Seth (Damage Control #3) (8 page)

I glance from him to the other guy and back. “Are you talking about Seth?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He gestures at the other man. “Rafe was with him. Said someone almost hit Seth last night. Know anything about it?”

“It was me,” I whisper. “I didn’t hit him, but he slipped and fell.”

The tall man, Rafe, takes a step toward me, and I take a step back, my heart hammering. “You left him there?” he demands to know.

“Of course not!” Anger flares, warming my chest and neck. “I offered to take him to hospital, and he refused. It was raining hard. So I took him to my place.”

“Your place.” Zane’s girl is staring at me, wide blue eyes, so much like Cassie’s, assessing me.

“He had trouble walking. I have some experience with leg injuries, and I wanted to see if I could help. Gave him dry clothes, made him some dinner. He slept on the couch.”

In case you were wondering.

Zane’s dark eyes narrow. “That why you were asking about him this morning, huh?”

I nod, the heat rising to my face. “I was worried. Got his phone number, but he won’t answer.”

“He’s been throwing up non-stop,” Rafe says. “And I don’t know where his cell is. Hasn’t been a good day for Seth.” He turns back to Zane. “I’ll cancel the rehearsal we have tonight and go stay with him tonight, give Shane and Ocean a break.”

“I’ll move the rehearsal to another day, no problem,” Zane’s girl says. “The group will understand.”

“The concert is on Saturday,” Zane says. “I’ll go stay with him, so you two can go and practice your new songs. It’ll be fine.”

“I’ll stay with him,” I hear myself saying and stop.

What am I saying?

Zane lifts a pierced brow at me. “You will?”

“It’s only fair. I mean, I’m the reason he’s not well, and…”
And what?
“And I have the time. If he doesn’t mind.”

Oh God.
Yeah, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Still not sure he wants to see me again—and now knowing I caused more damage than I originally thought…

“Let me call Ash. He’s been with the guys since the afternoon,” Rafe says and turns his back to us, pulling out his cell.

“You sure you can handle it?” Zane asks, his clever eyes missing nothing. “If he’s dizzy, or puking. He’s a big guy, tall and heavy. Maybe I should ask Micah to stay with you.”

“Okay.” I tug on the strap of my purse, chew on my lip. “Or maybe I should let you guys handle it.”

“He’ll be glad to have you there,” Zane’s girl says unexpectedly, and I finally recall her name.
Dakota.
“Trust me. He likes you, and the guys can get heavy-handed. When you’re sick, it’s nice to have a woman by your side.”

Why doesn’t she go, then? Or any of the other girls in the group?

“He likes you.”

Funny how those words make my heart beat faster instead of calming it down.

“Yeah, got it,” Rafe mutters, the cell held to his ear, as he turns to face us and gives a thumbs-up. “I’ll tell her. Yeah, she’s here. Yes, I
am
talking about Manon, dumbass.”

I swallow hard, so nervous you’d think I’m auditioning for a role in a huge production. “Tell me what?”

He stretches out his hand, offering me his cell. “Ash wants to talk to you.”

Great.

I take the cell, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. “This is Manon.”

“Hey. Rafe tells me you’d stay with Seth tonight?” He sounds like he’s walking, his voice rising and dipping with each step. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Thought you should know he’s been dizzy and throwing up. We got some Dramamine into him, so hopefully that will stop, but just in case… Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I nod to myself. “Did you ask him if he’s okay with it?”

“Girl, was there ever a doubt?” Asher laughs and hangs up.

Huh.
What does
that
mean?

Frowning, I return the cell phone to Rafe. “Guess it’s all set, then.”

“I’ll call Micah,” Zane says. “And Jesse. One of the fuckers will be there, for sure, and Manon?” He smiles when I look at him, his dark eyes brightening. “Thanks.”

***

I’m nervous.

Why am I so nervous? Seth obviously okayed my coming to his place, or I wouldn’t be standing on the street outside his building, wringing my hands together and shivering in my light jacket.

Unsure of myself. Of being here. Of seeing Seth again. The memory of his face, the rasp of his voice, it all has me confused.

He likes me.

I like him, too. So that’s why I’m here. Guilt sure played a role as well, but above all… Above all I want to see if I feel the same way today. That comfort, that ease, that warmth I felt when he was there.

Like everything in my life fit together. Like I fit in, for the first time. His interest, his concern, his presence made me feel good. Same way I’ve always felt with Cassie… only different.

But that’s because he’s a guy, I tell myself as I finally find the nerve to buzz his apartment. I don’t have many guy friends. Used to, at school, but haven’t seen them in a while. That’s what’s different.

Been training so hard I’ve been
de-boyed
. Can’t remember what it’s like to be around them. Time to change all that.

After climbing up the second flight of stairs, I find the door to the apartment half-open. It has a sticker on it—a snake, and below in print ‘Damage Control.’

Micah is standing at the opening. I recognize him immediately—the short, blond hair and sky-blue eyes.

“Thanks for coming,” he says quietly and opens the door wider. “He has a bad headache. No loud noises, no bright lights.”

I enter into the dim interior, and he closes the door behind me. It’s a small living room with an old TV set and a worn brown sofa. Dirty dishes are lying on a low table, interspersed with a half-full ashtray, a remote control, glasses and mugs. There’s a bunched-up blanket on the sofa, and a pair of boots lies under the table.

“Shouldn’t we call his family?” I ask as we both hover there. “Maybe they’ll want to be here for him.”

“Seth has no other family,” Micah says. “Not anymore. Just us.”

I want to say something, but the words catch in my throat. Something twists in my chest.

“This way,” Micah cuts through my thoughts and gestures at a door opening to the side of the room. “He’s in the bedroom.”

My feet feel heavy. I drag them through the doorway, my nervousness turning into panic.

Seth is there, lying on top of the covers on the single bed, fully dressed, an arm thrown over his eyes. At first I think he’s asleep, but then he shifts and lifts his arm.

His face is pale. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his lips are dry and cracked.

Crap.
This is my fault. My chest feels heavy as I sit on the bed beside him.

He squints at me, his gaze a little hazy. I look at him, and all I can think of is that I didn’t know guys could have such long and thick lashes. Or such pretty eyes.

Wow, that was random.

Or was it? He’s looking at me, and I’m gaping at him like an idiot. Say something, Manon. What the hell? That never happens to you with Fred.

“Hi,” I say.

Deep statement. Well-thought-out. Engaging.

So
not
.

But then he smiles, and it’s unexpectedly beautiful and bright, sinking a hook into my heart and hauling me in.

“Manon.” His low, rough voice caresses my name, and I shiver. “You’re here.”

“Yeah. I tried calling you. Sorry about this. It’s my fault.”

“No, sweetheart, it’s not.”

He reaches for my hand, and as his strong fingers close around mine I have a feeling I’m in a world of trouble, yet I can’t help but smile back.

***

“Will you be all right on your own?” Micah asks me for the hundredth time. “I could stay.”

“I know.” It’s past midnight, and Seth had to puke once, but has been otherwise quiet, dozing on and off. I glance into his bedroom. “He’s asleep. I think he’s less nauseous now. He’ll be fine.”

“Sorry to take off like this, but I’ve got to get up real early tomorrow for this appointment.”

Something to do with the tattoo shop, apparently.

“It’s really fine, Micah.” I give him a nudge toward the door. “I’ve put the bucket by the bed, just in case, and I’ll read until morning. I’ll call if I need help. I promise.”

“Okay.” He stops at the door and salutes me. “I appreciate it. Zane’s way over his head right now with the expansion of the shop, Rafe, too, and they’ve probably forgotten we need to do this.”

I nod and push him all the way out, locking the door after him and leaning on it to catch my breath.

Don’t get me wrong, having Micah around was nice. He helped Seth to the toilet when the nausea got too much, half-carried him back to bed and undressed him and tucked him under the covers while I went to make him some tea and find some crackers.

While I tidied up the living room and the kitchen, Micah got Seth to take more Dramamine and painkillers, talked to him, and generally made sure he was okay.

I don’t even know why I want to be left alone with Seth. I mean, he’s asleep. All I can do is sit by his side and watch him sleep.

So that’s what I do, sinking quietly into the chair Micah placed beside the bed, taking in his room, his things.

Him.

The room is small and messy, the carpet stained. There’s a Batman mug and stacks of old paperbacks by the bed. Crime novels, sci-fi and… romance? What the heck? A pile of dirty clothes looms in one corner, two ten-pound hand weights and a towel sit in the other, and I itch to tidy up.

Not your room. Leave it be.

An old closet covered in stickers and scraps of posters, photos and drawings pinned to a cork board. A metal box set on the floor, a dying plant on the window sill.

And my gaze keeps returning to him.

He really isn’t my type. His forearms, lying over the covers, are so big the veins bulge over the thick muscles. The dark lines of his tattoos curl on the side of his neck. His skin is smooth and tanned, the stubble on his cheeks fine, darkening the line of his jaw, his chin, his upper lip. Those long lashes…

Jeez, Manon.

I get up and go to stretch my legs in the living room. When you get a concussion you may feel confused, unsteady. That’s what a brief Googling of the term on my cell phone told me before I arrived here.

Then why am I the one confused? Why do I feel like I’m drifting away from the shore?

It’s nothing. Just the late hour. The crazy yesterday. The stress of changing directions in my life and not knowing which way I’m going.

Wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs, I enter the tiny kitchen and pour myself a glass of water from the tap. The light from the living room cuts a square on the floor. Outside the small kitchen window, the city flickers.

Soon Seth will be better, and I’ll have no excuse putting off deciding what to do with myself. What I really want to do. Which way to turn, who to talk to.

Let it sink in.

Ballet dancing for me is over. What else could fill my life and give it meaning like dancing did? Is there something that could?

Without warning, tears fill my eyes. I put down the glass and press the heels of my palms into them to stop from crying. This is ridiculous. It’s not the end of the world, not like it was when I was seven and Mom left. When I thought I might die from sadness and heartbreak.

No, this is just a setback. I’m fine. I mean, just look how Seth deals with everything happening to him. That’s serious stuff, not a change in career. A career I didn’t even begin. A change in studies direction, that’s all.

I’ll survive. I’ll be fine.

“Hey,” a gruff voice says behind me, and I yip, crashing back against the fridge and whacking my hand on it.

“Shit. Ow.”

“Christ, you okay?” Seth is staring, dark eyes wide, one hand braced on the wall. He pushes off it, reaches for me and staggers drunkenly. “Fuck.”

“Seth, no.” I grab him in time and push him back to the wall. “You shouldn’t be up.”

“Was thirsty,” he mutters, frowning down at me. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“I’m fine.” His eyes are a warm brown, like cinnamon, and the way I’m pressed to his body I can feel how strong he is, feel the hard muscles in his thighs and chest.

Shit.
I jerk back.

He lifts a hand to my face, stopping me. “Don’t run.”

Frozen still, caught once more, I don’t know what to say. Why is he saying that? I don’t want to run.

Not sure what I want, in fact. How I feel. We’re friends, right? That’s all.

I pull back until his hand drops away. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

***

When I bring him the water, he has his head turned to the side, a hand shading his eyes. “Light’s too bright,” he murmurs.

I hand him the glass, then go to turn off the overhead light and switch on his small bedside lamp. “Better?”

“Yeah.” He sips at the water, and I catch myself studying his hand, large and strong, an old, white scar running from the wrist down his palm. “Listen…” He puts down the glass on the worn bed-side table and I reach out to steady it. Our hands brush, and I flinch at the spark of heat. “You don’t have to be here. You probably feel like you have to, but you don’t, okay?”

I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Want me to go?”

“No. That’s not… Fuck.” He leans back on the stacked pillows and closes his eyes. “Not what I meant. I like it.”

“What then?”

“You. Here.”

Warmth travels up my chest, and my heart does a weird little flip. Which is plain weird. “Feeling better?”

“Sure.” He’s not convincing, though, and he’s quiet for so long I’m pretty sure he’s dropped back to sleep, when he shifts on the bed with a wince. “Tell me something about yourself.”

I still, muscles tensing. “Something? Like what?”

“Anything you want.” He gives me a faint smile. “I’m not picky. I’d read, but I’m dizzy.”

“I could read to you.”

“Ya know, I read these books ten times over while my leg was in the cast. Besides, I’d rather hear about you. Anything. Your full name. Your favorite color. The last book you read. The places you visited.”

I shake my head, but an answering smile tugs at my lips. “Okay. I can do that, I guess.”