by Jo Raven
“Did something happen back then?”
A corner of his mouth curls up. “Didn’t know you cared, Embers.”
“I don’t.”
“I know. I was just joking.” His hand clenches on the table.
“Sorry. I’m not good at getting jokes.”
He laughs, and I just stare at him flatly, daring him to make fun of me about this.
“You’re serious,” he finally says, his eyes narrowing.
I shrug. “My parents used to tell jokes at the dinner table, explaining them to me, until I caught on. It’s much better now, but sometimes… sometimes I don’t get them.”
“How come? You’re not stupid.”
I chance a smile, my chest warming at his comment. “Yeah. I’m a bit dyslexic, though.”
His pupils widen. “That sucks, I guess. Had trouble at school?”
“Some.” My throat closes up and my smile falls. I take a sip from my coffee. “I’m not good with words. Never was.”
“Kids tease you for it?”
I nod.
“Fuckers,” he says, and he isn’t smiling anymore, either. His eyes flash with strong emotion, and I watch, fascinated, as his grip on the handle of the mug turns white-knuckled. “Wish I was there to punch their teeth out.”
Whoa. I shouldn’t like him as much as I do right now, but I can’t stop the smile returning to my face.
We sit for a while in silence. No sounds yet from Kayla’s room. I can hear the pipes groaning in the apartment above.
Anything to avoid looking at him. But of course I can’t help it. For the first time I notice the dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired.
As if to confirm my suspicion, Jesse puts his mug down and stretches his arms over his head with a yawn.
“Damn, I’m beat.”
“Your T-shirt is, too. It’s coming apart.” I point at the seam along his side through which I can see firm, tanned skin wrapped around sinewy muscle.
So much for not staring.
“Oh fuck.” He lifts his arm again, twists to have a look, and the seam tears wider, showing a good chunk of his flared ribs. “And it was one of my newer shirts.”
I lick my lips, transfixed. “This is new? Looks as old as you are.”
“Dammit, Embers.” He locks his hands behind his head and sighs. “I’ve got nothing to wear at Asher’s wedding. I really need to go shopping.”
“Yeah? You make it sound like a trip to the ninth circle of hell.”
“It is. Sorta.” He lets his arms flop down at his sides. “I hate shopping. Kinda like you and parties, ya know?”
I blink. Okay. “Well, it’s summer. Everyone’s wearing ripped clothes.”
“That’s jeans, Embers.”
“Expand the concept.” I grin at him, and his pupils darken again, though this time I have no clue what he’s thinking.
Why am I talking to him? How can I be so relaxed with him? I hardly know him. Plus, he’s a jerk. Though, right now, under his blue-green scrutiny, I can’t quite remember what it was he did that was so bad.
“Don’t you have a pair of dark jeans and a nice shirt? I bet you’ll get away with it. Asher and Audrey don’t seem anal about dress codes.”
“Anal.” He chuckles. “Yeah, well. No, I don’t have dark jeans and a nice shirt.”
“Okay.” I hum under my breath. “Jeans that aren’t ripped and a nice shirt?”
He shakes his head.
“So what do you have?”
He looks down at himself. “My jogging pants and shoes. Two pairs of jeans, ripped, and a few more T-shirts. Oh and a sweater and a jacket.”
My mouth falls open. “That’s all?”
“I don’t need more. I wash them and they’re good as new.”
“Except when they’re falling apart.”
“Damn.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m serious. I have trouble shopping.”
“Why? You don’t mind being around crowds. So what’s the issue?”
He doesn’t seem to hear me. “Shit, I need to do something. The wedding’s coming up in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” I squeak. “So soon?”
“You going, too?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“That’s fucking awesome.” He turns his attention back to me and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Damn, I bet you’re dying to go, aren’t you, Embers?”
“Not funny. And stop calling me Embers. It’s a shitty name, anyway.”
He suddenly pushes his chair back, rattling the table as he gets up, unfolding his long frame. “Right. Well, I gotta go.”
My mouth falls open and I close it with a snap. What the heck is going on? “Jesse.”
“What?” he growls. He’s already grabbed his hoodie and is pulling it on. His head pops through the opening, and he thrusts his arms into the sleeves. “You were right not wanting to let me in. Fuck, I’m surprised you did. All I do is fuck up—”
I push to my feet. “JJ.”
He freezes in the act of straightening the black hoodie, lifting his gaze to look at me. It’s right there, the same heartbreak that shone out of his eyes when I peeked through the peephole earlier.
I rewind the conversation, trying to remember the last thing I said. “You made fun of me for not wanting to go to the wedding.”
“I fucking didn’t—”
“And I told you not to call me Embers. Actually, I said…” It’s a shitty name. That’s what I said. “Talk to me.”
“Fucked in the ass,” he whispers so low I have to strain to hear, “as Helen would say. Still.”
Who’s Helen? What’s this about?
He chews on the inside of his cheek, glances at the door, then at the window as if he’s debating jumping out to avoid any explanation.
Which only makes me more curious.
“Fucking hell.” He runs a hand over his close-cropped hair. “As if it fucking matters… Embers. Embers was the name of one of two things that were important to me.”
“Two thing? What things?”
“One was the leather band I lost.” He licks his lips, glances again at the door. “And the other was a toy.”
“A toy.” I gape at him. “The two things that mattered in your life were a leather bracelet and a toy? Why?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. He bends his head, kicks at invisible dirt. “The toy’s the only thing that survived my childhood. It was a stuffed animal.”
“What happened to it?”
“I lost it.” He turns away and heads out of the kitchen. “I fucking lost it. That’s what I do with everything that matters to me. Gotta run.”
And this time he does leave, his scent lingering in my small kitchen.
***
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Kayla stumbles into the kitchen table, snatches my mug and gulps down my coffee. “How come I missed Jesse Lee lounging in our kitchen?” She waves the mug at me. “Couldn’t you at least, I don’t know, take photos? On your cell phone?”
“Last time he was here, you remembered an urgent chore and left.” I wrestle her for the coffee and she gives it up, then pads over to the coffee machine and pours herself another.
“That was because I wanted to give you some privacy. I did get to see him, though.” She wags her brows. “Very important detail.”
“Why would we need privacy?”
“Don’t know. Maybe because you were staring at each other like you were about to jump into bed together? And bickering,” she continues before I can get a word in edgewise. “Can’t forget the bickering. Major sign.”
“We weren’t bickering.” I swallow the rest of my lukewarm coffee, my thoughts stuck on everything Jesse said today. “A sign for what, anyway?”
Embers. The name of his toy. The one thing that survived his childhood.
Why would that be the one thing he has from when he was little? Or rather had, since he lost it. Who is Helen? And why did he run away?
I interrupt whatever it is Kayla
has been saying. “Have you seen a leather band lying around?”
“A leather band? Did you lose it here?” Kayla frowns, shakes her head. “Nope, can’t say I’ve seen it. But hey, I do love the bracelet you’re wearing now! Where did you get it?”
I lift my hand, small beads slipping like cool water over my wrist. “I made it.” From my winter batch.
“You did? Are you serious?” She yips and grabs my wrist with her free hand to study the bracelet. “Oh my God! Can you make more? Do you sell them?”
“I can. I do.” I laugh and pull my hand away. “I have loads. I’ll show you later.”
“Pinky promise?”
“Yeah, cross my heart.” I sit at the table, trying to sort through my thoughts. “Hey, how well do you know the Damage Boyz?”
“Know? I wouldn’t say I really know them.” She slinks into the seat across from me, and my memory superimposes Jesse’s long, muscled body over hers for a moment, until I blink. “But I do know a few things about them, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is. Like…” I tilt my mug, stare at the dregs. “Ev told me a few things. Zane took some of them on as apprentices.”
“Yeah. He and Rafe took them in off the streets.” She gives a one-shoulder shrug. “The boys were homeless. Zane saw a talent in them, and he and Rafe decided to give them a chance. For a future, know what I mean?”
I nod. “So they were homeless. But what about their families?”
“Micah’s an orphan. I don’t know about the others.”
A leather band. A toy. A mystery. “I’ll ask Ev.”
“You do that.” Kayla squints at me. “Are you in love, Amber Walsh?”
“Oh God.” I climb to my feet and put my mug in the sink. “What now, you saw a change in my heart line? Or maybe you’ve read my horoscope?”
“Don’t be silly.” She swirls her coffee. “Didn’t have time to do that, and how can I see your heart line from here?”
“Then what?”
“Jesse was here, and now you’re looking for a leather band that has to be his, and trying to find out more about him. Elementary, my dear Amber.”
Chapter Eight
Jesse
The morning’s unusually warm and humid. My T-shirt sticks to my back as I walk down the street and stop in front of Damage Control. I’m early, today being my cleaning shift, and I fumble with the key while rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Staying upright after a long, loud night at Jackass and Co.—which would be my apartment—is tricky.
Is it my apartment if I share it with three jerks? Do they even count as people?
Fucking tools. I’d be more lenient, but lack of sleep is getting to me. My eyes are itchy, my skin feels stretched too tight over my bones, and my brain is sluggish. Next, hallucinations, if memory serves—this isn’t my first encounter with insomnia. Boy, so looking forward to that.
And on top of the exhaustion, I’ve got to work, and Zane’s on my back to take on my first solo ink. Under his watchful eye, I’ve completed parts of tats on real skin, but doing it all on my own…
Dammit.
The key drops from my fingers, and I bend to get it. When I straighten, someone is standing right in front of me, and I jerk back.
What the hell, why the fuck should I be hallucinating Seth standing there with a dark frown on his face?
“Hey,” Seth says, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “Um. Whatcha doing here this early, J?”
“Oh, you know.” I straighten, key clutched in my hand, digging into my palm, my mouth on autopilot. “I like to come in early and jerk off on the reception desk.”
The hallucination in the form of Seth lifts a dark brow but doesn’t look too impressed. Damn. I have to try harder.
“Have you ever noticed how Zane’s tattoo gun looks like a dildo?” I wag the key at Seth. “Have you ever thought to try—?”
“No.” The Seth hallucination winces. “No, dude. Seriously?”
“No, not seriously.” I sigh, try the key again, and, miracle of miracles, it slides into the lock. “What do you think? It’s my cleaning shift.”
“No, actually, it’s not.” He follows me inside.
“Come again?” I stop in my tracks.
“Man, yours is tomorrow. Hate to tell you this, but today’s mine. You came over here for nothing.”
Oh, Jesus Fuck. “You serious right now?”
“Yep. Sorry, J. Not that I wouldn’t mind swapping with you, but after my shift at the movie theater tonight, I plan on getting hammered and will need tomorrow morning to recover.”
“What’s tonight? Fuck.” I kick at the carpet and jam my hands into my jeans pockets. I wander inside, following Seth. “Can’t believe this.”
Although, okay yeah, I’m tired. My memory’s shot. Should’ve seen this coming.
“Hey, Seth?” I sink into one of the ugly-ass orange easy chairs beside the reception desk and rub my eyes. Amber’s face flashes behind my eyelids, I hear her laugh in my mind, and God, I just wish I could be pressed to her right now. She’d feel so good, I think—and how fucked up is it that she’s stuck on my mind? I blink, the shop returning around me. “About tonight, you said—”
I shoot to my feet. “Damn, are you okay? Seth!”
“Fuck.” He’s hunched over, clutching his shoulder, his face twisted in a grimace.
I’m by his side in two long strides. “What the hell’s wrong?”
He hisses out a breath and slowly straightens. “I’m okay.”
“Fuck that, a blind man can see you’re not fucking okay. Is that the shoulder you dislocated?”
Dislocated when Evangeline’s psychotic ex, Blake, found a way to get back to her by using her friends as punching bags.
He nods and lets me steer him to the stool inside Zane’s workstation. “It’ll pass.”
“You shouldn’t force it, man. Did the doctor clear you to mop and sweep?”
He shrugs, then groans and curses.
Right.
“What about your ribs? And the kidney bruising? Did you get checked?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” He starts to get up, scowling at the tattoo shop in general. “It’s just the shoulder. Doc said it might hurt for a while longer.”
“Listen.” I let him get up, then grab him by the shoulders, making him yelp, and steer him toward the ugly orange chairs. “You sit there now.”
“What the hell are you doing, J?”
“Your shoulder hurts. Mine doesn’t. I’m here, and I got nothing to do. I’m too tired to argue about this, so don’t say anything, okay? I’ll clean.”
“But tomorrow—”
“Yeah, I know. Tomorrow, too. Rest that shoulder, d’you hear me? Dr. J’s orders.”
“Dr. J, huh?” He snorts but doesn’t resist when I push him down into the chair and go look for the mop, which tells me he has to be in a fair amount of pain, even if he doesn’t admit to it.
Damn. He should tell Zane about it, but knowing how annoying Zane can be when he hovers, I understand why he hasn’t.
“Dr. J, you coming tonight, right?” Seth asks after a while.
“Tonight.” I dig through my stagnant memory for clues. Nothing comes up. “What’s tonight? Was I invited?”
“It’s guys’ night out. Beer and pool. Damn right you were invited.”
About to tell him to screw the beer and pool night because I’m not in the fucking mood, I hesitate.
Might as well go, I think as I fill up the bucket and carry it back to the main area of the shop. Sleep is impossible with Travis banging random chicks until the walls shake, Gage and his buddies hammered and yelling at each other, and Alex… well Alex is quiet, but hell, the other two are enough.
Might as well get shitfaced. Then at least I know I’ll pass out till morning.
***
Halo, the gang’s favorite hang-out, is packed for a Tuesday night. It’s also warm and stuffy inside, the smell of too many breaths and sweat steeped in alcohol
overpowering the reek of fried fish tacos that clings to my clothes and skin.
It’s late, and I don’t feel like swinging by the apartment to change. Just wanna say hi to the guys, get a few beers in, head back and hit the sack.
I spot Ocean’s head of blue hair at the back and head that way, pushing through the crowd. Loud music spills from the speakers. It’s rock. Celtic rock, I decide, as I skirt a table with a rowdy group, barely avoiding a guy’s fist as he swings it to give a friendly punch to his friend. At least I hope it’s friendly.
Maybe it’s a theme evening, and I missed the memo.
Like I missed the fact that today is Tuesday, and not Wednesday, and ended up working both. Dammit.
Though, have to admit, reaching the back of the bar and seeing Seth planted on a stool sipping at his beer and smiling, no trace of discomfort on his face, makes me glad I did. I hate seeing the people around me in pain, and hell, I’d take over the motherfucker’s shift any day if it means he’s going to rest his damn shoulder and come through fine in the end.
Ocean raises his beer at me, grinning like a jackal. “J, you made it.”
Obviously. I’m here, aren’t I? I nod at him and mellow down when he shoves a chilled bottle into my hand. “Hey, Shun.”
He laughs. “My brother used to call me that.”
I lift a brow. “Didn’t know you had a brother.”
Ocean’s eyes are a light color—blue or gray, I never paid much attention—but now they darken and flatten, turning into polished stone.
“Yeah, well.” He takes a long swig from his beer, his tone inscrutable. “I wish I could forget I have one, too.”
Whoa. I don’t have siblings—that I know of, at least—and the brothers I know, like Asher and Tyler, would literally die for each other. Seth and Shane, who granted, are cousins, not brothers, look out for each other. And, hell, although my adopted brothers of Damage Control are sometimes a royal pain in the ass, we get along just fine.
Doesn’t take a genius to realize Ocean’s relationship with his bro isn’t all sunshine and roses, and his stony expression tells me he isn’t too keen on talking about it, either.
I shrug to myself and take a gulp from my beer. It slides, cool and soothing, down my throat, and I make a show of watching the pool game happening a few feet away—Shane vs. Micah—while my mind whirls away to something Megan told me today, at work, when we were talking about Audrey and Asher’s upcoming wedding.