Ocean (Damage Control Book 5) (3 page)

So tired. It comes with living two lives, I guess, as far apart from each other as the sun and the moon. One is like a dream, happy and free and fucking good, and the other… the other is a nightmare.

On top of that, it’s time I checked on my little brother, see how he’s doing, and oh boy, I can’t wait for his warm welcome.

I’m not giving up, though. I will get through to him somehow. Someday he will forgive me, and everything will be fucking okay again. As okay as it can be. I’m not delusional. But my patience, and my hope and my goddamn sanity are reaching a breaking point.

It’s been years. And Mom’s getting worse…

Pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes, I hop off the stool and turn to go, only to stop short.

Someone is standing at the door of my cubicle, arms folded over a broad chest, dark hair standing in spikes.

Seth.

Damn.
I could have sworn everyone was gone and that I was the only person left in the shop. To be honest, I’ve been kinda avoiding him. I have this suspicion that he wants to talk to me, and man, that’s the last thing I want.

“What are you doing here?” I grab my wallet from the counter, stuff it in my back pocket. “I thought you left with Shane.”

“I’m your Ghost of Christmas Past,” Seth says, one dark brow raised. “I’ve come to collect your debts and spank your ass.”

I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. “That didn’t really rhyme. And I didn’t know you swung that way.”

“I only swing in the breeze on nudist beaches.” Seth leans over my counter, prods at a snow globe of New York a customer left me once. “Hm.”

“Is there a reason for this unusual form of sexual harassment at my work place?”

“We could move it elsewhere if you like. To Halo, for instance.”

“What, you mean to say you waited here for me, lurking in the shadows of the shop, to drag me off to party? Not that it’s shady, stalkerish behavior or anything.”

“I dunno.” He shrugs. “Micah said you sometimes drive off on Friday evenings, not telling anyone where you vanish to, and I decided to make sure it won’t happen tonight. I need to talk to you.”

There you go. Thank God Micah hasn’t told him where I go on the weekends. He’s the only one here who knows. “Anything special about tonight that I’m not supposed to miss?”

“Want me to invent something? Do you need an excuse to have a drink with us?”

“Fuck you, Seth.”

He grins widely. “Who’s doing the sexual harassing now?”

“Jesus.” I grab my jacket. “Let’s go, shall we?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Seth makes a show of linking our arms together, and I’d punch him if not for the fact I’m scared of injuring him. One of his shoulders was dislocated so many times it may need surgery if hurt again, and I can’t even remember how many bones he has broken over the past year.

So I endure, and let him drag me out to my pickup truck, an old, rusty Chevy. We climb inside and head off to Halo. He hums to himself, tapping a rhythm on his leg, a serious expression on his face, and I accelerate, hoping to reach our destination before he asks me whatever it is that’s been on his mind.

“Look,” Seth says, and I know it’s too fucking late, the interrogation is about to start, “I know it’s none of my fucking business, but—”

Something slams into us from behind, throwing us forward in our seatbelts. The wheel jerks under my hands, and I struggle to control it.

“Oh fuck.” Seth groans, gripping the dashboard. “Not again.”

But I end up straightening the car, and nobody’s hurt, although Seth’s face is white as a sheet. Thankfully the street in front of us is empty, but by the time I manage to park the pickup at the curb and glance in the side mirrors, whoever slammed into us is long gone.

***

“Someone rammed you from behind? Are you fucking kidding me?” Micah glances from me to Seth and back, eyes wide, and his grin turns into a grimace. “You’re not kidding me, are you? Jesus Christ.”

We head inside Halo, and I’m glad when Micah slings an arm around Seth’s shoulders, because the guy is still kinda shaky. After everything that went down this past year, it’s no wonder. He seems to draw violence and accidents to him like a flame does to moths.

“Are you guys okay?” Micah says and lifts his other hand to wave at someone. Shane approaches, a dark frown on his face, Cassie by his side.

“What the fuck’s going on here?” he demands. “What happened?”

“Just an accident,” I mutter, “and we’re fi—”

“Is Seth okay?”

“Seth!” A slight, dark-haired girl dives on Seth, hugging him tightly, forcing Micah to let him go. That’d be his girlfriend, Manon. “What happened? Did you hurt yourself? Are you all right?”

Amused, I watch as she proceeds to check him from head to toe even as he protests he’s fine.

Amused and somewhat wistful. Can’t remember the last time a woman cared about how I am, last time a woman was worried about me. Mom sure as hell never did.

Dammit.
Why am I thinking of this now? I turn away, trying to compose myself. What’s this strange weight on my chest? Don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me these days.

Tired, I tell myself again. Just tired. For too many damn reasons to count.

“Did you check the damage to your truck?” Micah asks, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me. “How bad is it?”

“Bumper’s dented. Can’t tell what else is wrong.” Fuck, I need to put my game face on. Rubbing a hand over my aching ribs, I take a deep breath and turn back toward the guys. “I’ll check it tomorrow when the light’s good.”

Shit, I really hope there’s no major damage. I guess I should call my insurance company. I can barely afford the old truck as it is, and dammit, I need it running.

“I may be bruised in other places, you know,” Seth is saying, holding his girl to him so tight their bodies mesh into one, but I can see the flush on her face as he goes on. “You should give me a full-body check.”

“Seth, you jerk, I’m serious.” She wraps her arms around his neck.

“So am I.”

Looks like Seth is fully distracted. He probably won’t be staying late tonight. Thank fuck he’s off my case. I could use a break right about now.

“Come on, first round’s on me,” Micah says, and yeah, this sounds more like it.

Get drunk off my ass. Forget about chicks and dirty sex. Brain has to switch off or implode.

I follow him through the familiar din and low lights of the bar to the back, to our usual table. People jostle me on the way, and Christ, my ribs ache. I remember the seatbelt digging into my flesh from the impact of the collision. I trace the outline from my shoulder across my chest and fucking ow.

Awesome.
This will take more alcohol than initially thought.

As Micah heads off to the bar to get our drinks, I take in the table. There is Jesse and Amber in deep discussion, heads bent together. Cassie, who’s sitting with Ev and Kayla, waves at me.

“You’re late!” Kayla shouts over the music and the noise, a huge smile splitting her face. “Come sit with us.”

She pats the empty chair beside her, and I hesitate.

Never hesitated before. But then I grin at her and see the light in her eyes brighten. “Hey, Kay.”

“Hey yourself. What’s up?”

I shrug. “Nothing new.”

“Come on, Mr. Storm, what’s with the long face? Need me to tickle your ribs for you to crack a smile, or aren’t you happy to see me?”

“’Course I’m happy.”

She smiles at me and my grin widens, like her smile is some sort of weird drug. A pretty dose of Xanax, packaged in a pretty face and a hot, curvy body.

“We’re talking about the
Fast and Furious
movies,” she says. “You like those, right? Come on. I know you have an opinion about the visual effects.”

“Yeah.” I do like those movies, because of a past I can’t put behind me, but right now I can’t help glancing from her soft mouth to her tits and back.

Jesus, Ocean. Get a grip.

But my dick is rock hard and throbbing. A sudden visual of kissing Kayla, grinding my hard-on against her hits me like a bullet, and I jerk guiltily.

No, goddammit. This is the mother of all bad ideas. Counting in my head backward from one hundred, I will my hard-on to subside.

To buy myself time, I pull off my jacket and drape it on the back of the chair. Shane, Seth and Manon arrive and settle around the table, looking kinda grim, and I wonder if Seth is really okay or if he’s downplaying an injury he hasn’t told anyone about.

He’s good at hiding such things. After all the broken bones and dislocated joints and surgery he’s been through in the past year, I really fucking hope he hasn’t suffered anything serious this time.

He seems all right, though. He winks at Manon, snickers at something Shane says. Relief washes through me.

The whole gang is here. It’s good to see them, and normally I’d be the one dragging them out to have fun on a Friday night, not the other way round.

Need to get my shit together.

Problem is, with Kayla perched right beside me, still chatting excitedly with Ev and Cassie about movies, her fruity scent invading my senses and her laughter filling my ears, it’s hard.

To get my shit together, that is. But that’s not the only thing that’s getting harder and harder.

Licking my lips, I clasp my hands on the table in front of me. Then I turn around to check whether Micah is coming back with those drinks. I exhale and find myself fidgeting, my eyes straying back to Kayla.

She’s like an exotic bird, full of colors. The lime green top she’s wearing clings to her perfect tits in a damn distracting way, and with those big gray eyes, the huge glittering earrings and the cherry lipstick, she’s like a fruity shot to my dick.

She’s waving her small hand, and there’s a pink plastic ring on her middle finger. As she shifts on her seat, I catch a glimpse of pale skin between her top and her purple skirt.

My mouth has gone dry. Forget about losing my hard-on. No fucking way. My dick is a steel rod in my pants, aching and twitching.

Christ.

Micah arrives with the beers, and I snatch mine and swallow half of it in one go. Man, I needed that. He says something and I nod, not really listening, because she’s leaning over the table, pressing those pretty tits into its surface, her cleavage pulling down until I can see the pale mound of flesh.

Snagging my attention, sucking all the air out of the room, leaving me gasping.

Shit.

This is a girl I shouldn’t be fantasizing about. She’s never even checked me out or showed any interest in touching me beyond reading my palm.

Maybe I should let her tell me my fortune. Tell me how fucked up I am, as if I didn’t know.

Or maybe I just need to get hammered until I forget my own name, then grab a random chick and bang her in the darkness to get the need out of my system.

It’s this bone-deep exhaustion, I tell myself, this hopelessness that’s been dogging my steps lately.

It’s that I’ve gone too fucking long without a good fuck, without some goddamn relief, and tonight looks like the perfect opportunity to get some.

***

Some beers later, I’m getting there—to that Zen-like twilight zone where the crap life likes to chuck at me makes no impact, where everything is a little bit brighter and responsibilities feel a little bit lighter resting on my shoulders.

Plus, the chicks have moved to the dance floor, and without Kayla keeping a hold on my attention with her warm energy and hot curves, I might be able to see what else the bar has to offer. Time to set in motion part two of tonight’s plan.

Micah’s talking to Jesse, who’s pretending to listen but is instead staring fixedly in the direction of the dance floor, where presumably Amber is, while Seth’s whispering something to Shane who’s nodding and sipping at his dark beer, his gaze faraway.

Probably thinking of his own girl, Cassie.

What a pussy-whipped group we are. Not that I care. Not as long as the guys seem happy, and they do.

That’s all that matters.

Now if only I could make my dick happy tonight, too…

I glance around, squinting in the dim lights. I normally don’t screw girls in Halo, although it’s where we hang out most of the time, and I keep telling myself it’s because it feels kinda weird when everyone else in our little gang is practically married.

Then again, when have I ever cared about that—about what others thought about me?

An image of Kayla’s brightly-colored mouth and bright eyes flashes through my mind, and I shake my head to clear it.

What the fuck, right? She’s not even my type. Whatever my type is. Eager and easily forgotten, I guess. And yeah, I know what that says about me.

So what? Nothing new there. I’m bad news. A douchebag. An uncaring asshole. Just ask my brother. He’ll tell you all about it. Not like I have a girlfriend who will give a damn or anything.

There’s nobody, in fact, who would give a damn.

Suddenly pissed at the world—the past, the present and the dimness of the future—I push to my feet and lurch off, my beer clutched in one hand.

Pussy quest.
Here, pussy, pussy…

I snicker as I stagger toward the bar. Yeah, I’m wasted. How the fuck did that happen with just a couple of beers?

Probably because my stomach’s emptier than my bank account. It rumbles as I head to the back of Halo, taking another swig from my bottle.

Leaning against the bar, I wave at the bartender for another beer, when I spot two tall girls swaying to the music, laughing and singing along. It’s a remake of “Cherry Bomb” by Joan Jett, I realize, and scratch absently at the tattoo on the inside of my arm.

Livvy liked rock music much more than I. She’d probably be pissed as all hell to hear this pop version of one of her favorite songs.

Jesus.
This is fucked-up. The thought of her is starting to leach the buzz from my system. Thank fuck the bartender slides another bottle in front of me. Right on time.

Or maybe too late. I’m not in the mood anymore, not able to let go. The latest argument with my brother over the phone echoes inside my skull, Mom’s empty expression fills my mind, and the anniversary of the accident is coming up.