Ocean (Damage Control Book 5) (27 page)

But he’s already disconnected, leaving me with the familiar bitter taste of regret in my mouth.

Kayla

“How’s Allie?” I’m tossing my Tarot cards around, not doing a proper spread for once. For some reason, I’m not in the mood. “She hasn’t moved back with that asshole, has she?”

“No, she hasn’t,” Wyatt says. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Crap. Do you think she’ll go back?”

“It’s possible.” I can practically hear him shrug. “That’s Allie, after all. Pig-headed like all girls.”

“Screw you,” I say without heat, my mind on Allie. “She said Mom would never find it acceptable if she left her fiancé. Do you think that’s true?”

A beat of silence. “Look, Mom’s not a sadistic bitch or anything, okay? I know you two don’t get along, but if Mom knew that guy beat Allie… He really beat her, right?”

“Wyatt, she’s covered in bruises.”

“But are you sure it’s him?”

“You seriously asking me this? She was crying. She was afraid if he came back he’d hurt us both. And he tried.”

“Okay. Then… yeah, I don’t think Mom would be in favor of that.”

“Good to know her daughter’s life is worth more than the neighbors’ speculation.”

“Damn, Kay, why do you hate Mom and Dad so much?” He gives a teenager-y long sigh. “I honestly don’t get it. They’re good people. She’s a good cook. She wasn’t happy with you studying fashion but didn’t lock you up in the basement, either, did she?”

I swallow. “No, Wyatt, they didn’t lock me up in the basement. Because I left home.”

He mutters something I don’t hear as I flip over a card. Temperance. Transformation. Reconciliation. Hope.

Is that for Allie? For me?

For Ocean?

He’s been in my thoughts more than ever, if that’s possible. He filled my mind before, and now it’s as if it’s overflowing with his face, his body, his voice, his past and his present.

“Kay, are you listening to me?” Wyatt barks in the phone.

“Yeah, of course.” I flip another card. It’s become a habit, an unconscious move. Knight of Cups. Romance. Affection.

Huh.

“You weren’t listening. I said, when will you visit? I want you to meet someone.”

“Don’t tell me! The girl from the Iranian family down the street? The one Allie has been talking my ears off about?”

“Has she now?” He sounds amused. “I don’t care what Allie thinks of her. But if you feel the same way…”

“No! I mean, really, no. I don’t feel that way, Wyatt.”

“Good,” he says quietly. “She’s awesome. I want you to meet her.”

“I’d love to.” I bite my fingernail, thinking. “I’m glad you didn’t let our parents influence how you see the world. I was afraid…” I swallow hard. “That you thought like them.”

He’s quiet for a few beats. “Is that why you left? Because they have these ideas?”

“Yeah. I mean, Jesus, Wyatt, they keep commenting on how terrible it is to have a different skin color, or religion. Or culture. Like being different is a disease, and they hate anyone who isn’t just like them, in every way. I hated how they were trying to change me, to force these ideas into me. Plus…” I sigh. “I know this isn’t as serious, but they also disliked any fashion statement of any kind, and fashion, style, means a lot to me. It’s an expression of your personality, you know? Of your beliefs. This stifled me. It killed me. It made me ashamed to be living with them, and fighting them every day of my life on everything was exhausting. That’s why I left. And I’m glad I did, although I miss you.”

He hums. “Our parents aren’t the only people in our lives, and their opinions aren’t the only ones influencing us.” God, now he sounds so grown-up, it’s scary. “You can run as far away as you want, Kay. The main thing is to know what you believe and stick to it, right?” Before I reply, he calls out something, and huffs. “Okay, gotta go, Mom’s been calling me down for dinner for the past ten minutes, and I’ll get the lecture if I don’t hurry.”

There. Now he’s back to sounding like a teenager again. That’s kind of a relief.

“Go,” I tell him magnanimously. “Say hi to your girlfriend from me.”

“Will do,” he replies, “and we have to meet soon!”

Smiling to myself, I disconnect the call and flip one last card.

Seven of Pentacles. Perseverance. Faith. Vision.

Right.
I open a cupboard to make myself some hot cocoa.
Faith.
I haven’t called Ocean, though God knows I want to.

Why not, then?

Putting down my mug, I pull up his number and hit call. It rings once, twice, and then he answers.

“Raine?” he rumbles. “That you?”

“No,” I say. “It’s Kay.”

Man, I wish that brat of a brother he has could see how lucky he is to have Ocean as a brother.

“Kay.” His voice goes quiet. “What’s up?”

“Just checking on you. Have you tried on the T-shirt? Does it fit?”

“I haven’t tried it.”

“Oh.” That makes me frown. “Why not?”

“I didn’t want to dirty it.” He sounds so serious. There’s a vulnerability in his voice that tugs at me.

“You can wash it.”

He says nothing.

“What about the pills? Did you take them?”

“Oh yeah.” He chuckles, and the deep sound makes me tremble. It makes my nipples stiffen and my toes curl.
Jeez, this boy.

“And?”

“Loopy. I think…” He laughs again. “I think I’m kinda high.”

I laugh, too. “Are you dizzy?”

“Kinda.”

“Then lie down and rest. Be careful not to fall.”

“Why did you call me?” he asks, his voice just a breath.

“I worry about you, too.”

He doesn’t reply. After a moment, a soft snore reaches my ears, and I snort.

“See you tomorrow,” I whisper, knowing he can’t hear me, and disconnect the call. I wish I was there to brush the hair off his face and kiss him goodnight.

But what if he never lets me in all the way?

***

The next day at the convention, as I set up my stall, I look for Ocean but can’t see him anywhere. After a few moments of looking around and not finding him, I abandon Amber with my stuff and walk among the stalls. The door is open, customers and curious passersby already filing in, but he’s not at his table.

Asher Devlin is there, his little son in his arms and his wife, Audrey, by his side. He nods at me, and I coo at the baby.

“Have you guys seen Ocean?” I stroke the baby’s cheek, and he sticks his tongue out at me. “Is he around?”

“Haven’t seen him,” Audrey says, giving me a smile.

I smile back, but I’m pulling out my phone to call him when he walks into the shop, his face set in a stony mask.

My stomach drops.

“Excuse me,” I mutter and start after him. “Blue.”

He turns, and some of the bad humor slips off his face. One side of his mouth curls up. “Kay.”

Aw.
“You okay?”

“Yeah. I overslept because of the painkillers. Holy shit, they’re strong. And then I talked to Mom’s doctor and…” His jaw clenches, and his eyes darken. “And it’ll be fine.”

He’s a terrible liar. It’s obvious the news isn’t good.

“Is she worse off than he thought? Or…” An almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Or he wants more money than he said before?”

His chin dips to his chest. “I’ll find the money. Don’t worry about it.”

But how?

A customer joins us and starts asking him about designs and prices, and I step away, leaving him to work.

Soon the shop is full, and my clothes are selling like hotcakes. I’m loving this so hard. When the girls exclaim over my hats, or the guys hold up T-shirts to choose from, or the kids grab the gloves and won’t let go until their parents buy them.

Loving it, I tell you.

And then I look across the room at Ocean’s stand, and all I want is to wrap my arms around him and convince him to kiss me, and trust me, and keep me.

Being in love is exhausting.

Amber was right. I love him. Damn, this wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s frightening, and every instinct I possess tells me to stop and walk away. To laugh it off. To ask the cards for guidance.

But I’ve tried all that, and it didn’t work. I look at this tousled blue hair and hooded eyes, that soft mouth and hard jaw, and I want to fall into him, sink deep.

Why all the mixed signals? Does he want to be with me or not? It’s obvious I wasn’t only a passing fuckbuddy. The way he looks at me, the way he touches me, that he worries about me, it’s all there.

Why won’t he talk to me? I’ve told him I believe in him. There’s only one thing left to tell him: my realization about how I feel about him.

That now I believe in love.

***

The doors close at nine. I’m sold out again, and I’m starting to think this clothes selling business might work out, after all. I should add more items to Amber’s website. The gloves and hats sold much better than I thought.

God, I’m dying to see Ocean in his T-shirt. I glance over at his stall, and there he is, partly hidden by his last customer who’s getting a small tattoo on her forearm. Words. Maybe something or someone important to her.

Like the angel tattoo Ocean has.

Livvy.

My earlier resolution to tell him how I feel weakens.
Crap.
Almost forgot about her. What if she’s the reason he’s staying away?

What if it’s me?

Not as sure of myself as I was a minute ago, I start gathering my stuff. It’s mostly tidying up my half of the table, as the clothes are all sold. Amber’s jewelry is still on display—though she also sold loads—but she’s vanished somewhere.

I bet Jesse Lee is missing, too. The two of them are probably making out in the bathroom, and good for them.

Sighing, I grab my purse and jacket, my thoughts spinning, but as I turn away, a tall shadow falls over me, and my breath catches.

“Hey.” Ocean shoves a hand through his hair. “Good day?”

“Yeah. Nothing left to take home.”

He nods and gives me a mouthwatering smile. His jaw is scruffy, his eyes red-rimmed with fatigue.

Holy crap, he’s more gorgeous than ever.

“And you?” I ask. “You got lots of customers, I saw.”

“It was okay. I prefer working on a tat over weeks, slowly putting it together, but this was interesting.”

“You prefer drawing in parts.” I recall his sketches, stuck on his kitchen door. “Telling your story in parts.”

He frowns. “I guess. Look, I wanted…” He waves a hand in the air, then stuffs it into his jeans pocket, looking adorably nervous. “Um.”

Why is he nervous?

“Yes?”

His eyes are a brilliant blue when he meets my gaze. “To invite you over. For a drink or something.”

“Oh.” I open my mouth, close it. Try again. “When?”

He sucks in his lower lip, releases it, and it’s so sexy. “Now. Tonight.” He gives me a quick, crooked smile that has my toes curling. “I need to test something.”

“Test? So I’m some sort of experiment?”

“Nothing painful, I promise.”

But he can’t promise that. Not when my heart’s already exposed and naked, and a single blow can shatter it. Not when we should talk. When I should tell him. Ask him. Choose a course.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

First rule of love, as I’m coming to realize, is that control is a thing of the past. You can only let yourself go and brace for impact.

***

I drive us to his place, and we enter his apartment in silence. It’s cold inside, and I smile when he immediately goes and turns on the heaters.

“Jason not staying with you anymore?”

“No, he’d left before I came back on Sunday. Left a message, said he was doing much better.”

Sunday. The day Ocean almost died.

I have to stop myself from stepping up to him and sliding my arms around him. “Glad he’s better.”

“So he says.” Ocean shrugs off his jacket. “Damn boy is too proud to accept help.”

“He’s not the only one.”

He frowns, points toward the kitchen. “Want a drink?”

“Why not?”
Let go. Brace.
“Whatcha got?”

“Jack.” He takes the bottle out of a cupboard, and two glasses. “That’s all I got, sorry.”

“That’s fine.”

I’m not fond of whiskey, but even just having a glass in my hands might be good. Why am I so jittery? I had sex with this guy, for chrissakes. I know what his cock tastes like, how it feels like inside me.

Heat spreads up my stomach to my boobs. The tips tighten painfully.

God, just one more touch. One more kiss. One more tumble in his bed. Even if my heart shatters afterward, when he tosses me away like all the girls he slept with before.

“Here you go.” He passes me a glass, and in one swift motion, he downs his. He pours more for himself.

“That must be a hell of a test you have in mind,” I mutter and sip at the whiskey, feeling it burn down my throat.

“It is.” He downs the rest of the Jack and slams the glass on the counter. “Yeah.”

Feeling unsettled, curious and kind of scared, I retreat back to the living room. The kitchenette is too small and full of memories—of him kissing me, touching me, making me come.

“So why did you invite me over? Like, really?” I take another sip and wander around the room, checking it out, something I wasn’t able to do much while Jason crashed here. He has a shelf with books—some thrillers, some sci-fis, a couple about art. A few about cars.

I’m frowning, reaching up to take one of the latter, when he walks up right behind me and stops my hand from taking the book.

“Kay.”

I slowly turn around. We’re so close I feel the heat of his body.

He takes a step back, taking a sip of his glass.

My glass all but forgotten in my hold, I take a step forward. It slips from my finger.

He makes a grab for it before it falls and pushes me back against the shelves. He puts both glasses there, his chest brushing mine.

Again he draws back. His eyes are dark, boring into me, but he isn’t touching me. There’s an inch or two between us.

It feels like miles.

“Blue…” I whisper, wondering if this dizzy feeling is due to the whiskey or his nearness. I lift my hand to his face.

He catches it, drawing a sharp breath at the same time. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls me off the shelves, stepping away again.