Ocean (Damage Control Book 5) (21 page)

And I miss Kayla so much I feel like I can’t breathe sometimes. It’s scary as fuck.

I’ve turned down the guys’ offers to go out for drinks every night. They’re hovering around me like mother hens. I think the cut over my brow and the bruise forming there is scaring everyone. Can’t imagine what they’d do if they saw my chest. Send me home, probably.

Can’t afford that. I need more money, not less.

Meanwhile everyone is stressed, especially our newer inkers—Jesse, Seth and Shane, who’ve barely started working on their own. It’ll be a big test, to be seen working alongside more experienced artists, like the ones from the guest tattoo shop.

We spend hours talking about the organization of the event, about prices and regulations and what beer brand we’ll have on offer. Then I had customers to ink, and designs to think about.

By the time evening rolls in, I’m dead tired and in a damn funk. My ribs ache. My hope is fizzing out. And I can’t even draw.

My art has always been with me, a way to take out my doubts and fears and hopes and transform them into something I can see and control.

But nothing is coming out right these days. The design I’m working on for a guy penned in for tomorrow isn’t half done, and I’m digging the pen so hard into the paper I just about tear it.

It’s late.

Come home,
Kay had said in that text message. And I want that. I want to go home, but how?

It’s getting hard getting out of bed lately, and it’s not just that I can’t sleep at night. The night promises to be dark and empty, and tomorrow the same.

The shop is about to close, though. Time to get.

I don’t even have the energy to go round the cubicles and say goodbye to anyone else who’s there. I gather my stuff and stumble out of the shop, nodding at Zane and Rafe on the way, where they’re discussing at the front desk.

Tyler comes around the desk, follows me out. I stop right outside, in the cold evening, to see what the hell he wants.

“What’s up?” My ribs are killing me, my head aches, and although I’m heading to my apartment, dammit, I don’t wanna go.

Don’t wanna stay here and talk to Tyler, either, but he steps out and sort of corners me against the entrance.

“Hey, man, how’s it going?”

I shrug, and wince when that jostles my ribs. “Been better.”

“Got real banged up in the accident, huh?” His dark eyes are sympathetic, and I don’t want sympathy.

I don’t know what the hell I want.

“You look like shit,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Thanks. Appreciate it.”

He snorts. “I won’t keep you. Just wanted to ask if Zane talked to you about the dragon tats.”

“What dragon tats? The ones of the brotherhood?”

Zane, Tyler, Asher, Dylan and Rafe are a brotherhood forged of friendship and hardship. They were there for each other last year, when lots of bad stuff went down for all of them, and I watched them in action, having each other’s backs and being what a family is supposed to be like.

“Yeah, those.” He grins widely and shoves his shaggy black hair out of his face. “I thought Zane told you guys he planned on inking those of you who still don’t have one. Make you part of the brotherhood. One of us.” His eyes narrow. “If you want, of course. Nobody will force you.”

I shake my head.

To be honest, I can’t deny that, ever since Zane found me on a street corner three years ago, drawing sketches on scraps of paper for passersby to buy, all I’ve ever wanted was to be part of the brotherhood. Of this family.

Meanwhile the family unofficially expanded with the Damage Boyz, and I’m one of them, so the need isn’t so urgent anymore. It’s still there, though, under my skin, like an itch.

But I’m not in the right head space right now.

“Don’t know, man.” I scrub my hand through my hair. I feel gross. I need a shower. I need Kayla. “Seth got one, right? Zane inks the guys when everything’s resolved in their lives. Nothing’s resolved with me.”

“What do you mean?” Tyler’s brows draw together. “What’s going on with you? Come on, spill. Don’t make me drag Zane out.”

“Look, I gotta go. I’m all right, honest.” I sidestep him and wish for a smoke. Maybe I’ll buy a pack on the way. “See you tomorrow, Ty.”

He grumbles as I walk away, hair in his eyes, hiding his expression. I bet he’s stressed out about the event, too, and doesn’t need any shit from me. Just as well.

The need to see Kayla is eating me up alive. This is sick. I’m the one who drove her away, and now all I can think about is her.

Serves me right, I guess. A fitting punishment for my past. For being so worthless.

Maybe Zane didn’t tell me about the tattoos because he doesn’t think I should be in the brotherhood, either. Maybe he forgot to let Tyler know.

All my life I’ve expected this, waited for the other shoe to drop. For the rejection. Like with my father, and my mother, and my brother. Waited for the moment they realize I’m no good, and they throw me out like trash, telling me never to come back.

And maybe sometimes I force the issue, push their buttons and poke where it hurts, to see if they’ll do it. Rejection is like an old shirt on my shoulders. Familiar. Safe. It’s the way the world spins.

So yeah, Kayla’s silence is safe. She’d kept me off balance with her kindness, her forgiveness. Guess the world is now back on rote. I should take it for what it is and move on. Let her go.

I try.

As I wait for the bus, leaning against the bus stop, hands deep inside my pockets, I think about her. As I ride home, and then walk the few blocks to my building, she’s smiling and talking inside my head. And while I ride up in the elevator and unlock my door, she’s lying naked underneath me, moaning my name.

Then, as I wander inside my empty apartment, she’s putting her arms around me and telling me everything’s gonna be okay.

Fuck.
I still can’t stop thinking about her.

Desperate measures. I break out the bottle of Jack from the bottom cabinet in the kitchen, and suck it straight. Like mother’s milk. It goes right to my head, since I’ve barely eaten anything all day, and I return to the sofa to continue with the self-medication.

Never cared if I was alone before. Managed not to think about it. Decided not to care. I need to find that I’m-all-outta-fucks place in my mind again.

I lift the bottle and salute the motherfucking world. “You suck,” I tell it. “Fuck you.”

Not good enough.

Did the cards tell her this would happen?

Why am I hung up on a girl who lets cards and omens dictate her life? How’s that different from my old man’s addiction to gambling?

Jesus fuck.
I kick at the coffee table, send it crashing to the floor. I’m over this, dammit. Over her. Maybe the booze wasn’t such a good idea after all, making me feel sorry for myself. That’s bullshit.

I guess… I guess I’ve been deluding myself, thinking I expected this. That this is like everything else in my life. Deep inside I was hoping Kayla would be different, that she’d hold on to me. Insist to find out more. Insist I was innocent. That she’d fight for me.

Guess I was wrong.

Kayla

“Are you telling me that was the end of your conversation?” Amber asks, an accusing look on her pretty face. She pops a popcorn into her mouth and turns her back to the
Sons of Anarchy
rerun we’ve been sort of watching. “He basically implied he
knows
you’ll kick him to the curb when you find out who he really is, whatever that means,” she waves a hand back and forth, “and you drove him home?”

“Better than kicking him to the curb, isn’t it?”

I haven’t told Amber what he said about getting a kid killed. I’m not sure I should, not without knowing more about it.

“Kay.” She scowls at me, the look spoiled by a piece of popcorn sticking to the corner of her mouth. “Kayla Cynthia Everett.”

“Who’s Cynthia? That’s not my middle name.”

“I had to make one up on the fly, okay? What is your middle name anyway? And the main question is, why didn’t you stop him? Why didn’t you pin him to your bed and command him to tell you what he meant?”

“I tried. I told him I doubt it’s anything so bad. I asked him to tell me what it’s all about. He wouldn’t. He does that. Clams up so completely it’s like talking to a wall.” I hug my favorite cushion—one I made with blue satin and silver beads—and curl up on the sofa. “I hate it.”

And I hate myself. I don’t think I tried hard enough. I was in a bit of a shock. It sounded so bad, and it made me wonder how well I know him. How well we know anyone, ever.

“It sounds awful,” Amber says in sympathy, because she’s a sweet girl. I mean, she hasn’t told me she thinks I’m an idiot yet, although I bet she’s thinking it.

“It
is
awful. Every time I decide I won’t go looking for him, call him or visit, the more I want to see him, and hold him, kiss him. Get down and dirty with him. Comfort him. Jeez, what does that make me, Amber?”

“Confused?”

“For sure.”

“And in love?”

“Come on, be serious.” Heat rises to my face.

“I am.” Amber turns down the volume on the TV. It’s girls’ night, a rule we don’t strictly follow since Amber and Jesse Lee became an item, but it’s nice when she can make it. “Listen, Kay. You’re an intuitive person. You’ve said it yourself so many times. The cards, the tea leaves, the palm reading, that’s not magic. It’s intuition.”

“So what does that have to do with him?”

“A whole lot. Your sixth sense is telling you he’s not a bad buy. Hell, the whole brotherhood thinks he isn’t a bad guy. They’d be in for a shock if he was. Zane would lose his shit. He’s intuitive, too, you know. He’s collected amazing people around him. He hasn’t made one single mistake so far.”

“Yeah.” I glance at the muted TV set. “What if Ocean is his mistake? The exception that confirms the rule? What if he’s a serial killer or something?”

“Now you’re talking crazy.” She pops another popcorn into her mouth and chews. “Is he coming to the tattoo event?”

“I forgot all about it. Does he have a choice?”

“It’s a big thing, good promotion for the shop, good money to be made. Why wouldn’t he want to come?”

I think of his mom, who is sick. I wish I knew what’s wrong with her. How serious it is. I’m guessing it’s bad. I wish I could help.

But he won’t frigging talk to me!
Crap.
Come to think of it, he didn’t even tell me why he thought he was leaving, and why he decided to stay after all. Why he was so happy telling me about it.

“I just wish he’d talk to me,” I whisper.

“Maybe he’s going through a phase. I mean, he’s down on his luck lately. I heard about the accident. Sorry we couldn’t be there. These past weeks have been sort of crazy, but we found a place.” She claps a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide. “Oh my God, I didn’t tell you, did I? Forget about the studio, we found a one-bedroom apartment that’s perfect. You’ll love it.”

I squeal for her, although I’m bummed she’s moving out. Everyone keeps moving out. Ev, now Amber. “That’s awesome! Where is it?”

“Not far from the campus. And if Jason needs to crash somewhere, he can do it at our place. We’ll have space. It was sweet of Ocean to give him shelter at a time when he’s not doing so well himself. See, he’s a nice guy. Which is why you don’t believe he’s hiding something so terrible.”

Except for what he told me, about getting a child killed.

“Why do you think he’s not doing well? I mean, apart from what I told you, and the accident. Did Jesse say something?”

Amber rolls her eyes. “And then you claim you’re not in love with Ocean.”

“I’m not, okay? What’s so strange about asking what you mean when you’re being all vague and mysterious?”

Honestly.

She relents, although it’s obvious she doesn’t believe me. “It’s just the change in Ocean, you know? He won’t play pool anymore, or chase after chicks, or talk much. He drinks and broods. It’s not like him.”

I nod, a tightness in my throat. “He has his reasons.”

“So he told you more than you’ll admit.”

I shrug and bite at a fingernail.

“He trusted you. He cares for you.” Amber leans over, pulls my hand down. “Why won’t you accept you’re feeling something for that boy? I fought what I felt for JJ, and it only delayed the inevitable.”

“Jesse Lee loves you, Amber. As well he should, because you’re an awesome chick. But Ocean doesn’t love me.”

“So you admit it, then.” She grins at me, and I frown, thinking back on what I said. “You love Ocean.” And she starts throwing popcorn over us like confetti, singing “Kay loves Ocean! Kay loves Ocean!”

“Shut up, you crazy woman.”

I don’t love him. I won’t. Love brings pain. Love hurts.

Love
ends
.

And I can’t bear the thought of anything ending when it comes to Ocean.

***

I finish up the long-sleeved T-shirt I started making for him weeks ago. And the fingerless gloves. I pack them up and sit on my hands, thinking.

He hasn’t called. I haven’t either. It’s been days since the accident. Through the grapevine, I heard he’s been going to work and that he seems battered but otherwise okay.

I know better. But I can’t force him to talk to me, or be with me if he doesn’t want to. Even if curiosity is eating me up from the inside, and worry has my stomach in knots.

He has shown me the tip of the iceberg and left me to imagine all sorts of terrible scenarios about his past and his mom and his brother and this Livvy chick who stars in his nightmares and who’s so important to him he inked his forearm in her honor.

A puzzle? Scratch that. Ocean Storm is a mystery, an enigma. Why did he carry dead lilies in his car? Why does he draw parts of people and objects? What did he mean when he said he caused a child to die? How?

Was it when he lived on the street? How did he end up at Damage Control?

God, I still can’t believe his dad threw him out when he was younger. It makes my heart hurt for him. Guess I’m used to bitching about my parents for being too conservative and never stopped to think how other people’s parents can be.