Seth (Damage Control #3) (7 page)

“Just crossing a street. It was raining. Driver didn’t see me.”

“Jesus Christ, Seth.” Dylan straightens and starts pacing, running his hands over his short hair. “You could’ve been killed.”

“Well, I wasn’t.” Fuck, my head. I press the heels of my palms into my eyes. “Stop talking. Headache.”

“You been dizzy since then?” Asher is asking, and damn, can’t he shut up for a second? “Disoriented, confused?”

“I was almost run over. Damn right I was confused.”
Ow.
“Happy?”

“Damn.” He sighs and scratches at his chin. “Sorry, Seth. I think you might have a concussion. We need to get you to a doctor.”

Oh fuck.
That wakes me up all the way. “No way. I’m okay. Not going back to the hospital.”

“You need to be seen by a doc, buddy,” Asher says. “Doesn’t have to be the hospital. This is serious. Not leaving here without you.”

“Jesus, Ash.” When did we go from food poisoning to concussion?

Figures, though. Food poisoning just wasn’t bad enough, was it?

“Come on, we’ll help you up.”

“Wait. Wait.” I lift my hand and squint at them. The overhead light is like splinters driving into my eyeballs. “Medicaid covers this, right?”

This is important. I’m kinda broke right now. Out of job. Out of options.

“Tell me you know who hit you. Dammit, Seth, was it a hit-and-run?” Dylan looks murderous.

I think of Manon and grimace. “No, that’s not how it went down. She stopped the car in time, but I slipped and fell. It was raining.”

“What the hell were you thinking, going out in the rain?” Dylan is still pacing, and he’s making me so dizzy I might just hurl all over the sofa.

“Had to buy some stuff. Are we fucking done with the twenty questions?”

Asher shakes his head, chews on the inside of his cheek. “Not really. Guys tell me you having trouble with your knee? This something new?”

Goddammit.
I so do not need this moronic interrogation. Not today. “None of your business.”

“Yeah? You sure it’s not something I should know?”

“I’m sure.”

“If it’s a complication from breaking your leg, if they didn’t set it right—”

“Back off, Ash. I mean it.”

He gives me a long, hard look. “Dickhead. Just looking out for you. We’re a family, dammit. It’s what we do.”

Dylan has stopped pacing and is staring at me as well.

Shit.
These are the people who got me off the street, who gave me a second chance, and I’m acting like an asshole.

But I can’t tell them. If I open this can of worms, they’ll want to get to the bottom of it, and it’s a fucking mess. Plus, Shane’s involvement in it means I just can’t talk, period. It ain’t only about me.

Fuck.

“All right, let’s go,” Asher says as Dylan comes around the sofa to help me up—like I’m a toddler and can’t do it on my own, but damn, I’m so dizzy it’s all I can do not to throw up again.

When they get me upright and throw my arms over their shoulders to keep me from falling, when my bad leg folds, and they curse and drag me out the door, I only hope neither of them notices that the knee giving me problems isn’t the one of the leg I broke.

Manon

Cassie managed to get me Seth’s phone number—not sure I want to know how—and I’ve tried it three times already.

He won’t answer.

Or he’s asleep or something. But it’s been hours. And my courage is starting to flag.

Maybe he doesn’t want to see me again. Or talk to me, for that matter. His friends are probably with him, and they’re having beers and watching soccer.

He was okay. Apart from his knee giving him some trouble, he was all right. No reason to worry.

No reason to call or visit. And he doesn’t seem interested in talking to me or seeing me, either. That much is clear. I’m the fool who went looking for his number. What if he’s looking at the missed calls right now and ignoring me, hoping I’ll stop?

Angry at myself, embarrassed, I arrive at my meeting with Cassie in a foul mood.

As if I needed more reasons for that. Not the best day to hear Cassie’s explanations, but I can’t put it off.

Not forever.

She’s already sitting at the bar in Halo when I enter. Her pale hair gleams in the half-light, her cleavage seems to glow over the low cut of her black, lacy blouse. Long silver hoops glint on her ears.

That’s Cassie. Always a sex goddess, even when miserable.

She has always been my idol, since we were little and we dressed our Barbies in gowns and glittering dresses underneath the dining room table while our parents met to play cards.

That was before Mom and Dad split, and she left to France. This white streak I have in my hair, that’s from back then. I try to dye it, but the color never catches, always reminding me of that time. The sorrow, the tears, the tearing pain when my mom moved away.

Reminding me I wasn’t enough to keep them together. I’m never enough for anybody or anything.

“Manon!” Cassie waves at me, hopping off her stool, wobbling dangerously on her black stilettos. “Here.”

“Yeah.” I wave back and make my way to her, glancing right and left in case anyone we know is there.

Like Jesse’s buddies who barely talk to me as it is. Without me hanging out with the girl who forced herself on their friend. This place, Halo, is where they normally meet.

I should have told her to pick another bar. Too late now.

“What are you having?” She raises her tall glass at me. “Something exotic like me?”

“That looks pretty,” I say eyeing the blue and white concoction. “What is it?”

“Blue Lady.” She waves at the bartender who approaches with a big grin. Cassie always had men in her pocket.

Which makes me wonder why she went after the one man who clearly wasn’t interested. Was it some sort of challenge? A bet?

The bartender leans in, and she whispers something in his ear that makes him grin wider. “Coming right away,” he says and wanders off.

“What did you tell the man?” I drag a stool over to hers, shrug off my jean jacket, drape it over the seat and sit on it. “He looks way too pleased for someone asked to make an alcoholic drink for someone who’s underage. And he didn’t even ask for my ID. Has he seen yours?”

She just sips at her drink, smirking.

I shake my head and sigh.

“So that was it? Now we’re back to sunshine and roses again?”

She drops the straw back in the tall glass and narrows her blue eyes at me. “Jesus, Manon. Don’t I have the right to even smile anymore? Should I drag myself around on my knees and weep?”

“That could be a start,” I mutter, irritated at the world. At the dance school.

At Seth.

“Want me to be honest with you?” She swirls her straw in the blue drink, lashes lowered. “I feel like a leper. This is messed-up, how all of you are treating me. It was just a kiss for chrissakes.”

“A kiss Jesse didn’t want.”

“Then he should have shoved me off. Punched me.”

“Know what? Maybe he should have. Too bad he acted like a gentleman instead and just pushed you away.”

She slams the glass on the bar and gapes at me. “Why are you being such a bitch?”

“Come on, Cassie. You act like nothing happened. Like it wasn’t your fault. What do you expect, huh?”

The bartender chooses that moment to return with my drink, and we both back down until he’s gone—before which he takes the time to wink at Cassie and lick his lips.

Ugh.
“That’s disgusting.”

“Oh, get off your high horse. Just because Fred is a pussy and won’t even kiss you doesn’t mean sexual men are disgusting.”

“Sexual men?” I glare at my drink. “You know what? I think this was a mistake.” I fish in my purse for money to pay the drink and go.

“Wait. Wait, okay?” She grabs my wrist, eyes wide. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, I am.” She squeezes my wrist, swallows hard. “I screwed up. I know it. And yes, I wish I could turn back time and undo my mistake. But it’s done. Can’t undo it, okay?”

“You could apologize to the people you hurt.”

“I tried.” She releases my wrist. “Tried talking to Evangeline, but she won’t talk to me. Tried contacting Jesse and Amber. They won’t answer my calls. Zane and his gang told me not to even think about approaching them.”

“Give it time.”

“I am.” She shakes her head, shakes out her long blond hair. “What do you think? It’s been over two months. And you barely talked to me until now.” She puts her hands palms-down on the bar. “I got the message, loud and clear. My presence is not wanted.”

“Cassie…” It’s my turn to reach out, cover her hand. “You were out of town for those two months. Only texted to tell me you were visiting family. What was I supposed to do?”

She swallows hard. “Yeah. Well, with everyone shunning me like the plague I had to get out. You weren’t returning my calls.”

“I was upset. And I had a lot of practice at the dance school.”

Trying to make up for my weaknesses and disadvantages by throwing myself into training, night and day.

And look what it got me: precisely nothing.

“Why did you do it, girl?” I pat her hand. “You can have any guy you want. You only have to look at them, for God’s sake, and they drop to their knees. Why Jesse?”

“Because…” She sighs. “I thought Jesse was my type, but I was wrong.”

“Green eyes don’t do it for you?”

“Not that.” She shrugs. “I thought he was only looking for a hook-up. And I wanted to protect Amber.”

“Seriously, Cassie?”

“Hey, he’s a manwhore. Or used to be.” She takes a sip from her drink, and her hand is shaking. “He never seemed to pay much attention who he slept with. I mean, hell, he slept with half the town. I never thought…”

“… that he was serious this time,” I finish for her.

Nobody did, apparently, from the comments I heard back then.

She nods.

“You really want me to believe you sacrificed yourself to protect Amber? It wasn’t like it hurt, kissing Jesse, was it?”

She says nothing.

Could she be telling the truth? She always flirts and takes boys home. If Jesse Lee slept with half the female population, she slept with half the male one.

But she’s never acted like this. Never tried to steal another girl’s boyfriend.

“Still not much of an excuse, you know,” I mutter.

“It’s all I got.” She frowns, pulls her hand away. “Didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“If you ever had a guy you loved, you’d be hurt if someone pulled that on you.”

“Like you would know,” she shoots back, giving me a hurt look. “What, spending a night with Seth gave you insights into love?”

What?
I gape at her. “Seth? I barely know him.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see how you were looking at each other.”

“Like what?”

“Like you can’t get enough.” Her voice cracks. “Like you finally found each other and can’t believe how lucky you are. And you are, trust me. I should know.”

“Cass…” Crap, something’s really wrong here. I lean forward until I see her face, bowed over her drink. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“You asked for Seth’s phone number.”

“I was worried, and he’s not answering. Stop changing the topic.”

“What do you want me to say? I explained everything.” She pushes away her drink. “I just remembered I have to go.”

“Cass… Come on.”

“You don’t believe me. You don’t like me anymore. I get it. I never thought I’d lose every single friend over this. My best friend.” She huffs. “Guess I was wrong.”

“Just tell me the truth.”

She gathers her purse and totters away, leaving me alone, sad and confused. I’ve known Cassie most of my life. I don’t recall any indications of any secrets. Her parents didn’t get divorced like mine. Her two brothers are fine, studying out of town. She says she never wanted to hurt anyone—and that’s the Cassie I know. Carefree, fun, living life to the full but not selfish. Not like that.

What isn’t she telling me, and why?

***

I nurse my drink a while longer, trying to sort through my thoughts and the things Cassie said. All the things. About herself, about my role as a friend.

About Seth and what she said.
“Don’t think I didn’t see how you were looking at each other.”

Whatever. I’m not calling Seth again. I’m deleting his number from my phone. Deleting our meeting, violent as it was. Deleting him.

In any case, I’m in love with Fred, so it’s not like I need to see Seth again, hear his voice.

Of course not. Checking in with the guy you almost hit with your car is common courtesy.

So I’m done. Curling up on my sofa to watch
Supernatural
reruns sounds like the only thing to do right now, to take my mind off this crappy beginning to the week.

I pay for my drink—and Cassie’s—and grab my jacket to go. I’ll call her tomorrow, I decide, ask for a rematch. A coffee and some more talking. Maybe I can tease some more answers out of her. Understand her.

Get my friend back.

As I weave my way through the thickening crowd, lost in thought, I bump into someone and stumble backward. Thank God I’m not wearing Cassie’s stilettos, I think, catching my balance, wincing as my ankle sends warning twinges up my leg, and wave off the guy’s apologies.

And turn around to go only to spot a familiar face.

Zane, the tattoo artist with the tall blue Mohawk I saw this morning, the one who hinted that Seth needed a friend.

He’s got his girl with him, sitting on his lap, his arm around her. They’re on my path to the exit, and as I walk toward them, a tall, blond guy approaches them. He starts talking to Zane, head bowed, hands in pockets. Earnest. Nervous enough that his shoulders jump from time to time.

“He insists it wasn’t a hit-and-run,” the guy is saying, and he lifts his face as I come closer, cat-like, golden eyes taking me in. “But he’s got a concussion all right. Not too bad, though. Doc said not to leave him alone tonight, because his balance is shot and with his leg hurting it could be bad.”

I stop in my tracks. Cat-eyed man is watching me intently, and Zane follows his gaze to me.

“Manon?” he says, a question in his voice.