Ocean (Damage Control Book 5) (16 page)

Useless. She says nothing more.

I order some pizza and end up putting most of it away in the fridge for later. Mom’s never had much of an appetite, but today it’s even less, and mine isn’t much better.

By late afternoon, the weather has turned to a drizzle, and it’s time for me to go.

Armed with the doctor’s name and phone number, I tell Mom goodbye—to which of course I get no reply—and march through the muddy park to reach my car. I start the engine and swallow hard.

What a fucking bad day.

By the time I pull out of the empty field that doubles up as parking lot and onto the interstate, I’ve managed to stop cursing.

The cemetery isn’t far. A few exits down. The scent of the lilies inside the pick-up is so strong it’s making my sinuses itch. I take the exit, the gears kinda sticking as I downshift. Frowning, I make my way to the gate and park.

It always hits me like a ton of bricks whenever I sit here, with my bunch of flowers, about to visit a girl long dead. The embodiment of my failure. The trigger of my downfall.

And listen to me whining. Fuck, she’s gone, she’s dead and buried, and I’m here feeling sorry for myself.

It’s still drizzling, and my jacket ain’t stopping rain for shit, so I do what I always do in case of rain: I drop my cell phone into a Ziploc bag and put it back into my pocket. Not the first time my cell died because it got wet, and I can’t afford another right now.

Icons for text messages are flashing on the screen. I ignore them. Not now, dammit.

Let’s do this.

Sucking in a deep breath, I grab the flowers and climb out of the pick-up. I trudge down the familiar path, my feet moving of their own volition. They know the way, even when I’m lost inside my head, like now.

The grave is unremarkable, except for a faded doll sitting on top of the tomb, next to a bunch of dead lilies.

With a sigh, I take the dead flowers and place the fresh bunch in their place.

Then I turn my back to the tomb and slide down, resting against it, stretching out my legs in front of me and laying the dead flowers across my knees.

“Hey, Livvy.” I press the heels of my palms into my eyes. “Guess who’s here. The guy who promised he’d take care of you. The guy who failed you.”

I remember her running through the trailer park with my brother, giggling and yelling. Little terrors, both of them. And then they turned into teenagers and thought they could take on the world. They tried to do what I was doing.

One of them is now dead. Because I was a bad example. Because I didn’t look out for them as I should have.

The sky is darkening with nightfall and angry clouds. The light drizzle is turning into rain, and I let it run down my face, down my neck. I lick the raindrops off my lips, lacking the motivation to move.

Except I need to punch something. Break something. Punish something or someone, when the fault is mine.

For Livvy’s death. Raine’s anger. Mom’s sickness. For ruts that run so deep that no matter what you do, you can’t escape.

Holy shit.
I really should get back before I do anything stupid.

I’m already drenched. Too late I pull up the hood of my jacket. A shiver wracks me as I make it to my feet and head back to my Chevy.

Fucking cold wet.

The weather suits my mood damn fine. I throw the dead flowers in the back seat and pull out onto the street. The headlights cut yellow cylinders in the dark and falling rain. The wipers swish back and forth as I re-enter the highway and step on the gas.

Clunk, clunk
goes the engine.

“Son of a bitch.” I slam my hand on the wheel.

Feels good, the pain radiating up my arm, the heat. So I do it again. And again. I bow my head, panting.

It’s not enough. I need something…
someone
. I think of Kayla’s hand on my chest, resting there, as if counting my heartbeats, and it feels as if I’m gonna fall to pieces.

I can’t let it happen. I need to be strong. Hard. Impenetrable. Unbreakable. Can’t let this news of my mom’s sickness, or the possibility of back-breaking expenses destroy me. Not when I’m responsible for Mom. There might be a way to fix this. Cure her. Get financial aid.

Get Raine to see me, see her.

Break this vicious circle of guilt and anger. Be free to be who I want, be with whom I want, be happy. Real fucking happy, not the kind with the skin-deep smiles and forced laughter.

Thunder crashes in the distance. The rain is pouring in sheets on the highway, on my Chevy. I squint at the road ahead, racing toward Madison.

Toward Kayla. I wanna talk to her. Tell her about what happened, about what might happen. Need to touch her, kiss her.

Even if it’s dangerous. Even if it means I have to tell her more, and in so doing lose her. But I haven’t had her anyway, so what’s there to lose, right?

Fuck, the rain is a waterfall now, washing over the car, and I can’t see shit. I brake and try to downshift, but the stick won’t move. It’s locked. I’m a racer, but racing blindly in the dark and rain isn’t my specialty.

Cursing, I shove at the shift with all I have, but it won’t budge.
What the fuck?
The shadow of a much slower car looms up ahead, and I swerve to avoid it, slam on the brakes—

— and lose control of the Chevy. The tires skid, the world spins, and next thing I know there’s an impact and then another, throwing me against the seatbelt so hard I see stars and blackness.

Silence.

Darkness.

Then a ringing in my ears and a pressure on my chest.

Oh fuck.

It takes a moment for my eyes to clear and my lungs to start working again. Breathing fucking hurts, and I hiss as I try to make sense of what I see.

Murky water around me. Sediment billowing like clouds outside the windows of the Chevy.

I’m underwater.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!
What the hell happened?

Memory hits me, the memory of losing control of my car. Sliding. Hitting something. Smashing into the metal fence by the side of the road.

Plunging into water.

Holy shit.

My right wrist hurts like a bitch, but I can move my hand. Okay. I’m okay. Need to get out of here.

I try the door.

It won’t budge. I rattle it. Nothing. Then I jab at the button to open the window and I have a moment of pure, cold panic when nothing happens.

Just my luck, to drown in a puddle by the side of the highway.

But then the window slides down, and I suck in a breath right before the water pours in, kicking me in the face.

Forcing my shoulders through the narrow opening, I propel myself out of the Chevy and up. Kicking my feet, I swim upward. It feels like forever, but it can’t be more than six or seven feet before I break the surface and float in the darkness, gasping for air. Every breath sends fire through my ribs.

Joy.

But at least I don’t seem to have any broken bones. Goddamn lucky.

To my left I see the lights of the highway. I head toward them and splash to the shore. I’m shaking with the piercing cold and can’t seem to stop as I drag my feet through the mud, struggling to climb out of the pond.

I almost don’t make it up the damn bank. I keep sliding back into the water, my muscles like jelly, my joints like rubber. Finally I flop on the shore, in the cold mud, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Fucking hell.
And now?

I guess I should call the cops. Call someone, anyone, if my cell still works. With a heartfelt curse, I fumble in the pocket of my dripping jacket, unzip it and pull the phone out, wrapped up in its little Ziploc bag.

I shake my head at myself. Even for someone who doesn’t believe in luck or fate, this is kinda crazy.

Snorting, I sign in, typing over the plastic as it’s still raining, my wet hands shaking so badly I almost drop the cell twice. The screen lights up. I should call Seth, maybe. Or Micah. Hell, maybe Rafe or Zane, if those two don’t answer.

Or a cab?

Can’t think straight. Doesn’t help that a text message pops up before I make up my mind.

It’s from Kayla.

It reads, “Come back home.”

My breath catches.
Kayla. Home.
The two words fit like the long lost pieces of a puzzle, and my eyes sting.

I press call before I realize.

Kayla

Death.

The card of Death keeps coming up.

Frowning, sitting cross-legged on my carpet like always, I stare at the painting of a skeleton in a knight’s armor and tell myself to leave it be, gather the cards and, I don’t know, throw them out of the window. Or into the trash can. Anywhere where I won’t be able to see them and obsess with what they’re telling me.

What
I
’m telling myself.

Death doesn’t really mean
death
, I remind myself for the hundredth time. It’s about endings, and resolutions, and change.

And yet. Seeing that grinning skull chills my blood.

Death isn’t always a negative card. Change is a good thing. Endings lead to beginnings.

Though the card was inversed. Which gives it a negative meaning. Possibly. Maybe? And why the hell does it keep coming up?

“Death,” I whisper, “and Eight of Wands for travel and speed, and the Five of Swords to signify conflict and loss and defeat. And betrayal.”

“Kay, are you seriously playing with your cards while I’m pouring my heart out to you?” my sister demands indignantly, her voice tinny yet sharp over the phone. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You pour your heart out to me twice a week. It’s hardly an emergency.”

Loss. Betrayal. Speed. Endings. What does it mean?

“You’re a little bitch,” Allie declares dramatically.

“No.” I sigh. “I’m your sister. I love you. But it doesn’t matter what I tell you, because you never listen to me. Look.” I close my eyes. “I know I’m younger than you. I know I’m the weird one, and the rebel without cause. But I’m still your family.”

“Kay… You don’t understand.”

“You don’t love this guy. He’s a douchebag. Why are you with him?”

“See? You don’t get it.”

Heat unfurls along my neck, seeping into my ears. “Jeez, sis. I’m not stupid, okay? You’re unhappy with him. Leave him. Find someone you can be happy with. Sometimes the simplest solution is the best.”

“Your stupid cards told you that? That’s not reality.”

“Isn’t it?” I gather up the cards angrily and shuffle them again. “They don’t tell me anything I don’t know, they’re not about unicorns and rainbows. They only spell out my worries and my hopes.”

“It’s just a stupid game, Kay.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s like dreams. They are reflections. Symbols. Our brains are working things out, things our conscious minds haven’t grasped yet.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Then she starts to cry.

Holy crap…
Biting my lip, a weight settling on my chest, I scatter the cards and lean back against the couch.

“Allie, listen,” I tell her. “We may not always get along, but anything you need, anything I can do for you, I’ll do it.” I listen to the sniffling sounds at the other end of the line, and wish I had the right words for this. “I’m here for you. You know that, right? Say the word, and I’ll drive over to visit you. Or you come and visit me. We’d go out. You’d meet my friends. They are awesome guys. And girls. And—”

“Can’t.” She clears her throat. “Can’t leave Brad. I’d let Mom and Dad down. I’m their oldest. They depend on me.”

“To do what? Ruin your life?”

“I have to go now,” she says and hangs up.

Leaving me worried and sad and defeated.

Defeat. Were the cards about me, not Ocean? Endings. Resolutions. Change.

Christ.

Allie’s unhappy. No, not unhappy. She’s spiraling. She can’t see that by pleasing our parents she is destroying her soul. I need to see her, talk to her.

But how can I force her to see me if she doesn’t want to? Like Ocean’s brother, Raine, refusing to see him.

And I shouldn’t be thinking about Ocean, who has been ignoring my phone calls and texts since yesterday. Besides, my brother talks to me. It’s only my sister I’m worried about.

Anyway.
Resolutions.

I need a plan. I’m going to call my brother, and we’ll decide what to do. Together. And if he doesn’t think I should interfere, then… Then I’ll talk to Allie again and see.

One way or another, I have to try. Not because I know much about happiness and how to get it, but I know unhappiness when I see it.

When in doubt, change. Change is what the cards are telling me to do.

And stop worrying about Ocean. Don’t even answer the phone if he calls. He had his chance, right?

Okay, so the cards aren’t telling me that, but hey, if he wanted to see me again, he’d have texted or called back, right?

So of course right then my cell starts ringing and dancing on the coffee table with a call from Ocean.

Goosebumps. I’m covered in goosebumps, and at the same time my face goes hot and my heart starts racing.

Grabbing my phone, I draw a shaky breath and click connect as I surge to my feet and stumble toward the kitchen.

There goes my resolution. I’m such a lost case when it comes to Ocean Storm, not even my cards can save me.

I guess it’s fate.

***

“Hey.” My voice is all husky.
Crap.
I swallow hard and try again. “Hello?”

Static filters down the line. I pad over to the sink, then turn back around and prop my hip against it.

Don’t know why I came here. I just needed to move.

“Kay,” his voice finally rings in my ear, distant and crackling, and my knees go weak.

God, what is it with this boy that I can’t remain angry at him?

“Yeah, that’s me. What’s up?” Oh yeah, I’m so cool. Not like I called him a hundred times and sent him, like, fifty texts asking if we could talk. “Everything okay?”

“No,” he says, and it takes a long moment for that word to sink in.

“What? Why?” My heart is pounding, a hammer to my ribs. “Ocean.”

“Can you…?” He’s panting over the connection, and holy shit, what’s going on? “Call Seth, tell him to pick me up. I guess I’m,” he groans and my heart does a jolting thing in my chest, “at about thirty miles from Milwaukee on the interstate.”