Seth (Damage Control #3) (9 page)

My hands shake a little when I put them in my lap, but in the dimness, with no one looking on, I tell him.

Seth

“My name is Madeline Amelie Torres.” She draws a deep breath. “My dad’s from Texas, my mom’s French from Algeria. I’m…”

She falls silent, and I crack one eye open, needing to see why. Her hands clench in her lap, and her gaze is distant. Clad in a dark blue dress with a narrow belt cinching her tiny waist, with her dark hair curling around her heart-shaped face and those large, dark eyes she looks like a movie star from the forties. There’s something so delicate about her face I’m afraid I might crush it if I cup her jaw.

Not that it matters. I won’t be touching her. She’s not free.

“So… Madeline Amelie Torres,” I drawl.
“Ça va?”

Her gaze snaps up, and her eyes widen. I grin at her startled expression. “You speak French?”

“Nope. That’s it. And
Je t’aime
.”

Her cheeks redden. “Used this last one a lot?”

I shrug, and my shoulder stops me, shooting a sliver of pain up my neck. “Told Shane once. He didn’t appreciate it.”

She giggles, then claps a hand over her mouth. “This is ridiculous,” she whispers. “Me sitting here, telling you about myself. I don’t talk about myself to anyone.” But before I ask why not, she sighs. “I like blue. Anything that’s blue.”

Great.
I bet this Fred she’s dating has baby blues, unlike me. “Gotcha.”

Hey, I asked for it, didn’t I? Somehow.

“Last book I read was…
In Search of Lost Time.
” At my confused look, she explains, “A book by Marcel Proust. Talks about himself mostly. Very French.”

“That explains it,” I mumble. My stomach twists, and man, I really fucking hope I won’t throw up again.

“My mom wanted me to read more French literature while I was staying with her, and I tried.”

“D’you like it?”

“It was okay.” She smooths the fine fabric of her dress over her thighs, and I’m caught in a spell, staring at her small, white hands on the black cloth. “Suited the mood while I was there.”

“Not fun?” I guess.

“Not really. I was there for the last year of high school. I had been looking forward to it, you know? I hadn’t seen her in years. I’d missed her. I thought we’d have fun together, but…” She leans back, bracing her hands on the mattress, and my gaze dips to her breasts, high and pert, stretching the bust of her dress. Like clockwork. Can’t help myself.

“Sorry,” I say automatically, trying in vain to look away.

“Yeah, me too. And then this happened, with the dance school, and I am…” She bites her lip, and the catch in her voice finally does the trick. I look up, at her face.

“Hey. You okay?”

She nods, but she’s not okay. This is obviously crushing her, this rejection from the school, the loss of her dream. And yet here she is, taking care of me.

“Forget about this,” I say. “This talking shit. It was stupid. I got another idea. Why don’t you lie down with me?”

“Lie down with you?” Her voice rises to a horrified pitch.

“To catch a few Zs. You know.” I blink at her, my lids heavy. “It’s late.”

She doesn’t move, and it occurs to me belatedly that maybe I’ve offended her. She barely knows me, and I’m telling her to get into bed with me. A narrow bed, at that. Why would she?

“Hey, I’m not coming on to you,” I mutter. “I promise. I’d just feel better knowing you’re getting some rest, too.”

Fuck, I’m an idiot. She’s probably considering her exit strategy right now. Not sure how to fix this, I rack my mind for something to say to smooth things over before she runs.

Which is why I jerk in surprise when she toes off her shoes and climbs onto the mattress, lying down beside me. She’s on top of the covers, I’m below, but even through the quilt I feel her curves, and despite the queasiness, I harden and have to shift to accommodate my swelling dick.

Shit.
Didn’t count on that. Thought I was too zonked out, but my dick has other ideas.

I pretend nothing happened, that I’m not two seconds away from flipping the covers back, grabbing her and sinking into her until she comes so hard she can’t speak. Until I come so hard I can’t think. I pretend that we are just a guy and a pretty girl on their way to becoming friends.

It will have to be enough. No choice. Not for someone like me.

She curls up against me, and when I extend my arm over the pillow, she snuggles closer. Jesus Christ, can’t remember the last time I’ve had a girl in my arms. Not like this. On my bed. By my side.

The girl I’ve been fantasizing about.

I shift again, draw a deep breath of her vanilla scent, and close my eyes, determined to catch some winks despite everything. Despite the silky softness of her hair under my cheek and her warmth along my side.

Yeah, as if. Dammit, I can’t sleep. My head is throbbing in time to my heartbeat.

“Seth?” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“What about your family? Micah said…” She stops, starts again. “Crap, sorry. It’s none of my business.”

She’s right, it’s not. Automatic defenses rear up, put in place years ago, and I open my mouth to tell her Micah should learn to keep his fucking big mouth shut.

But I don’t.

Roll with the punches, right? Don’t lash out, don’t take the suckage that is life seriously. Despite the call this morning, despite the fact my mom is alive, that she left me to rot behind bars and took off with God knows whom to do God knows what… I don’t.

Besides, I asked first.

I take too long to reply, though, and she starts to sit up.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “Really am. I shouldn’t poke my nose in other people’s lives. I should go.”

“They’re not dead,” I blurt out. “My parents.”

“Seth…”

“I don’t know my dad,” I say. Need to stop her from leaving, so I draw a deep breath, force out more words. “And for a long time I thought my mom was dead, but I found out today she’s not.”

She stills, her eyes wide.

“It’s like a fairytale gone bad,” I go on, not even sure why I’m spewing everything out. Guess I hope that if I keep talking she’ll stay here and not run away, like she seemed about to do. “My dad is from the Lake Superior Chippewa tribe. Works at the Potawatomi Casino. My mom used to go there often, looking for wealthy men to fuck.” She winces, and I clench my jaw, because the truth ain’t pretty. Like I said. Fairytale gone bad. “She often brought her sister along. They met my dad there one fine day and had a nice little threesome. Nine months later, Shane, and I were born.”

She says nothing, but at least she isn’t moving away, which is a win, because running after her ain’t in the cards with the way my balance is shot to hell right now.

“Was that what you were asking?” I say after long seconds pass with nothing but silence. “If my parents are alive?”

“Yeah.” She’s still sitting rigidly beside me, and I’m so aware of her breathing it’s like there’s nothing else in the world. Nothing and nobody but her and me. “That’s what I was asking.”

I relax a little. Maybe I didn’t fuck this up. I replied to her question. I held it together. “Okay.”

“You said…” She licks her lips, soft, inviting in the dim light. “You really thought your mom was dead until today?”

“Yeah.”

Didn’t tell anyone else about it, not even Shane. I didn’t want to talk about it, think about it. Wanted to forget it, forget everything. She’s dead to me and will always be.

But of course now reality slams back into me, and with it memories I’ve done my best to bury. Betrayal. Shock. Fear. Horror. Anger. Sorrow so bitter it burns.

The police arriving. Finding me unable to move. My mother gone. Everyone gone, leaving me alone.

And now she’s back from the dead, asking for my fucking help.

My stomach turns over so suddenly I barely manage to twist away from Manon and bend over the bucket by the bed before I throw up water and bile. Nothing left in me to toss.

“Crap.” She scrambles up beside me and slides off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

I pant through the dry heaves, throat and eyes burning. The fuck. Why are my eyes burning? A reaction to vomiting, I tell myself. All that acid.

Not the memory. Not the pain of the past. I’m over that.

Even if she abandoned me. My mom. Left me there for the police to find and took off. Never came back for me. Never let me know she was alive.

Because she just didn’t
care
.

***

“Here,” Manon says, handing me my refilled glass of water as I lean back on the pillows, panting. “It’s okay.”

It’s not, not really, but that’s another matter. My hand shakes, but I manage a small sip of water before she takes the glass away and places it on the bedside table, a wooden crate Shane brought me.

Shane.
Goddammit.
I close my eyes, so tired. What a messed up family we are.

Something cool brushes my brow, and I jerk back.

“Shhh.” She sweeps the wet towel down my cheek, over my mouth, wiping away sweat, tears and traces of puke. “Rest.”

Damn.
Now I have something clogging my throat. I turn my head away when she swipes at my other cheek, and she sits back, leaving me be.

Only quiet is not what I need. I reach blindly for her hand, and she lets me take it. I wrap my cold fingers around her delicate ones, feeling the fine bones of her knuckles, the softness of her palm.

Wish I could tell her more. Tell her everything. Wonder if the words coming out of my mouth are like poison being let out from a wound. If it might heal me.

Then reason returns, and I clamp my mouth shut. Not because I’m afraid she’ll rat me out to Zane—why would she care?—but because she’ll run away so fast I won’t even have time to say I’m sorry.

Sorry for who I am. For not being who and what she needs. For not being someone fit for company, for the society, for normal things like friendships and hand-holding. The fact she let me so close is precious to me. And even though I know how stupid this is—and I know, believe me—I can’t help but cling to her for as long as she’ll let me.

Even if it means not telling her the truth. Lying. Pretending I don’t want more from her, that I don’t get hard just by looking at her.

Jesus.

“Feeling better?” she asks, and I jerk my chin down in a nod.

Doesn’t matter anyway. She’s done all she could. Emptied and washed the bucket, cleaned me up, brought me water. Let me hold her hand. What more could I ask for?

“How’s your knee?” She glances down at my cotton-clad legs, as she stretches out on top of the comforter. “Did the doctor see it?”

“It’s fine.” Look at me. A pro liar. “The break is all healed up.”

“Since yesterday? You could barely walk.”

Yeah.
There’s that. “The leg I broke is the other one.”

And what the fuck’s wrong with my mouth? It keeps spewing out things it shouldn’t.

“The other one? Then why…?” Her face twists into a cute little frown. Her small nose wrinkles as she tries to figure out the riddle after a night without sleep. “How did you hurt it? Was it when you fell? Oh crap, it was, wasn’t it. I’m so sorry!”

Fuck.
“Dammit, no. That’s not on you.” I squeeze her hand. “It’s an old thing.”

As old as I feel on days like this. Old like the world.

“What happened?” The million dollar question, but before I can formulate a deflection, a white lie, her hand perches lightly on top of my bad knee, and even through my sweats and the knee brace, I can feel it.

I can always feel her. I’m sure I’d feel her presence in a fucking crowd in a fucking zombie apocalypse.

That’s how screwed I am when it comes to her. I’ve been aware of her ever since Cassie started bringing her along to Halo, the bar where we like to meet and shoot some pool in the evenings.

Haven’t been there in a long while.

And although she’s right here, holding my hand, she might as well be on the moon for the good it does me.

I can’t have her.

“Seth.” She pulls her hand and I let her go. Because that’s what I’m supposed to do. Let her go. “I hope you don’t think I’m too pushy. I… like you.” She blushes and my mouth goes dry. “You’re a nice guy.”

But not the one she wants. This accepting your fate thing is so much harder when I’m close to her.

“I was hoping we could be friends.” She’s looking at me, cautious and expectant and beautiful. She’s everything I want.

I need to stop wanting her.

It’s easier to stop breathing.

“We can be friends,” I say, the words like bitter drops on my tongue.

She smiles, then, and the bitterness fades. “Thank you. I don’t have many friends. I didn’t go to school near here, and the guys from dance school…” She scrunches up her nose again, and I love that. “Let’s just say they’re not interested in friendships.”

“Why not?”

“It’s very competitive, you know?” She looks at me, expecting me to understand, so I nod. Her eyes are bright. “And exhausting and takes up all our time. We can’t afford to spend time on anything else, and—”

The light in her eyes goes out.

Fuck, that’s right. She’s not a part of that anymore. Her lips tremble before she presses them together hard, refusing to cry, and if I wasn’t gone for her already, I’d have fallen for her right now.

She’s a fighter. I knew it.

“Shall we try this once more?” I ask, and she gives me a blank stare. “This sleeping thing. I’m seriously beat, and you look like you could use some rest, too. What do you say?”

Because we’re friends and all. Practically siblings, goddammit.

But when she sighs and lies back down beside me, trusting, warm and real, I don’t fucking care.

I mean, well played, fate. Well played. Okay, I give in. I’ll accept the pitiful scraps you throw my way.

And I’ll be damn grateful.

***

My knee is broken. The doctor explained it to me. Blunt-force injury. Broken ligaments. Broken meniscus. Broken everything.

Like I am. Curled up on my bunk bed in prison, I feel the pain radiating upward, right into my soul. Still don’t know how long I’ll be locked up this time, but it’s looking bad. I’m seventeen now, and it seems the state has decided I’m old enough to be tried as an adult. The lawyers aren’t optimistic.