Ocean (Damage Control Book 5) (7 page)

“Hey, hey!” He holds his hands up, eyes wide. “It was the truth.”

“No, it fucking wasn’t. She didn’t ask for me.” Bitterness wells in my chest. “It was a lie to get me to drive her home.”

“Like you didn’t want to? Suck my dick, Ocean-boy.” He gives me the finger, and I shake my head, my fists itching for a fight.

“Fuck you, J. You had no right to lie about that.”

“I didn’t fucking
lie
. I don’t
lie
.” His skin is too dark for a full flush, but there’s definitely color on his cheekbones. “Not my fault if she doesn’t remember, is it? I asked her, if one of us were to stay and drive you home, who would you rather have? And she said your name.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Just…”

“Just what?” I give him a wary look, not ready to let go of my anger. I prefer anger to the confusion that plagues me whenever I think about her.

“Well, maybe I didn’t ask her
last
night.”

My head’s pounding. I rub at my eyes. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Look, I did ask her.” He puffs a breath. “Another night, when we went out together, a couple of weeks ago.”

“Motherfucker.” But I can’t work up a good rant right now, can’t hold on to my anger, because the confusion is back, and with it a weird spark of warmth in my chest.

Jesse Lee doesn’t lie. Yeah, I forgot this little detail. It’s true, then. A couple of weeks ago, she said it.

She asked for me.

I turn away, fighting the pleasure the thought brings me. It’s like a ball of light expanding in my chest.

“So how did it go?” he asks.

“As if it’s any of your damn business,” I mutter, turning to go. “Stay out of this.”

“Oh, come on. You jumped at the chance to take her home.”

“What the fuck ever.”

“Ocean.”

I stop in my tracks but don’t turn. “What?”

A pause, then, “Are you okay, buddy?”

Fuck.
“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. You sound pissed as hell.” Jesse sounds uncertain. “Didn’t mean to step on your fucking toes, man. Sorry.”

I’m scaring my friends, dammit. I’ve been in a black mood for months now. “Forget it.”

“It’s just that I thought you liked Kayla, and Amber said Kayla likes you, so… Are we good?”

Amber said that?

I glance at him over my shoulder. “I’m good.” But the lines of worry between his brows seem deeper than usual. I turn around completely. “Are
you
okay?”

“No.” He slumps on his stool. “I need a favor.”

“What sort of favor?” My budget’s tight as a drum, and time is also on short supply of late, but this is Jesse. “Hit me.”

“It’s for a friend of mine. Jason.”

If there’s one thing you should know about me is that I’d do anything for Raine, my brother, for my good-for-nothing parents, and I’d do anything for my Damage Control family. No matter what. Even when things are rough.

So I nod. “Tell me what you need.”

***

The next morning as I drive out of town I’m half-regretting my promise to Jesse, but I’d never take it back. It’s just that, hell, life is a bitch already, and dammit, I don’t need more shit.

Then I remember what Jesse said and feel fucking bad for regretting it even for a minute. I sometimes forget others have had it worse than me.

Life sucks ass.

So I’ll do my best to help out Jason. But I’ll deal with this later, when I return to Madison. Right now my thoughts are all tangled up to what lies ahead, where I’m heading.

Where I don’t wanna go. Where I swore I’d never return. Yet here I am.

Back in hell.

Must be a flaw in my making, one of many. This need to protect, to care for people who never once cared for me. Making sure they cling to life and don’t drift into nothing, when nothing was all they ever had to offer.

So bitter, Ocean. We just established there are others worse off than you. Suck it up and drive.

In any case…
Yeah
. A flaw. Why do I keep coming back, to check on them? Why do I bother? Why do I spend my time and my money on them?

No wonder Raine hates me. Not only did I fail him in every way possible, now I’m caring for those who let us down in the first place.

My hell is in the outskirts of Milwaukee. The engine kicks as I slow down, taking the exit from the highway and driving the last stretch.

To the place where Raine and I grew up, a trailer park packed with trash and filth. The place where our parents are still living—if you call that living.

Home sweet home.

Kayla

“He drove you home. Carried you to your apartment. Put you in bed.” Amber frowns. “And then just walked out?”

“I know, right?” I park down the street from Damage Control. “He could at least have tied me to the bed and had wild sex with me first.”

I’m all talk, I know, trying to sound sassy and world-weary when the memory of his arms around me, his body close to mine, sends fire leaping through my veins.

“Kay!” Amber is laughing, her cheeks flame red. “Oh God.”

“Hey, what are you blushing for? It’s not like you and Jesse only hold hands in bed, is it?”

“Shut up,” she mutters, but her mouth curves into a bright smile. Then she pales. “Oh crap on a stick, are we too loud? Are we—?”

“You can’t muffle a real good time.” I smirk, and her blush is back, full-force.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be. Don’t you dare be embarrassed on my behalf,” I tell her. “I’m happy you’re happy.”

It’s true. It’s so sweet. Please, dear God, let them be happy and sappy and beautiful together ever after.

Even if it means listening to them every night. Even if it means Amber moves out and leaves me on my own.

“Tell me again why we’re here instead of the café where Ev and Cassie are waiting for us?” Amber climbs out of my tiny, yellow, ten-year-old Mini Cooper.

I grab my small package and follow her out, lost in thought.

Yep, I’m the proud owner of a car. Hard to believe it. I saved every penny from my various jobs over the past two years—anything from serving tables to babysitting to walking the neighbors’ dogs, and finally the clothes I’ve been designing, sewing and selling—to buy it off a jaded college classmate for a couple of thousand. In theory, I could use it to visit my family on occasion.

But I don’t want to go. I haven’t even told them I bought a car. Which is awful, I know. They’ve been sending me money, helping me out, even if they don’t agree with my choices. Mom especially.

Doesn’t stop her from asking me to go back home every time we talk on the phone and telling me to stop acting up. Besides, they have money. It’s just that they’d rather spend it on classes they condone.

Or on a huge wedding for me to marry a random guy with money and move in with my in-laws.

Why do families have to be so complicated?

“Kay? Did you hear me? Why are we here?”

“Because I’m needed.”

“For what? By whom?”

Stuffing my package into my purse, I button up my light blue coat and wrap my rainbow-colored scarf around my neck. “I don’t know yet. But the cards said so.”

“Kay, you’re getting obsessed with those cards.”

“I’m so not.” I tuck a strand of my newly dyed hair behind one ear as the wind buffets us across the street. “I just like them.”

To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure what the cards were trying to tell me. There was the Five of Cups—regret, loss, despair. The Knight of Swords—action. And the Three of Pentacles—teamwork.

I assumed my help was needed, and something’s inexorably drawing me to Damage Control like a string wrapped around my wrist.

A rope called infatuation, Ev would say. A crush.

Ev is all talk. And it’s not true.

To avoid more discussion, I hurry to open the door of the tattoo shop. We enter into a wave of warmth, soft music and the smell of antiseptic, metal and some vaguely spicy air-freshener or cleaning product.

I don’t have a crush. And I’m not obsessed with the Tarot cards.

Okay, so I am a little
worried
about a certain someone. That’s different, right? There’s the dark spot that intrigued me from the start—that flat-out refusal to have his fortune told—and now his bad mood, the nightmare, his bruised chest.

And the accident. Someone rammed the back of his truck. Nothing too bad, he said. He’s okay.

But I want to see for myself. Because he’s slowly emerging from the void like a magic picture, the dark spots drifting, coming together, touching the golden, bright parts—of him laughing, catching me on the dance floor before I fell, taking me home, carrying me inside. Sleeping on the old armchair by my bed to make sure I was all right.

Letting me see layers in him I hadn’t imagined.

So… magic, intuition, or whatever this is, I had to come.

Two customers occupy the orange chairs near the desk, and Tyler’s tall, broad-shouldered form is a shadow behind it, his face cast in the light from the computer monitor.

He looks up as we approach and lifts a dark brow. He grins. “What have we here? Girls! We have girls!”

At his gleeful yell, I take a step back involuntarily. Amber flushes crimson. I notice the customers gaping at us and shoot them an uncertain smile.

I clear my throat and turn back to Tyler. “We’re here—”

“And a good thing you are.” He gets up, looming over me, dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins. Then he hollers over his shoulder, “Jesse Lee! Get your ass over here. Amber wants to see you.”

I fold my arms over my boobs. “And what am I, chopped liver?”

“You wanna see Jesse Lee, too?” Tyler gives me a long look under dark lashes. “Or someone else?”

Heat rises to my face. Tyler is always a tease, and I shouldn’t get flustered by it. Only there
is
someone else, and now I’m standing here, I hesitate to ask.

Jesse arrives, saving me from having to reply to Tyler who’s still staring at me, looking amused.

Crap.

“Hey, baby,” Jesse croons, grabbing Amber in his arms and crushing his mouth to hers.

Tyler whistles.

I look away, trying to decide what to do, if to admit what I’m here for, or walk out and forget about it. Stop obsessing, like Amber said, stop worrying for no good reason. He’s fine. He doesn’t need me checking up on him. Nothing has changed between us, not really.

Making up my mind to go, I turn back again to let Amber know that this visit was a bust—at least for me.

And then I see him.

Ocean.

Blue hair, dark brows, a gray T-shirt stretched tight over a strong chest and shoulders, low-slung jeans, combat boots. My gaze snags on his long neck, his sharp jaw, his mouth.

He finally notices me, and he stops in his tracks. “Kay?” he whispers.

I’m not sure why he’s looking at me like that, like I’m a hallucination—although it could be because I’ve dyed my hair bright red. Like, flaming red.

But then, as I take in his haggard face and bloodshot eyes, I know I was right: something’s wrong.

“Hi,” I say and smile. I pull the package from my purse and extend it toward him. “I brought you something.”

He blinks at the package, then up at me. In his eyes, confusion wars with curiosity and something else, something bright and new. “For me?”

Since he’s not reaching for it, I close the distance between us and thrust it into his chest. “For you, yes.”

Finally he takes it. He licks his lips and I bite mine. This boy’s too sexy for his own good, and he doesn’t even seem to notice. He tears at the paper slowly, strong hands a little clumsy, as if he hasn’t done this often.

He stops and stares at my gift. I see the corners of his pretty mouth curve up, and then he’s grinning widely.

“Holy shit,” he mutters and shakes his head.

“I baked it and decorated it,” I say.

The muffin is pretty, if I say so myself. The frosting is blue, and there’s a red cherry on top.

“Blue for Mr. Blue,” I whisper.

“What?” He pales, and I wonder why. “What did you just call me?”

“Blue.” I tilt my head to the side, trying to solve his new puzzle. “Blue hair, blue eyes. Blue. Duh.”

He’s utterly still for a long moment, two red spots on his cheek bones, bright in his white face.

“What’s the matter?” I’m worried I put my foot in my mouth somehow. “What did I say?”

“Nothing.” But he won’t look at me. “Why?”

The roughness in his voice makes my chest go tight. “Why what?”

“This.” He still won’t look at me as he lifts the muffin. “Why?”

“Do I need a reason?” I shrug, because, hey.

He finally looks up, and I can’t read his face, although his smile lingers, faint. “You made me a muffin for no reason?”

Put that way… “I didn’t say that. You seem stressed out these days. So I made it for you.”

He swallows. The shop has faded around us, the sounds, the smells, the voices. It’s just him, blue against blue against blue, the muffin frosting, his hair, his eyes. His smile.

“What can I give you back?” he whispers, and it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself.

“Nothing,” I reply anyway. Then again… There is something I want. “But you could let me see.”

“See what?”

“Your palm.”

Confusion tightens his brow, but when I reach for his hand, he lets me take it. Large, strong, the backside dotted with light freckles. When I turn it over, there’s a line of black ink on his thumb.

So warm. His palm is rough when I run my fingers over it, its lines deep.

“Why are you really here?” he breathes.

“I had this feeling,” I tell him truthfully. “That you needed my help.” I glance up and realize with a start how close together we’re standing. If I stood on tiptoes, I could kiss that soft-looking mouth, know if he tastes as spicy as he smells. “Do you?”

Something flashes over his features. Something dark and painful, vanishing in an instant.

“That depends.” His grin is back, brightening his clear eyes, lifting the corners of his beautiful mouth. He lifts the hand I’m holding to touch my face. “Can you cook soup?”

***

I have a date with Ocean Storm. Tonight.