Seth (Damage Control #3) (3 page)

Have I ever done it? I doubt it. I’ve never been here much, always at practice and rehearsals and—

I put everything down on the counter and bite my lip, my eyes stinging. Looks like I’ll have much more time to enjoy my apartment. To think about my future. Find something else to busy myself with.

But how can I? When this is what I wanted all my life to do?

Clenching my teeth, I grab everything again and march back into the living room, to the dining table, and slam the things down.

And oh crap, I forgot the compress.

Back to the kitchen. I find the compress in the depths of the freezer from a time a few months back when I sprained my ankle. Wrapping it up in a clean kitchen towel, I head back, then remember I must have codeine pills in my cupboard, too, and I made a detour at the bathroom to get them.

Seth is still where I left him, although he’s meanwhile pulled the old T-shirt on, covering his ink.

He gives me a quizzical look. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Perfectly fine.” I force a smile and realize he probably shouldn’t wear the pants yet if he’s going to use the cold compress—and that sitting at the dining table probably isn’t the best idea right now. “Here, use this.” I put the wrapped-up compress on top of his knee, and he hisses softly. “I’ll be right back.”

I drain the pasta, throw it in a bowl, serve the sauce in another and return. He watches me, supporting the compress on his knee with one hand, as I place the food on the low coffee table in front of him, then go grab the rest of the things from the dining table.

“You didn’t have to cook,” he says quietly, and I can’t read his expression.

“It’s nothing much. I hope you like pasta with cheese and mushroom sauce.”

“Oh sure.” His stomach rumbles loudly as I serve the spaghetti onto the plates and ladle the sauce over them. That hint of color rises to his cheeks again, and I catch myself staring.

Again.

“Let’s eat, then,” I tell him, and he flashes me a bright smile. “I’m famished.”

And to be honest, a little bit confused.

***

After a while, I notice he’s not eating all that much. One of the few things I know about guys is that they are like black holes, inhaling every scrap of food on the table, including that on other people’s dishes, so this can’t be normal.

“Not hungry after all?” I ask when he puts down his fork and leans back.

“Nah.” He shifts his leg and grimaces. “Not really.”

“The compress not helping?”

He shakes his head. “I was on my way to get some ibuprofen when we, uh.” He waves a hand.
“Met.”

Of course, where’s my head? If he’s still in pain, it’s no wonder he has no appetite.

“Let me get you some painkillers.” I get up to get the pills from the dining table where I left them. “Codeine will help. Ibuprofen won’t do much.”

“I know,” he bites out.

“They must have prescribed something stronger for you at the hospital.”

He shrugs and looks unhappy, that generous mouth turning down at the corners. “I don’t need stronger stuff. No addictive shit. No way.”

Still, he accepts the pills when I put them in his hand and swallows them down, chasing them with a sip of water. I take away his half-full plate and put it in the fridge. Easy to reheat later on, if he wants it.

He’s glaring down at his knee when I return. I sit down beside him and put my hand on it.

He flinches and scoots back, pressing into the sofa. “What?”

“That brace has to come off. It’s useful when you walk, but when you rest, better remove it.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I had some basic first aid training.” And seen a lot of injuries—part and parcel of a dancer’s training. You learn a few things over the years.

I reach for the brace again, and he says nothing as I undo the straps and ease it down, though he can’t help a grimace. The skin is hot to the touch. I pull the brace off, trying to decide whether it needs a second compress.

“Listen, Manon…” He shifts on the sofa, not looking at me, and reaches for the dry pants I laid out for him. “I should head back.”

“You serious? In this rain, with your knee like this?”

“Then what?”

“Stay,” I say. I swallow hard, because in my mind it didn’t sound so weird. “I mean, the couch is long enough.”

“Not sure this is a good idea,” he whispers and rakes a hand through his hair. It’s almost dry now and falls in his eyes, soft and shiny black. He reaches for the brace. “Need to put that back on.”

No idea why I feel so disappointed. No, it’s just worry. Has to be. I help him put the brace back on and pull on the pants.

“Need to use the bathroom,” he mumbles, and he ignores my outstretched hand, bracing himself on the back of the sofa instead to get up. “Dammit, I…”

All the blood drains from his face. His knees go out from under him, and I barely manage to catch him in time and pull him back down on the couch. He lands half on top of me, and ow, he’s heavy.

“Fuck.” He pushes off me, arms shaking, his face ashen. “Shit.”

“Codeine can make you lightheaded.” I frown. “You were dizzy before you took it, though. When we arrived.” A thought hits me. “Did you eat well today?”

“I think I…” He shakes his head and gives me a sheepish smile. “I, uh. I forgot?”

“Forgot to eat? Come on. You’re a guy. Guys don’t forget about food.”

“Okay. The truth?” He winces. “I ran out of chow and couldn’t bring myself to call the guys to come over. So I ate a bar of chocolate Micah left yesterday.”

“That’s all?”
Jeez.
“But normally they visit and bring you food? Your friends?”

“Yeah. They’ve been great. But I’ve been in and out of hospital far too often in the past months. They work and need their own fucking free time. They have girlfriends, wives, families. I hate being a burden. Besides, Jesse is down with a bad cold and is stressed about working as a fully-fledged inker now, and what with expanding the tattoo shop and all… Everyone is in full stress mode.”

He rubs his face and sighs. He looks… defeated somehow, and I want to know more. Want to know why he’s been in and out of hospital so often, why he went out in the rain alone, why he has those tattoos and why his nose is slightly crooked, as if it was broken sometime in his past.

Where is his family? Does he have a girlfriend? Is he in college? Is he into sports—is that why he’s so strong?

“I think I’ll take your offer,” he says, startling me.

“What?”

He leans back, his face still too pale for my liking. He looks ready to pass out where he’s sitting. “The couch.”

“Yeah.” I shake myself a little. “I think that would be best.”

“If you’re sure.” His eyes grow heavy-lidded. “It’s warm here. Comforle. Comfort’le.”

I snicker, because he’s cute like that, half-asleep, hair in his eyes. “Comfo-what?”

“Christ, I’m so out…” He yawns and chuckles. “Out of it.”

The codeine is hitting him hard. A bit too hard and too fast. Then again, on an almost empty stomach it makes sense. “Sleep it off. How’s the leg?”

“Better.”

And his smile is so bright it makes my chest tight. Who is this guy, who can make me feel so much even if I barely know him?

Seth

God, these pills make me loopy. I’m laughing when she returns with a blanket to cover me on the sofa. Or maybe it’s the absence of pain. Can’t remember the last time I felt so good.

“Come here.” I grab her hand and pull her to me. She squeaks and falls on my chest, then scrabbles to get off me.

It makes me laugh harder.

In fact, it makes me harder, period.
Damn.

But she moves away, arranging the blanket around me. “Tomorrow we’ll get a good breakfast into you. Then the pills won’t affect you so much.”

“Yeah.” The sofa smells of her. The blanket smells of her. Smells so fucking good. “Your boyfriend don’t mind me staying?”

“No.” She hesitates. “He won’t.”

“You won’t tell?” It’s hard to find the words, for some reason. “Tell him?”

“We’re not yet…” She clears her throat and straightens. “I mean, I won’t, no.”

Weird.
Maybe.

Or not. I want to laugh again. Need to do something to lift the pressure off my chest.

Have to stop. “What’s his name?”

“Frederic.”

“Frederic?” I snort.

“It’s a good name. Stop laughing.”

“Okay.” I’m really trying here.

“He’s a good guy.”

“I bet.” I sigh, fold my arms behind my head. My lids are getting too damn heavy. “Manon…”

“Yes?” She sends me a quick smile and goes back to gathering the dirty dishes and glasses, and I have a feeling I should be doing something—like helping her gather everything up—but my body is like a stone, heavy and dead.

“You’re nice,” I slur, and my eyes are closing. “Very nice.”

“Yeah.” She laughs. “Because I almost ran you over. So nice of me.”

“Brought me here. Gave me dinner. Pills. Mmm.” Images flash behind my eyelids. Flashes of dreams. “Sofa.”

“Sleep now,” she says and sounds very close by. Something brushes over my brow—her hand, I think. Soft. Warm. “Rest.”

That’s the last thing I hear before I sink into deep sleep.

***

I come awake with a start, pain shooting up my leg. I lift my head and find a crick in my neck. My heartbeat is booming in my ears, racing away and accelerating. I have no fucking clue where I am, and that always makes things worse.

Fuck.
It’s dark. Where the fuck am I? Solitary? Or the prison infirmary? Am I alone? Am I safe?

I roll, tangled up in something, and drop.

Arms wind-milling, I try to stop the fall. Oh fuck. Too late. I hit the floor with a jarring impact. The pain hits a split second later, and I cry out.

My leg.
Goddammit.
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood.
Fuck me.

“Seth?” A woman’s voice, and I’m still trying to piece everything together. Where the fuck am I?

A light comes on, soft and yellow, and she appears out of the dark.

Manon.
Her name floats in my brain, bypassing the numbing pain.

“What the hell happened? Oh God.” She kneels down by my side, sleek dark hair falling over her shoulders to hide her face. “You fell?”

“Sorta.”

My heart is still going a thousand miles an hour. Manon. Her apartment. Not the prison. It’s okay.

It’s okay, Seffers. Breathe.

“Did you hurt your leg? Let me see.”

Not that I’d say no in any case. Especially now, when I can only focus on drawing enough air in my lungs and convincing myself I’m free.
Safe.
That life is better now. That I haven’t gone back.

Freaking out like this always saps up my energy, and I didn’t have much to start with. Which at least means her intimate touch on my leg as she pushes up the pants to check on my fucked-up knee won’t give me the boner from hell.

“Can you move it?” she asks, and I grit my teeth and try, because yeah, this is important to know.

Turns out I can. Managed not to break it again. Thank God for the small fucking mercies.

“Why don’t you lie back down, and I’ll bring the compress?” she says, tucking a strand of shiny hair behind her delicate ear, and I’m not sure what she’s saying right now. “I’ll bring you more pills, too.”

I lick my lips, repeat what she said in my mind until the words make sense. “I think I’ll sit here for a minute.” Not sure I trust my muscles to cooperate right now. “It’s comfortable.”

She opens her mouth, closes it, then huffs a breath of laughter. “You’re weird.”

Sure. And an idiot, for staying the night.

“I’ll be right back,” she says and climbs to her feet in a smooth, liquid movement that has my dick interested despite the pain and pushing against the inseam of the pants.

Yeah.
Not now, boy.

Not ever, dammit.

She comes back with the wrapped-up compress, gently lays it on top of my knee and I’m thankful for the cold seeping through the fire in my flesh. Then, instead of returning to her bed, she sits beside me, on the floor, leaning back against the sofa.

“Bad dream?” she whispers.

“Can’t remember.”

She’s so close. In the half-dark, with the outlines of furniture looming here and there, her face is like a goddamn star, drawing my gaze. She has a pale streak in her hair, and I wonder why.

“Want to talk?”

“About what?”

“Don’t know. Anything, to help you relax.”

“Does it work for you?”

She snorts, a soft exhale of breath. “If I had someone to talk to in the night, it might.”

All right.
“So that boyfriend of yours… He doesn’t stay the night?”

“Why the obsession with my boyfriend?”

“I’m not obsessed.”
Lie. Big fat lie.
“Just curious. I mean, this is really helping me relax.”

She giggles. “You’re funny.”

“Thank you.”

She’s silent. I can hear her breathing, and this
is
relaxing. So much so, my lids are growing heavy again.

“Frederic is not exactly my boyfriend,” she says, and okay, this wakes me up.

Like,
whoa
.

“He’s not?”

“Not officially,” she clarifies.

Oh.
Shit. Awesome.
What the hell does that even mean?

“He’s studying music in the arts department. He’s two years older than me, and he’s just so…handsome. And self-assured. And all the girls want him.  I’ve had a crush on him since I started there a year ago.”

Goddammit.
Not sure I can hear more.

“I mean, he asked me out. But that was only a month ago. We almost kissed at a party two weeks ago—
almost
—and he walked me to my car many times. We stayed up talking loads of times. We really fit, you know? We both like music and dance and the arts, and he’s so sensitive and kind. I was going to meet him tonight, but he couldn’t make it.”

Okay, now I’m
sure
I can’t take this anymore.

“You know, those painkillers would be fucking great. If you don’t mind.”

She jerks guiltily, and I swear under my breath, feeling like all kinds of an asshole. “Of course. I’ll go get them.”