray. It had been worn so soft and cozy, that I’d taken it from him and turned it into a rather unflattering nightgown. I ran my hand over the cotton shirt trying to remember what it felt like wrapped tightly around his hard chest and arms. I lifted up the hem of the t-shirt. I was wearing lacy blue panties that were more string than material. I lowered the phone and took a picture. Clicking send made heat swirl up between my thighs, and I fantasized about standing in front of Dray’s heated gaze in just panties. There was no response, and, for a moment, disappointment set in and I wondered if he’d passed out.

Then a text came back. “You’re wearing my t-shirt.”

“Really? That’s what you noticed? The blue thong panties skipped right by you?”

“The panties were nice.”

“I wasn’t going for nice. Did I just put a buzz kill on the whole thing with the t-shirt?”

There was a long pause. “No, the opposite. I was thinking about your hardened nipples rubbing against the fabric of my t-shirt.”

My breath quickened at his response and I closed my eyes as I slid a hand over my breast.

A message came back. “That night when I came home and you were making dinner in nothing but that awesome fucking corset you’d bought at the mall.”

My face heated and my knees weakened at the thought of it. I’d felt completely wicked buying the thing, and I’d had to have several drinks before putting it on. But it had been worth it. “The dinner burned.”

“Hell yeah it did. I loved that corset.”

“I only wore it the one time because you ripped open the lacings.”

“That was your fault.”

“How was that my fault?”

“You stepped out of the kitchen wearing nothing but that corset. What were you expecting? Restraint?”

I laughed. “That night when I’d dented my car on a pole and it had rained all day and I got home completely drenched and miserable. And you took off my clothes and filled the tub with bubbles. And you kissed me for hours.” I pressed send and a cry fell from my lips. I missed him so much I could feel the despair down to the tips of my hair.

There was a long silence. My fingers were shaking slightly as I typed the next message. “I forfeit.”

It took him a minute to respond. “Too late. I already lost. I
tapped out
after the t-shirt.”

A short sad laugh escaped me. “Good night, Dray.”

“Dray? Who’s Dray?”

I laughed again. “Sleep tight.”

“Good night, Cass.”