Ocean (Damage Control Book 5) (17 page)

“Did your car break down? What—?”

“He’ll see the broken roadside fence. I’ll be waiting.”

Oh God.
“Are you hurt? Are you in your car? Should I call an ambulance?”

But he doesn’t seem to be listening to me. “Missed you, Kay,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t answer when you called. I thought I was leaving. But I’m not.”

He’s panting harshly. Shit, I don’t like this. It’s raining outside, and he’s stranded on the highway, possibly hurt. And he’s rambling.

“I’m coming to get you,” I say, pushing off the sink and starting toward the living room. “Did you hear me, Ocean? Stay where you are, I’m on my way.”

“It’s cold,” he whispers, and then the line goes dead.

***

My first thought is to get to him, make sure he’s okay. But he can’t be okay, not if his car went through the fence, and I’m not sure I’d be that much of a help.

Not that I’m sitting this one out. No frigging way. No matter what I feel for Ocean, what happened between us and where that leaves us, I’m heading out there to find him.

But I’ve called for reinforcements. Seth and Manon, Micah and Ev, Shane and Cassie. Turns out Jesse and Amber are out of town, but I leave them a message.

Now let’s just hope my Mini Cooper is up to task. It zooms through the rain-slicked city, and thankfully the rain is beginning to let up by the time I hit the interstate.

Mini Cooper ninja to the rescue.

I laugh hysterically, alone in my tiny car. Then I step on the gas and turn up the music to shut myself up.

This isn’t the time for a nervous breakdown, Kay. Just find him. He’s okay. He’s perfectly okay.

And if he’s not?

Shut up, brain.

I almost miss the site in the dark and the drizzle, but I spot the gap in the roadside fence just in time and park on the shoulder.

Holy crap, he went right through. I gape at the pick-up sized hole in the metal fence and my gut clenches.

And that’s when I remember that, in my panic and rush to get here, I forgot to call 9-1-1. So I do that as I finally get moving, throwing the door open and jumping out, zipping up my jacket.

It’s cold out here, the wind sharp. In the illumination of the headlights, I climb off the asphalt road and slide in the wet mud down the sloping ground. Something big and flat glitters a little further, catching the headlights of a passing car.

Water. A pond. A large holding pond.

My breath catches in my throat as I move toward the flat expanse. Ocean didn’t say anything about a pond, and while my conscious mind knows he’s all right—we spoke not so long ago—the fear I feel can’t be checked. It makes my back cramp and my muscles tighten, my skin feel itchy and too small for my body.

“Ocean!” I reach the edge of the water and look down at its shimmery surface, my flesh crawling. Bile rises in my throat. “Ocean, where are you?”

This has to be the place, right? Crap, could this be the place of an older accident, and he’s someplace else, waiting for me?

Or he’s in his car, under the water, already d—

“Kay.” The voice is low, and raspy, and I spin around so fast I almost fall over. “Here.”

He’s sitting on the ground, his broad shoulders hunched over. His hair is plastered to his head, half-covering his face. He lifts a hand to sweep it back, and even in the dimness I can see how badly it’s shaking.

Jesus.

I scramble down in the mud to touch his face. His skin is icy cold, and he grunts when I cup his cheeks, his stubble rough under my palms.

“Hey, Sweet Muffins.” His mouth twists into a weak grin.

Trust Ocean to remember the stupid nickname he gave me while sitting in the mud and probably in shock. “Where is your Chevy?”

“In the pond.”

“The world tilts. “Oh God, you could have died. I…” I force the hysteria down. “Are you hurt? Is anything broken?”

He shakes his head in my hands, and just like that, a dam breaks, and I have tears running down my face, scalding hot. I throw my arms around him, holding him to me.

“You’re okay,” I whisper over and over. “You got out. You got out okay.”

After a while I realize he’s still shaking in my hold, great shudders wracking his big frame. He must be freezing, I think. He’s drenched in icy water.

“I’m calling an ambulance.” I pull back reluctantly, slide my hands back up to his face. I can’t stop touching him. “Just to make sure nothing’s wrong.”

“No. No ambulance.” His eyes look huge and dark in his white face. His hands come up to find my own face, ice-cold and unsteady. “No hospitals.”

My protest is lost in the brush of his lips over mine, shockingly cold, and soft, and firm, and I kiss him back, a sob catching in my throat.

He draws back. “You all right?”

“You’re asking
me
?” God, of course he is. He almost died, and he’s worried about me. He’s the sweetest boy ever, protective and selfless, and I want…

I want to protect him, too, to take care of him. I want to be with him, be the one he smiles for, the one he turns to when he needs help.

And he did, didn’t he? He called
me
first. What does it mean?

“Kay?”

“I’m fine.” I smile absently.

“Sorry I didn’t return your calls. I was…” He shivers violently. “I thought I was leaving, but I’m not, Kay.”

Leaving. There it is again, talk of going away, and that horrible feeling of sliding off balance on the edge of a sheer cliff.

“Good. I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay.”

With me.

But I don’t say that. I don’t know what he wants.

Am I crazy? I barely know him. We kissed, we made out, and I have feelings for him, feelings I don’t remember ever having for anyone.

“Need to call the cops,” he says. “Forgot to call the cops.”

“I called them. They should be here any minute now.” Slowly, I stand up and reach for his hands. “Come on. Let’s go sit inside my car to wait.”

At first I think he’ll refuse my help, but after a moment’s hesitation, he grips my hand and heaves himself on his feet.

Doesn’t work out so well. He’s tall and heavy, and his hand slips from mine as I stumble backward.

He falls back on his ass with a groan, and I wince.

Great help you are, Kay.

But he reaches for me again, his expression so trusting it twists up my heart, and this time I brace my heels in the mud not to slip as I haul him up.

He called me first. He called me before anyone else.

This has to mean something.

He weaves on his feet, and I stare at him like an idiot before I realize he’s really unsteady, and not only because of the mud. Shock and hypothermia, I think, moving closer and wrapping my other arm around his lean waist.

“Okay?” I ask.

He huffs out in reply, leaning into me. “Guess this is a bit like it, too,” he mumbles, letting go of my hand to enfold me in both his arms.

“Like what?”

“Like dancing.”

That makes me smile. “It is, isn’t it?”

“I should have danced with you. That night, at the bar.”

“You should have. But it’s not like we’ll never get another chance.”

“Here,” he says, and I don’t know what he means until he starts moving. Right, then left, his lips brushing my forehead.

Oh God, we’re dancing in the rain and the mud. He’s crazy.

Or in worse shock than I thought. He’ll be so embarrassed when he comes around later. And maybe I should stop him, but I don’t want to.

He smells of wet earth, his peppery, musky scent muted. He feels strong and solid and impossible, like a magical creature, in my arms. Powerful and yet fragile, armored and yet vulnerable. Broken and yet unique and unreplaceable.

Oh God, I have such a crush on Ocean.

I kind of knew it, I guess. But it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I had crushes on boys at school when I was younger. Even on a guy in college during my freshman year. It was the whole heart-fluttering, excitement-bubbling thing, but never… never this strong.

Never this solid, like a fist closing around my heart.

Like grief,
Ev had said. Love is like grief. Crushing and all-consuming.

No, no.
I fist my hands at the small of his back. Not love. A crush. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Two very different things.

Yeah, he’s hot and my body likes it. Yeah, I wish we’d fool around again, that I’d get to take off his clothes and see and touch that strong body.

And yes, I like talking to him, kissing him, making sure he’s okay.

Just a crush, right? That’s bad enough already.

But as I dance with him in the dark, beside the pond that almost became his tomb, with his breath in my hair and his chest pressed to mine, his voice still echoing in my ears and a light drizzle wetting my face, why does it feel like so much more?

***

Soon after the cops arrive. They ask questions, take a look at the car in the pond and check Ocean for DUI. One of them carries a blanket from the police car and wraps him up in it.

Worry is eating at my stomach lining. He has to get out of those wet clothes and the cold drizzle.

Thankfully, our friends finally arrive. As soon as we’re surrounded by their familiar faces, I feel better. Micah talks to the cops, while Ev and Seth help Ocean up to the highway. I unlock my car and have them bundle him inside while I turn on the heater.

Funny how they don’t protest or ask why I was here earlier. Why my car, not theirs.

Shoving the thought out of my mind, I turn my attention back to the cop who leans in the car window to ask Ocean more questions. Routine stuff, and I hop from foot to foot outside, impatient for him to be done and let me take Ocean away.

Take him home.

Seth is asking me what else Ocean has said, how he got out of the sunk car, and Ev is gripping my arm, talking about the weather and slick roads, but I can’t focus on them.

Home.

“Hello, Ms. Everett?” the cop calls out to me. “We’re done here for now. You should take him home, get him warm.”

I know.

It’s not until later, after the policemen have left, and guys have said goodbye and asked Ocean to call if he needs anything at all and I’m driving to the next exit to turn around and head toward Madison, that I realize I’m taking him to my place.

And that’s a good idea, I think as I glance at him, slumped in the seat beside me, still shivering. Who knows if Jason is even still back at his place, and if he’s well enough to take care of Ocean?

Besides, his place is farther than mine.

I glance at him again, at the blue shimmering under his long lashes, and give up trying to justify my actions.

He’s with me tonight, and I’m going to make damn sure he’s warm and fed and rested. That’s all there is to it. I’ll watch over his sleep. I’ll tell him he’ll be fine. I’m not leaving him alone tonight.

No matter what happens or doesn’t happen between us tomorrow.

***

The ride back is spent in silence. When I park outside my building, he doesn’t comment. I wonder if he even notices.

“Ocean? Hey.” I’m starting to freak out, because he doesn’t seem to hear me, but when I shake him a little with a hand on his shoulder, he blinks at me. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

By the time I’ve climbed out of the car, he’s thrown his door open and is struggling to unfold his tall frame out of my Mini Cooper. Under different circumstances it would have been funny, but his face is ashen in the light of the streetlamp, his lips white—and a scratch I hadn’t noticed earlier, over one brow, is bleeding sluggishly. The blanket has slipped off his shoulders, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

I reach for him, sliding my hand around his back, and he pushes off the car to lean against me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

“This is your place,” he says, his voice hushed.

“Yeah. I’ll crank up the heater, don’t worry.” I tug on him, and he stumbles along my side toward the building entrance. “I have leftover soup, and salad, and you can have a hot shower to warm up.”

“Muffins?” he rasps, and I can’t help a snort.

Muffin-fixated, this boy.

“The only muffins I have are in my bra.”

He grins, his gaze dipping to my girls, and I roll my eyes.

Boys and boobs.

“The soup’s sweet potato with bacon. I think you’ll like it.” And I think my chatter is soothing him. So I keep it up as we enter the elevator, and I punch my floor number. “Jesse and Amber are out of town, visiting an old friend of his, so the bathroom is all yours. I’ll have the soup warmed by the time you’re done. That sound okay?”

He squeezes my shoulders and drops a kiss on top of my head.

Somehow it feels strangely intimate, for such a chaste kiss, much more than his checking out my rack.

We stumble together to my door. I unlock it, we enter, and I lead him toward the bathroom. His feet drag on the floor.

He needs out of these wet clothes ASAP. I just don’t realize I’m the one who’s going to help him take them off until he’s leaning against the bathroom wall, swaying, his teeth chattering.

You’ve seen him naked before,
I tell myself.
Totally, beautifully naked, and aroused, and you’ve touched his snake. Made him come.

But again, like that chaste kiss in the elevator, this feels more personal. It feels more important, more meaningful.

Feels deeper, somehow.

And as I throw the blanket off him and unzip his jacket, pushing it off his broad shoulders, I can’t help wanting him again.

More.

More and more and more.

He pulls off his sweater and T-shirt, grunting as he does, and I see dark red splotches on his chest. New bruises.

He stares down at me as I get on my knees to take off his boots and socks, and his eyes are so dark they look black. I unzip his pants and drag them down his muscular legs. The sodden fabric clings to his flesh, and by the time I manage to take them off, I’m panting with exertion.

He makes a funny sound in the back of his throat, and I look up only to see he’s going commando. He’s fully naked now and jeez, his cock’s impressive even when not erect. That’s a well-hung boy, and I shouldn’t be staring at his dick right now, right?