Ocean (Damage Control Book 5) (12 page)

Ocean

“You should’ve told me,” Jesse Lee mutters, pacing up and down, wearing a rut into my thin carpet. He gestures at Jason who’s dozing on my sofa, the blanket wrapped around him tightly, only the top of his head showing. “I had no idea he was so sick. Why didn’t he want you to tell me?”

“Said he didn’t want to worry you.” I’m rubbing my hands over my face for the millionth time in the vague hope I can rub away the tiredness. Fucking hell, I was up all night, trying to bring the guy’s fever down. I keep finding myself dreaming where I’m sitting, jolting awake with the sensation of falling. “He’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Jesse finally stops the goddamn pacing and perches on the coffee table beside me. He looks like hell—a mirror image of myself, I’d wager.

He spent most of the night here, too, from the moment I called him in barely suppressed panic until we brought Jason back. We then hovered over him until we were sure he wouldn’t need another trip to the doctor’s.

Nothing like seeing a guy in the throes of a seizure to break down your cool. Kids get seizures with high fever. The elderly. Not young men like Jason. But Jason was already weak from a variety of other problems and malnutrition, apparently.

I shudder.

Amber was here as well, only left a couple of hours ago. Jesse drove her to her apartment and came back to keep vigil with me.

“Fuck, I’m sorry about this mess.” Jesse grips the back of his neck. I bet it’s stiff, like mine. “Amber said to move him to her place. She’ll ask Kayla, but it’ll be okay. God I wish we’d moved into our studio already.”

“It’s okay, man,” I tell him. “Let him stay here, get well. I’ll be out of town over the weekend anyway. If you can check on him, then the couch is his.”

Jesse gives me a long look, as if trying to read my face.

Good luck with that, buddy. I can’t even read myself.

“You’re a good guy, Ocean,” he finally says.

“No, I’m not,” I say truthfully. If only he knew… “But
he
seems to be. And he needs to rest and get better. He deserves that chance. Where would we be if Zane and Rafe hadn’t taken us in?”

Jesse grunts in agreement. “He does deserve it. He took care of me so many times. He looks young, but he’s my age. He’s been on the streets for a long time.”

Hard to imagine. The few months I spent homeless was a fucking nightmare. “Sorry to hear it.”

“He’s too proud to let me help. But that’s gonna change, I swear it. Now I can give something back, and I just fucking wish I’d done it sooner. This...”

His voice cracks, and Jesus Christ, what he said echoes my thoughts about my brother.

“Hey.” I bump his shoulder with my fist. “You couldn’t know he’d get worse. And it’s not like you didn’t try to help. You brought him here. And you’re only just getting your feet under you, with your job at Damage Control and your girl. Let him stay over the weekend. Then he can make up his mind. Like you said, he’s an adult. He can make his own decisions.”

And now I sound like a hypocrite. Because if this was true, then Raine also has that ability and that right, and I should stop calling him, like he asked.

Am I so selfish? Is this only about me? Why do I have this wild fear that if something happens to Mom, something fucking irrevocable, and Raine doesn’t see her first, he’ll blame me for it, too?

Like it will make any difference. He refuses to see me anyway. And it’s not like I know what’s wrong with her. I just know she’s getting worse, and that’s something, considering she’s never had it all together. It’s not just her mind that’s going. It’s how frail she seems, how weak—

“I’ll let you catch a few Zs,” Jesse says, clapping me on the back, and I’m so tired I barely feel the sting where the bruises darken my skin. “He seems quiet now. Call me if it changes, if you need anything.”

What I need isn’t something he can give me. What I need is a sure foothold in a life that seems to be slipping away—my parents, my brother, my sanity.

I’m just tired. That’s it. That’s why I can’t see an end to this twisting path.

So I nod. “Will do. Go back to your girl. Grab some sleep. I’ll cancel my appointments at Damage and stay here with him.”

“The hell you will. I’ll cancel mine.”

“It’s okay.” I wave a dismissive hand at him. “I only have two today, and they’re regulars. They won’t mind putting it off.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you big time.” He gets up but hesitates, and I resist the urge to push him out the door. I’m having some trouble keeping up my end of the conversation at this point.

Dream images again flash in front of my eyes—the filthy interior of the trailer and Raine, so young he can’t reach the door handle, dark curls tousled, cars in all the colors of the rainbow lined up for a race, my mom staring off into space, her gaze blank.

A bang jerks me out of my trance. It takes me a moment to realize it’s the sound of the door of the apartment slamming shut. Jesse is gone.

Shit.
Scrubbing a hand over my face and gritty eyes, I check on Jason, who seems to be in deep sleep.

Good. At least one of us is getting some rest, I think, and instantly feel like a prick for begrudging him that after seeing him so sick.

Dammit, Ocean. Get your shit together.

I settle in the only chair of the room and fold my arms over my chest. I’m afraid that if I lie down in my bed and allow my eyes to close, I won’t hear anything short of a bomb going off in the next room.

My sleep is normally very light, because keeping vigil is second nature to me. I’ve watched over Raine, over my mom, over the trailer since I can remember as my old man disappeared for days on end to feed his addiction and spend every penny we had.

But there’s only so much a body can take, and mine is reeling after days with almost no sleep, and the worry about my mom is taking its toll.

She won’t answer the phone. Why won’t she answer the phone? It’s been days since my visit, and I need to go see her. See them. Tomorrow. Make sure they’re still breathing, that there’s food in the fridge and that nothing too bad has happened—an overdose, a stabbing over a gambling fight, a robbery that ended in bloodshed.

I’ve seen lots of dark things in the trailer park as a kid, things I tried to protect Raine from. I didn’t always manage.

Raine, Livvy, the accident. My old man always ignoring me. And after the accident, finally noticing me.

And deciding he’d had enough of me.

I keep letting people down, people who matter to me. Good for nothing, that’s me. Unreliable. Worthless. Raine wants me to leave him in peace, and Kayla… I snapped at her, made her feel like crap when she came to help me, sweet and kind and pretty and everything I want. My rainbow princess. I let her down, too…

Her face fills my vision, and I think I hear her laughter, and music, and I’m floating on a cloud, light and free and happy.

Then I jerk awake once more, cursing, my phone vibrating in my pocket. Unknown number, the words flash on the screen, and I stare at them a moment too long before I click connect.

“Yeah?” I rasp. My throat is dry. “Who is this?”

“It’s Kayla.” Her bright voice fills my head and the room and the world. “I was wondering if you wanted more soup. And help. I could come right over, if you need me.”

“I…” My lungs fail me. My brain freezes. She’s offering to help me, to be here for me, despite the godawful way I treated her in my desperate anger.

Silence stretches like a tightrope between us.

“Just say yes,” she whispers. “If you want me to come over.”

I swallow hard. “Yes.”

The tension breaks. I can almost hear the crack.

“Okay then.” She laughs softly. “Be there soon.”

***

She knocks on the door, so softly at first I’m not sure I heard it. It’s eight in the morning, and she’s right here, stepping inside my apartment, her red hair caught in pigtails, her dress green, her boots black. Her mouth curls into a quick smile.

She’s like a ray of sunshine.

“Good morning.” She lifts a brown bag. “Breakfast?”

I step aside to let her in, still kinda stunned that she came. With breakfast. That she called and asked and offered…

Nah, maybe I’m still dreaming.

But she wanders into the living room, bends over Jason’s curled-up form and a flash of sadness passes over her expressive face. She pulls up the blanket a little higher, pats Jason’s hair.

The sting in my chest at the affectionate gesture is unexpected. I rub my hand over my thumping heart, not sure what it means.

Then she heads toward the kitchenette, her heels clicking faintly on the linoleum, and I follow her.

She’s taking tall Styrofoam cups out of the bag, and the smell of coffee and cinnamon is like a wake-up call zinging through my system.

Then she takes out donuts, and my mouth waters. It’s the combination, I think hazily, of the sugary smell and her pretty curves in my kitchen. She’s shrugged off her coat, and I can see how the green dress hugs her body, tracing her pert ass and her round tits so perfectly I can almost feel them under my hands.

The image of her dark nipples under my fingertips isn’t one I’m gonna be forgetting any time soon. Or her mouth against mine.

“I got you a sugar-sprinkled one,” she says, and the words hang in the air without meaning, like strange birds or falling stars.

“What?”

“Your donut. Seth said you prefer plain sugar-sprinkled donuts. Right?”

“Thanks.” Seth remembered that? She asked him about my donut preferences?

It’s too hot in here. Must be why my eyes are burning. It’s just that, fuck, I can’t remember the last time someone was so nice to me.

“Look, Kay,” I say, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you, that was fucking unforgivable—”

“I’m sorry,” she starts at the same time, “I shouldn’t have barged into your bedroom. I should—”

We both stop.

She looks good enough to eat and lick all over, like a piece of cherry candy. I lick my lips, and right on cue, my dick goes diamond hard in my pants.

Jesus Christ.
Don’t know what the fuck’s happening. She’s like a line of lightning, zapping my nerve endings, making every part of me clench with need.

“This keeps happening,” she says, a grin spreading on her face. “Us talking at the same time.”

“It does?” For some reason my lips twitch. It happens when she’s around, even nowadays when there’s little to smile about.

“Uh-huh. I have no filter on my mouth sometimes, and say stupid stuff, but my memory works fine.”

“Stupid stuff, huh? Like saying you had a crush on me?”

She starts, and I wince.

With a silent groan, I lean back against the counter and fold my arms over my chest. Guess who’s the one without a filter now. “Kay…”

Her cheeks are turning crimson. She puts one of the Styrofoam cups next to me. “Yeah. That’s part of the non-filter thing.” And before I process this tidbit of info and decide what it means—she does have a crush on me, or not?—she changes the subject. “Will you tell me why you were so upset when I came into your bedroom?”

I shake my head, because no way am I telling her, and yet my mouth says, “My brother.”

“What did he say to you?”

“To stop calling him. To leave him in peace. That I fucked up so badly I can never make up for it. He tells me that every Friday when I call to check on him. Well, the few times he answers the phone.”
Stop, mouth. Stop talking.
“He’s right.”

“He says that to you?” Her eyes are round like coins and dark as she turns toward me, the red leaching from her cheeks. “Seriously?”

“He hates me. Keeps running away. Doesn’t want me calling. Won’t visit our mom, and she’s so sick, but he won’t fucking believe me, or even listen, and I…” I can’t catch my breath. I push off the counter, lean against the door. “Fuck, I don’t know what else to do.”

Oh God. God, why can’t I stop talking?

“He can’t hate you. He’s your brother. I can’t believe you did anything bad enough to deserve that.”

Laughter tears up my throat. It hurts. “Shit. You don’t know me, Kay. You know nothing about me.”

Her gaze falls away, and her mouth turns down at the corners. “Then tell me.”

She looks hurt. Dammit, I’m doing it again. Snapping at her when she’s being nice.

The bitter laughter dies in my throat. I push off the door and grab the plastic up, open it, and gulp down the coffee, let it scald my mouth.

Need to stop talking, stop laughing. I sound too damn cheery for someone responsible for the death of his brother’s girlfriend, a girl I helped raise like a younger sister. No matter what I do, I’ll never be redeemed, and I know it.

***

“Why don’t you go catch some sleep?”

I look up from where I’m hunched over my coffee at the kitchen table, blinking blearily. “Huh?”

I could have sworn I was at Damage Control and talking to Raine. He was there, for some obscure reason, and telling me to get lost.

Same old.

“Go to bed. Shoo.” She smiles, and I’m left staring. God, she’s more beautiful every time I look at her. Am I losing my mind? “I’ll take watch. I’ll wake you up if there’s need, I promise.”

“Kay, I’m a dick to you all the time.” There goes my mouth again, doing its own thing. “Why are you even here? Why are you sticking around?”

She leans over me—strawberry and apple scent, so sweet—and cups my cheek. “I told you. You’re pretty.”

For some reason, that makes my mouth twitch into a half-smile. Again, dammit. “Funny.”

“Pretty
and
tired, and I told you, I’m here to help out. So let me. We’re friends. Right?”

I nod, push myself upright. Friends. Even if I want more, it doesn’t matter. She’s the one bright light I can see, the one warm flame. She can’t know where I’m coming from, the things I’ve done, the hot mess my life is, and I can’t lose her.

And yet when I look down at her upturned face, I need to give something back.

“My brother’s name is Raine,” I begin, and she gives me a blank look. “My family name is Storm. My mom apparently thought it was hilarious. Ocean for me. Raine for my brother.”

I see her make the connection in her head. “Ocean Storm,” she whispers. “And Raine Storm. Holy crap, that’s… cruel. Was she a hippie or something?”