Ocean (Damage Control Book 5) (26 page)

A tall, dark-haired guy ambles over and sticks his hand out for me to shake. It’s tattooed, as is his arm, the intricate, colorful design disappearing under the sleeve of his black T-shirt.

“Kade, of Soul Stain,” he says as we shake. “You must be Ocean Storm.”

“Yep.”

“Can’t mistake the hair. Heard a lot about your art.”

I lift a doubtful brow. “Don’t believe all you hear.”

He laughs. It’s a good laugh, deep and happy. “You’re a funny guy. The rumors were true.”

You’d be surprised,
I think morosely, and paste on a smile. “That’s me all right. All fun and jokes.”

He waves a girl and a guy over. “This is Sawyer,” he points at the blond guy, “and Mariska.” The girl with the wild curls and chocolate eyes grins at me. “We are Soul Stain.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say and shake hands all around.

“Nice hair,” she says and tilts her head to the side, studying me. “You dye it yourself?”

It’s none of her business, but I try to be polite. “Nah, there’s a hairdresser’s near where I live. He does it for me.”

It was one of the first things I did when Zane brought me in and I got my apartment and my first paycheck. Got my hair dyed. Reclaimed who I was.

Back when I raced, I did it myself. It was a mess.

Zane joins us, patting the trio on their backs. “You’ve met Ocean and Micah. Let me show you around and introduce our new inkers to you. They’re in the back.”

What, no swearwords? That’s a first. Not a single F-word.

He’s nervous, I realize as he ushers our guests to the back of the shop where Seth, Shane and Jesse are helping Amber set up a table with her jewelry.

Where’s Kayla? Wasn’t she supposed to be here, too?

Christ.
Even though I don’t wanna hear what she has to say, I can’t help looking for her. Wanting her.

I’m so fucked…

And then I hear her voice, and she’s walking inside, her hair a mess, her eyes bright, a riot of colors with her blue jacket, red pants and yellow scarf. There’s a golden aura around her, a halo of vibrating energy, and I forget to breathe as I watch her high-five Ev.

“Skipping classes again, huh? Naughty,” I hear her say.

Classes. College. Fashion design. I wonder if she makes her own crazy clothes.

Ev laughs. “Look who’s talking.” She takes one of the shopping bags Kayla is carrying. “Have you thought up a design for my wedding dress yet? I decided I want a snake going around my torso. And spangles, maybe.”

“How else would I make your wedding dress but with a snake and spangles? Silly girl. You didn’t even have to tell me.”

I’m still not breathing, staring at her, wondering how it’s possible that she’s prettier every single fucking time I see her. How am I gonna get over her and stop staring like a creeper when I can’t even draw enough air in my lungs when she’s around?

I force myself to look away. I should be stacking up postcards with the shop’s logo, and straightening shit, and probably mingling, or something.

From the corner of my eye I see the two of them walk to Amber’s stall and start unpacking… clothes. Colorful clothes, bright shades of red and blue and green and yellow and pink. T-shirts, skirts, pants, but also gloves, and scarves and hats.

The girls laugh, trying one or the other item on before they place them on display. Kayla tries on a red hat and purses her lips, pretending to be posing for a photo, which Ev pretends to take. Then Ev whips out her phone and takes it anyway.

I want that photo.

Then Kayla says something to Ev and strikes another pose in front of her stall. She leans forward and licks her lips, smiling.

And just like that I’m hard, so fucking hard it hurts.
Goddammit.
It hurts to want her so badly, to need her so much.

What am I gonna do?

***

The door opens and people start streaming inside. I don’t even know if Kayla has noticed me or not before I have customers lined up to be inked, and others flipping through my catalogue and asking questions.

Across from me are the stalls of Soul Stain. They’re getting lots of interest. Their designs are dark and twisted, much like ours. Soul Stain and Damage Control.

How freaking fitting.

I wonder what their stories are.

Then my whole attention is taken up by the customers and I draw, ink and discuss designs for the rest of the day. At some point someone puts a sandwich on my stall, and I swallow it down. I couldn’t tell you what was in it.

Just as well. For once, in what feels like years, my mind is off Kayla.

Of course then I lift my head from a design I’m drawing on paper, and I see her. I actually catch her looking at me, a cute little frown on her face, as if she’s trying to figure out something.

Her table is mostly empty now. Holy shit, she sold out? Not that I didn’t think she would. Her designs are fun, and I wish I’d grabbed one of the men’s T-Shirts she had on display. They were made of two different cloths, shades of the same color, and had her name on one sleeve.

Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t.

At some point later, Rafe announces that the concert is about to start, and DeathMoth takes the figurative stage. Rafe sets up his drums, three more guys come to stand around him with guitars and a bass, and Dakota fluffs up her wild dark hair and grabs the microphone.

Show time.

I grin to myself as the first song starts with a bang, startling everyone, and Dakota screams the first words into her mic. They’re good, and I’m glad for the music filling up my head, not leaving any space for thoughts. I nod to the next customer and get back to work, letting the music replace the howl that wants to break free from my chest.

By the time the door closes to the public and I finish the last tattoo of the day, everyone is gathering their shit, looking exhausted but pleased. Loads of people showed up, got inked and bought stuff. I see Rafe high-five Zane, and Jesse performs a complicated handshake with Micah that involves a spin and a jump.

The guy I finished inking leaves to pay at the front desk, and I puff out a breath. I’m so ready to call it a day. Evening. Whatever. It’s late, and I’m done.

I tidy up my table and check my inks, getting them ready for tomorrow. It’s dark outside. Dark inside, too.

But something bright flashes at the edge of my vision. There she is. A burst of brightness. She’s walking toward me, swinging a plastic bag in her hand.

I turn away even though I want to go to her and grab my stuff to go.

“Blue,” she says, and I freeze. “Got a minute?”

“Can’t right now,” I lie. “There’s someplace I need to be.”

Her face falls, and I suck a sharp breath. Fuck, I hate making her sad. What harm is there in letting her say her piece? It already hurts.

“Kay,” I begin, “if you—”

“Brought you something,” she says, “but—”

We both stop. Then she grins widely, and fuck, my mouth twitches. I wanna kiss her. So. Fucking. Bad.

“Just a minute,” she says, and I can only nod, reading her lips, as if hypnotized.

She opens the plastic bag and takes out two items from it and places them on my table.

“They’re for you,” she says, her cheeks coloring. “Made them for you. Oh, and these…” She reaches into the pocket of her jacket and takes out a small package. “Painkillers, courtesy of Seth. Take them with water and care. They’re strong.”

I shake my head, at a loss for words. She shakes out the first item on the table—a T-shirt. A blue T-shirt that actually says “BLUE” on it in bold letters. Gray fabric peeks out at the hem and on the sleeves.

“I’ve been making this one for you for a while.” She gives the shirt a fond pat, then her smile falters a little. “But if you don’t like it, I’ll—”

“No! I mean yes. I like it.” I take it from her, a tremor in my hands. “Really like it.”

It’s a present. For me. Made by her. With my name on it. For some reason, this hurts, too. Everything that has to do with this girl hurts—but this is a good pain. It makes me smile, and it makes me wanna weep.

“I also made you these.” She lifts the items in question. They’re fingerless gloves, the same blue as the T-shirt.

I take them. My hands are visibly shaking now, dammit.

“I hope they fit,” she says with a start of that adorable frown on her face. “I tried to measure your hands when you slept the other day, but I wasn’t sure.”

“I don’t care if they don’t fit.” Christ, that came out wrong. “What I mean is…”
Yeah, what do I mean?

“They’ll fit,” she whispers and takes a step back, her mouth small and uncertain.

I reach for her, snag her sleeve. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing much.”

But it is. And I want her to know it.

“For Christmas,” I clear my throat because my voice has gone hoarse for some reason, “every year, I made Raine a present. My folks didn’t give a rat’s ass about food and heating, let alone holiday gifts, but Raine was a kid. He wanted to celebrate. He wanted toys. He wanted someone to pay attention to him.” I swallow. Fuck, this isn’t getting any easier. “I didn’t have money to buy him stuff. So I actually made him toys from broken things I found in the trash. Trucks, cars, motorcycles, superheroes.” If anything she looks even more upset now.
Shit.
“I don’t know I’m telling you this.”

She bites her lip. “And who gave you Christmas presents?”

I snort. “I got no presents.” Who would give them to me? Santa Claus? The fucking Tooth Fairy?

She’s staring down at her hands.

“Your brother must miss you,” she finally says. “He must love you. How could he not? You gave him everything.”

The knot is back in my throat. I clutch her presents in my hands. My first presents, and I’ve botched it by making her sad.

I try to fix it. “Thank you for the gifts, Kay.”

Her lashes lift, and she looks at me, really looks at me, her gaze intense.

“I don’t believe,” she says and puts a hand on my chest, “that you caused a child to die, not on purpose. I don’t believe it was your fault.” She pauses. “When will you tell me that story?”

I shake my head. “Some other day.”

“You’re not a bad person, Ocean. I know it.”

And she walks away, leaving me more confused and hopeful and fucked-up than ever.

Because she wants to know. Insists it’s not my fault. That I’m good.

She’s taking a chance on me. And that makes me wanna take the risk and tell her what happened, and what I’m about to do.

I feel the shift inside me. I
will
tell her. I need to, even if she walks away without a backward glance.

Clutching my first and last presents from her to my chest, I step out.

***

My phone buzzes as I enter my apartment, carrying the T-shirt and gloves Kayla gave me in my arms. I’m extra-careful as I put them down on the sofa and pull out my phone, wondering if it’s her.

It’s not. It says ‘unknown number’ and I scowl at the screen, debating what to do before I hit connect. “Yeah?”

“Shun.” The connection is bad, but only one person calls me that. “Hey.”

“Raine? That you?” I shove my fingers in my hair and tug. “R.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Bad connection.”

“Where are you? Aunt Martha was looking for you.”

“That old cow didn’t notice I was gone for two days, Shun. That’s when she called me.”

“The fuck.” Anger fills me up, burning in my chest. “Why?”

“She never really cared. Why are you acting all surprised? She’s our old man’s sister.”

Fuck, that’s true. “I thought she took good care of you. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Come on, Shun.” He huffs. “I was pissed at you. I still am.”

“Because I got your girlfriend killed.”

“Shit, you really don’t know me, do you? Livvy was my best friend, not my girlfriend. I don’t like girls that way, Shun.”

“Ah-huh.”

“Big fucking surprise, huh? How did you miss that? Oh wait, I know. Because you fucking gave me away and left me to rot at fucking Aunt Martha’s place.”

Jesus.
“You know I sent you away for your own good.”

“Bullshit. We grew up together. We survived our folks. You can’t tell me—”

“I sent you away because the bad influence was
me
, all right?” I breathe out, try to steady my voice. “You were right. About everything. It was my fault, everything, and after our old man found out, he went ballistic. He threw me out, not two days after you were gone. I was living on the street for a long time, and then I got this job, and I was trying to make ends meet, and…” Why isn’t he saying anything?
Fuck.
“I wanted you here with me, R. But by the time I could offer you a place to stay, you wouldn’t even talk to me.”

More silence. I check my phone, to make sure the connection wasn’t cut.

“You’re not listening, Shun,” he says quietly just as I bring the phone back to my ear. “I was so damn pissed at you. I couldn’t see straight. You abandoned me, whatever your reasons, with that bitch, Martha. I thought we had each other’s backs. You betrayed me, or so I thought.”

“I wanted what’s best for you.” And damn if my voice doesn’t break down the middle. “I wanted you to have food, and clothes, and go to school. Fuck it.”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Yeah, okay. At least you wouldn’t have hated me for being gay like our aunt did.”

I blink. “I’m gonna kill her.”

“No, Shun. Leave it be.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You got no problem with it, do you?”

“I suspected it sometimes, but couldn’t be sure. But why should I have a problem with it? As long as you use a condom and don’t sleep around. That shit’s dangerous.”

He laughs, a low, rolling sound I haven’t heard in, fuck, years. My knees buckle, and I sink on the sofa, next to Kayla’s blue sweater and gloves.

“R, you should come see Mom. She’s sick.”

“So you’ve said.”

“She has lupus. They ran tests.”

“I don’t care. And neither should you. Those people, they left us to starve, Shun. To die. They never gave a shit about us, and now you’re trying to save them?” The anger I’m used to hearing in his voice is back. “Fuck them.”

“Raine, come on, I—”

—I can’t. Can’t just forget about them.