Zane (Inked Brotherhood Book 3) (20 page)

“Audrey?”

“Sorry. They’re worried about Dylan. Tessa is beside herself with frustration, but as long as Dylan doesn’t tell us what exactly is the problem, there’s not much we can do.”

“What happened?”

“Just that his dad seems to have gone off the rails again… and his little brother, Teo, isn’t doing well.”

Off the rails. Sounds bad. “Is his brother sick?”

“Yes, but Dylan won’t say more. Seriously, we’ve asked a thousand times, but we won’t tell us what the problem is. It’s driving everyone crazy. But he looks bad. His grades are slipping. He’s already lost his scholarship, and now he may even lose his job.”

Christ.
“What can I do?”

“Nothing until we find out more. The only person Dylan might open up to is Zane. He needs to talk to Dylan.” She shakes her head. “Let me call Ash.”

I sip my coffee and look around the cafe, not really seeing anything, my thoughts wandering from Dylan to Zane and back. The whole Inked Brotherhood is built on pain. I knew that from the moment Audrey explained to me the thing about the dragon tattoos—the moment I decided I deserved one, too. But they hide their pain well. It’s not until they break down and everything collapses that we others get to see the festering wound.

I put down my coffee when Audrey passes me her phone. “It’s Ash.”

Suddenly nervous, I wipe my palms on my jeans before I grab it and answer. “Hi, Ash.”

“Hey.” His deep voice vibrates through the phone. “Auds says you wanna ask me about something?”

“Yeah.” And now I feel like a busybody, asking him this, especially when he’s in the middle of trying to figure out what is happening to Dylan. “It’s about Zane’s sister.”

“Emma?”

Emma.
She has a name. “Yes.”

“You have news about her?”

He sounds like he knows something, and I forge on. “I just wanted to ask what you know about her. She’s sick, right?”

A silence greets my words. Ash is probably thinking about hanging up on me.

Shit.
“Look, Zane told me she’s sick, and he’s off to visit her. I just want to know what is wrong with her. I want to help Zane, but it’s hard without knowing stuff.”

Not sure I’m making much sense, but maybe he hears my worry in my voice, because he says, “Okay.”

Okay what?

“Emma has cancer.”

I blink. My stomach cramps. I’d feared this but had hoped against all hope it was something else. “What sort?” I croak. “Will she live?”

“Breast cancer. I thought she was in remission. Haven’t been able to get a single fucking word about it from Zane in months now, though.”

Cancer.
No wonder Zane is so worried.

“Do you know something I don’t?” Ash asks.

“Nope. Sorry.”

“Never mind,” he says, sounding tired. “Got to go now.”

Like Zane said this morning. “Thank you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help Dylan.”

“Thanks.” There’s more warmth in his voice when he says this. “Take care.”

I should take care of
Zane
, I think, as I pass the cell back to Audrey. Everyone is so focused on Dylan right now I have the impression they don’t see how close to breaking Zane is.

But how can I help him? Can’t do much when he’s not here. When he clearly stated he didn’t want my company this weekend.

Do you give a person you care for what they want, or what they need? Do I know what Zane needs?

Debatable. I’m not wiser than other girls my age. Not all-knowing. Still, I’ve been somewhere most girls my age haven’t been: close to death, close to utter despair. So maybe I do know what Zane needs. Maybe even more so than Zane himself.

***

It’s late when I return to the apartment. I stand in the living room, feeling out of sorts without Zane there. The silence is oppressive. So I undress and go to bed, but can’t sleep. After tossing and turning for hours, I give up. My feet take me to his bedroom, and I sit on his bed. His dark scent wafts around me, and I curl up over the sheets, burying my nose in his pillow.

I wish he were here with me. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.

I drift off like that, waking up at some point to burrow under the covers, his scent surrounding me like his embrace, lulling me back to sleep.

And wake up with a scream caught in my throat, flailing.
Falling.
I expect to feel the impact on my back, I expect water to fill my mouth, and my body to lose all sensation as I sink lower and lower, unable to move.

No. I can move. I’m okay.
My hands shake so badly I can barely grip the covers, but I do, and I throw them off me. I wiggle my toes, then lift my feet, first the one, then the other. I can move. I’m okay now.

Trembling, I get up and walk to the kitchen. My heart is beating so fast I’m dizzy. Cold. Shaky. I need something warm. Grabbing a filter, I set about making coffee.

If Zane was here, he’d have held me until I forgot all about the damn dream. The damn memory.

I could call him.

The idea stills me. He’s with his sick sister. Why disturb him for a dream?

Then again… I glance at the gurgling coffee machine, then at his empty seat. If he doesn’t want to answer the phone, he doesn’t have to. Tears are stinging my eyes, and for some reason, of all the people I know, it’s his voice I need to hear.

Because he promised not to let me fall.

Chewing savagely on the inside of my cheek, I go in search of my cell. I find it in my purse. It looks dead.
What the hell?
I shake it and curse at it. The battery can’t be empty. I charged it yesterday, before meeting Audrey for coffee.

Dammit.
I plug it in again and watch as it lights up.

And then powers down again.

Oh no.
I so don’t need this. As I move around so much, this is my one steady number where my parents and everyone can reach me. I check the port, check the socket and the plug, jiggle it, making sure it’s connected. The screen flashes on again, and I see a text from my mom.

Shit.

It’s about my Aunt Carolina. She’s at the hospital. She wasn’t feeling well, and she had some more analyses done. They’d have the results in a few days.

What to do? If Mom calls and my phone is dead, then… Then she’ll call Bella, or Audrey. She has their numbers. But perhaps I can give her Zane’s number, too. He’ll be back tomorrow, and if she calls, he’ll pass the phone to me.

Quickly, before my phone dies again, I send Mom his phone number and tell her to ask for me if she needs to talk, until I get my own phone fixed.

I barely manage to hit send before the phone dies again. Not even sure the text went through, I stare at my crappy phone.

Not a good start to this Sunday.

Suddenly I’m desperate to get out of the house. I’m not supposed to meet the guys at the park before noon, but I shower and dress quickly in a white sundress and sandals and head out. The sun warms my face and bare shoulders, the warmth slowly seeping deeper.

But I’m still cold.

I pass by Bella’s apartment, but nobody answers the doorbell. I wander the sleepy town and buy ice cream, because life without ice cream is plain sad, and I want to shake the sad off me.

Zane loves watching me lick popsicles. So I buy a chocolate cone instead. Doesn’t feel fair to eat a popsicle without him watching.

That’s it. I’m officially sick. Hooked. Smitten. Nuts about this boy.

Jesus.

‘
Just call me Zane,’
I think I hear his teasing voice in my ears, and my body tightens down low just as my mouth tugs into a smile.

Yep. Officially in love.

***

The day drags. The picnic drags. Time drags. My cell is on, and I hope it stays on. I left it charging all morning. It says the time is four in the afternoon, and although the park is beautiful in the golden sunlight, the guys are talking about Dylan, and I want to go home. I cooked earlier, and I want to set up the table. Make it look nice for when he arrives.

I start when I realize what I mean by home is Zane’s apartment.

Get real, Dakota. You’ve only been staying with him, what, four days?

The next thought is even more absurd.

Home is where Zane is.

How crazy is that?

I get up and grab my purse. “Hey, guys, got to go.”

“Why so soon?” Tessa whines and makes a grab for me.

“Stay a bit longer,” Tyler agrees, his arms around Erin.

“Cut it out, guys.” Audrey gives me a shrewd glance from her perch on Asher’s lap. “Zane may be back by now, right?”

I let out a long breath, shifting from foot to foot. God, I hope so.

“How is he?” Erin leans forward, her dark eyes narrowing. “It’s like he fell off the face of the earth. I’ve called him many times to do something together, but he either doesn’t answer or says he’s busy.”

Torn, I look from her to Audrey. Erin is Zane’s friend, and maybe I should tell her about my worries—then again, if Zane doesn’t want to tell her, who am I to spill his secrets? Besides, I really want to go home in case he’s back.

“He’s okay,” Audrey says.

“His sister’s sick,” Asher says at the same time. “Dakota will tell us if there’s anything to be worried about. Right, Dakota?”

“Yeah, of course.” And I leave as fast as my feet can take me.

***

As soon as I enter the apartment, I know Zane is back. There’s a jacket thrown on the sofa, a bottle of amber liquid on the table and a half-empty glass.

I frown as I pad inside and close the door behind me with a soft click. I approach the sofa. Drinking already? This doesn’t look good.

A noise makes me look up, and there he is, standing at the kitchen door. He’s dressed only in his worn jeans and his ink, looking tired and drop-dead gorgeous. His almond-shaped eyes light up when he sees me.

“Missed you, girl,” he says quietly and pushes off the doorjamb.

Missed you, too
, I think, but my lips won’t move. My gaze snags on his bare chest.

Is he doing it on purpose? Taking off his shirt to render me speechless? All that smooth, inked skin stretched over taut muscle, the studs glinting in his brown nipples, the thin, dark trail of hairs leading into his low-slung waistband…

Whoa.
I suddenly feel in desperate need of a cold shower.

I force myself to snap out of the eye-candy feast. “The guys were asking about you. About your sister. How is she?”

He flinches, a tiny recoil, and the blood drains from his face. Instead of replying, he moves toward the coffee table and grabs the whiskey bottle.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Just a glass or two.”

“Have you eaten today?” I take a step toward him, and he freezes in the process of unscrewing the bottle.

“Can’t remember,” he whispers.

Worry makes my gut clench. “I made food. You need to eat to sober up.”

His hand tightens around the bottle, as if he wants to crush it in his fist. “Maybe I don’t wanna fucking sober up.”

I swallow hard, studying him more carefully. His face is drawn with exhaustion, as if he hasn’t slept since he left the apartment yesterday morning, and there’s a familiar shadow in his eyes. I’ve seen it before—after the episode at the park, after his flashbacks, after his nightmares. A shadow of pain.

I clench my hands, unclench them. Take a step in his direction, and another. He watches me warily as I reach for his hand and clasp it in mine.

“I made you seafood risotto,” I whisper. “Erin said you like seafood.”

He’s still as if made of stone, his dark eyes on my lips, his body tense.

I inch my other hand up his arm and grip his bicep. I don’t know why, but I think he’s not ready for a hug right now. Not ready for anyone to get too close. He’s like a wild animal, trapped and about to bolt.

“It’s spicy,” I go on, pretending I haven’t noticed anything. “I hope not too much. I got yogurt to mild it down, just in case.”

A small sigh escapes him, the steel-corded muscles under my fingers relaxing a fraction. “A spicy risotto?” he rumbles.

“Yeah. Southern recipe. Courtesy of my Grand-grandmother Louisiana.”

“Louisiana?” he chokes out, managing to sound both horrified and amused. He puts the bottle back down, though, and that little detail makes me bolder.

“Yes, but the one who taught me about using yogurt to mild it down is Aunt Nebraska.”

He chuckles, a deep, dark sound that sends butterflies swarming in my stomach.

I tug on his hand, intent on pulling him into the kitchen where I can get some food into him, but he doesn’t move. His dark gaze glides over my skin, heating it.

“Come on, Zane. You need to—”

Turning, he pushes me until my back slams into the wall, and the air leaves my lungs. “Need to what?” He grabs my wrists and brings them together over my head, holding them there. His eyes are black with want. “Lemme show you what I need.”

A thrill of fear goes through me. His grip is like titanium around my wrists, and a sting of pain goes through my bones. Gone is the softness in his eyes. What remains is heat and darkness, and I’m not sure what kind of darkness that is. Not sure he’s one hundred percent here with me.

He gives me no time to ponder this or ask anything. He bends his head to my neck, grazing his teeth over my skin, lightly tugging on my earrings with his teeth, licking the spot behind my ear—while his other hand slips the thin strap of the sundress off my shoulder and pushes down the fabric, baring my breast. My nipple instantly hardens, and he flicks his thumb back and forth, teasing me, sending liquid heat straight to my core.

I want to kiss him, touch him, smooth my palm over the hard planes of his body, close my fingers around his arousal, watch his face as he comes undone.

But he holds himself just far enough that even though my back arches off the wall, we don’t touch. He doesn’t kiss me, doesn’t allow me any freedom of movement. As if he’s gone backward in time, undoing all the trust we’ve shared.

“Zane…” Frustrated, I twist my hands, trying to break free.

His hold tightens, grinding my bones together, making me yelp. God, he’s strong. “My way.”

Then he’s grabbing my hip and spinning me around, so that I’m facing the wall, and I turn my head not to crash my nose into the plaster.