by Jo Raven
He says nothing for a moment. Then, “Have you ever been attacked?”
I flinch, my heart racing away. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“Why are you rubbing your arm?” Tyler sits on the counter next to me, crosses his legs at the ankles. “How did you get those scars?”
Zane leans on the counter across from me, giving me an illusion of space. It’s almost working.
I suck in a long breath. “I was attacked… years ago.” The words drag through me like rusty nails. “In a back alley.”
Tyler nods at my arm. “That all the damage?”
I nod, even as memories assault me—Simon’s stench of rank sweat and alcohol, his hands on me, pushing me down, to my knees. Any attempt to draw oxygen into my lungs fails, the images, the sensations pummeling me into pulp.
“Okay, let’s get out of here.” I barely register Tyler’s voice or his hand closing around my arm, but I stumble after him.
We cross the shop. He opens the door, and we are outside, Zane on my other side. The sun peeks through stray clouds. My head clears as we walk down the street, going God knows where, and my heart slows.
The tiny Edward Klief Park is just around the corner, and Tyler leads us to a bench under a tree. The shade is cool, and I sink down on the wooden seat with relief.
“Better, fucker?” Zane asks after a while, and I force my zoned-out brain to return to the now. “Thought you were gonna pass out in there for a moment.”
“Shit, don’t know what happened.”
Tyler is sitting with his hands hanging between his legs. He sends me a sideways look. “Sounds like you had a bad experience and certain situations remind you of it.” He makes it sound like a question.
I nod.
“It’s okay to freak out, you know,” he says. “I get that sometimes, too.”
That’s news to me. Tyler looks… solid. Totally solid. One hundred percent powerhouse. “You freak out? About things that happened to you?”
“We all do,” Zane says, and okay, my jaw is hanging slack. “See, fucker, you’ve avoided this for too long.”
“Avoided what?” I glance from him to Tyler and back. What is he talking about?
“The talk I had with the others, getting to know them. Fact is, I don’t know you half as well as I know the others. This has to change.”
Oh fuck. “Not a good idea.”
“Why’s that?”
The urge to get up and run returns. “You know enough.”
More than enough. I have no idea why he took me in, frankly, a smelly street bum with no future.
“I know a few things,” Zane admits. “I talked to Jason.”
“You did? Fuck.” I bury my face in my hands, then scrub them down. “Christ, Zane.”
Fucking hell.
But he continues as if nothing’s up. “It’s the rest I need to know. Things like this attack. Like where you lived before. Where you came from. All that shit.”
I don’t wanna talk about it. Especially not now, when every breath I take reminds me of Amber and how much I miss her, how much her anger and pain cuts into me.
But this is Zane, this is the brotherhood I owe everything to, and if Zane asks, then I’ll talk. And I do. I tell him about the attack, about Simon’s gang, about my time on the street, before and after Madison. About the boy camps, the group homes and foster families I ran away from.
By the time I’m done, my bones ache as if I’ve just gone through it all again—the beatings, the fights, the running and hiding, the violence and fear. I feel sick to my stomach.
God, I wish I could see Amber, wrap myself around her until I feel warm again. She makes the bad go away.
“That’s enough, buddy.” Tyler pats me on the back, and before I let my mouth run away with it—as if often does when I’m stressed—and ask if I get a treat for performing well, he gets up. “Need to return to the shop. See you later.”
Oh, right. Gut me, strew my insides on the ground, stomp on them, and then go back to work.
Nothing new here.
“Have fun,” I snarl and make myself move, start to stand up.
Zane’s hand snags on my wrist and keep me down. Dammit. “Not yet.”
“I need to get to work, too. I’ll be late.” And I’ve lost track of time.
“Why are you working two extra jobs? Rafe’s been asking me that. He covers your rent, so you can focus on your training. I know you need a job for your daily expenses, but, man, you’re wearing yourself out.”
“I need the money.”
“And I need you focused on your training. You’re almost there.” He rubs one shaved side of his head. “What the hell do you need more money for? Gonna buy yourself a limo and ride into the sunset?”
I laugh. Can’t help it, because that’s just… “I don’t want to go anywhere. Hell, this is the first stability I’ve had in my life.” And doesn’t that suck donkey balls? “But I figured I’d be ready for when you kick me out.”
I curse inwardly when the words leave my mouth. What’s wrong with my self-control today? Or rather, my absolute fucking lack of it.
“What makes you think I’ll kick you out?”
“Man, everyone does, sooner or later. Nothing this good ever lasts, and you’ll soon change your mind.”
Like Amber did.
“The hell, J.”
“Look,” I say, “I live on borrowed time. I know it, all right? Like I’m renting a room in someone else’s life. The life of someone more deserving than me. I’m a fraud. Fucked up to hell and back. People get tired of my shit eventually and leave.”
I’m dead serious, and when Zane starts to laugh, it’s like a bucketful of cold water being thrown down my back.
Motherfucking hell.
“What’s so funny?” I mutter. “You asked.”
I jerk when he slaps my back, still laughing. What’s up with all the back slapping?
“Fucker,” he says when he can breathe again, “you’re fucking nuts, you know that?” He slaps me again, then grabs my shoulder, as if guessing I’m one second from shooting to my feet and leaving. “You are special. Believe it. And even if you weren’t, that wouldn’t matter anymore, okay? Because now you are family, and even if you were the stupidest, laziest fuck on Earth—which you’re not, thank God—we still wouldn’t give you up.”
I’m sure I’m gaping at him like a fish, and this time when he slaps my back, I barely feel it. My chest is so tight I wrap an arm around it.
“You serious?” Because I don’t believe he is.
“Fucker, I’ve never been more serious in my life. Invest your money in people. Spend it on people you care for. Buy your girl gifts, flowers, teddy bears, whatever. But never think we’ll throw you out.”
I say nothing. I guess I’m still in shock.
“I’m about to offer you a job, so finish your training already, okay? You’re fucking ready.” Zane stands up, and I’m still sitting, trying to absorb what he said. “And as for Amber… It’s up to you to change your reputation. Hear what I’m saying? Be who you want to be, J, and everyone else will see it, sooner or later.”
***
I won’t give up.
The thought buzzes in my head as the days pass with no word from Amber. I clean the tattoo shop, I practice my art on a new customer, and Zane seems pleased with my work. He tries to talk to me again, but I can’t deal with that shit right now.
I need Amber to talk to me, need to clear this up, no matter what happens afterward. No matter if she decides she’s had enough of me and walks away anyway.
Who would blame her? Not me.
But goddammit, it hurts. Never thought it could hurt so much. You’d think a guy who had his world come crashing around his ears so many times would feel nothing.
Instead, I feel too much. Since Zane and Rafe brought me here, since I got a place to live and an art to learn, the numbness I’d perfected shattered, and since I met her…
Yeah, since I met her, I can�
�t stop the smile spreading on my face at the thought of seeing her, or the knife twisting in my chest at the thought I’ll never be with her again.
So I deal with it the only way I know how—killing myself working my two jobs, training at the gym, taking over the others’ shifts to clean the shop. Making jokes, teasing, pretending nothing’s wrong.
Nothing’s fucking wrong. The world sucks. That’s the way it is. You know it, so take it like a man.
Right.
Not that I didn’t try talking to the guys at first. Monday after the wedding, down at Damage Control, when they showed up giving me the stink-eye. I gave them my version of the events.
They didn’t seem impressed.
In fact, Micah looked like he wanted to punch the living daylights out of me and held himself back with difficulty. When I tried explaining what went down, he called me a fucking douchebag and stalked away. He’s been avoiding me ever since. Fuck knows what Ev told him happened.
Shane’s glare could cut through metal. Now that I know he wants Cassie it makes sense. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.
And what can I tell him? Hey, sorry man, the girl you want sexually assaulted me because she has a crush on me instead of you?
Sure. That’d go down great.
As for Dylan, who comes by sometimes, and Rafe, they pretend I don’t exist. Unlike Zane, they haven’t tried talking to me.
Which is cool with me.
No, that’s a lie, it’s not. But who the hell cares? Even Seth who said he believed me isn’t defending me.
Screw them. I’ll be okay. Always landing back on my feet. Don’t trust, Helen used to say. Don’t open up. All they want is an opening to stick a hurt into you.
Helen…
I keep going through the motions, day after day, night after fucking night, thinking of Amber.
Until one day I see her.
***
She’s standing at the bus stop not far from Damage Control, dressed in a denim skirt and a white top that hugs her curves. Her dark hair is twisted into a messy bun, secured with a white-beaded stick.
Christ, I missed her. She’s never looked more beautiful.
My mouth goes dry. “Embers?”
She jumps, her blue eyes going round. “Jesse.”
Not JJ.
“I’ve been calling you and texting you.” I bite back the bitterness and paste on a smile. “How have you been?”
“I…” She glances at the street, as if hoping the bus will arrive soon and save her from this conversation. “I don’t want to talk right now.”
I clench my jaw. My hands are balled into fists and shaking. “Embers, about what happened at the wedding reception—”
“I said I don’t want to talk.” She takes a step away from me. Scared of me, dammit.
“She came on to me, Embers. I tried pushing her away.”
“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me Embers. It’s not my name.”
Like a physical blow, her words knock the air out of my lungs. “Don’t do this, Em— Amber.” I wince. It doesn’t feel right, calling her anything but Embers.
“When you were late picking me up that night…” She isn’t looking at me. Her hand is white-knuckled on the handle of her purse. “Were you with another girl? With Cassie?”
The fuck? “No, I wasn’t. You want the truth? I went to testify against the guy who cut me up all those years ago. The one I told you about.”
Her eyes skip to my tattooed arm, then back to the street. “Why would you do that after all this time?”
“Because he’s been beating my friends up.” And because you gave me strength. “It’s a turf war, or drug war. I don’t know, and I don’t care. I only want him behind fucking bars.”
She flinches, and I sigh, not sure what to do.
“I wouldn’t cheat on you. I don’t want Cassie.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “Hell, I don’t want any other girl but you. Don’t you get it?”
There. My fucking heart laid out on the chopping board. Fuck caution. Fuck not opening up.
“Get it? Get what?” she whispers, and her eyes look damp. “Come on, Jesse, what are the chances of Cassie falling on your mouth all on her own? Tell me.”
Her lips tremble, and I feel like an asshole, even if this isn’t my fault.
“She’s been trying to get me to sleep with her for a while. She came on to me. And she did it on purpose.”
“How can I believe you?”
“Why shouldn’t you believe me?” I feel ice coming into my voice. I wish it could fill my veins, dull my senses. “Why the hell not?”
“I have to go.” Her bus is arriving, and she’s already moving forward. Leaving me.
“I didn’t kiss her, Embers.” To hell with that. She’s Embers to me. Only to me. “I’d never kiss any girl but you.”
“Goodbye,” she whispers, gets on the bus and goes.
I stomp away, not even knowing where I’m going, shaking all over. I fucked up. I don’t know how, but it’s my fault yet again.
What did I do wrong? I haven’t as much as glanced at another girl. Other girls hold no interest for me anymore.
I thought when she stopped snapping at me and calling me names, when she kissed me back and held me, that I’d turn tail and run. So why isn’t it happening? Why do I want her more than ever?
I need her. I miss her. I fucking love her.
Love her. The realization hits me and I bend over for a second. Fuck. When they say you fall in love, I never thought it really felt that way, like falling. Like crashing from up high.
I blink dazedly at the busy street. I love Amber. Shouldn’t it feel more like flying? Where are the rainbows and shooting stars? Why does it hurt so much?
I’d give my soul to be with her. In fact, I think I already have.
Chapter Nineteen
Amber
He’s holding me in his arms, kissing me. His skin is silky soft where we touch, muscles shifting and bulging as he rolls me under him, his warm lips moving from my mouth to my jaw, trailing hot kisses down my neck. Between my legs, his hard-on is an insistent pressure that sends fire to my core.
“Embers…” he whispers, his hips rocking, and he slides into me. “Need you, Embers…”
I need you, too, I want to say, but I can’t speak. Not when he’s sinking into me, a delicious burn and stretch, his hot length sliding deep, filling me up. Need you.
Love you, JJ.
I want to cry, because something’s wrong. He can’t be here. He’s not here. I can’t let him in again, can’t hold him inside me, or in my arms, because…
“Kitten.” He’s moving faster, panting, his strong body sliding against mine, his cock fucking me fast and hard.
Until I come apart, writhing on the bed, waves of pleasure crashing over me, drowning me. I can’t breathe, my nose clogged and my eyes running.
I’m crying. Have been for a while. I wake up in my bed, alone, still shaking from my release.
Crap, it was a dream. He wasn’t here. And when memory returns—the image of him and Cassie kissing at the wedding reception—I swallow a sob.
I knew it would come, but now it happened I can hardly believe it. Never knew a broken heart could hurt so much. At least he stopped calling and texting every day.
How can I trust him again? It took me so much effort to unlock myself, to believe he wants me, to believe we might have something between us.
And he kissed a girl the moment I turned my back.
But against my better judgment, I want to trust him. God, I miss him so much it’s suffocating me, killing me. I miss his faint, real smile and his teasing grin, I miss the look of concentration on his face when I teach him to cook, the way he kisses me like he can never get enough. The way he opened up to me about his past, the way he drew my image, lower lip tucked under his teeth, his eyes hot on me.
I miss the way he held me, the way he teased me, the way he sat with me and shopped with me. The way he made love to me and s
hook me to my core like no one else before. He treated me as someone strong and whole, not someone broken.
If only he saw me now…
Hugging my pillow, I let the tears flow.
***
“We should start drinking Turkish coffee,” Kayla announces, sliding into the chair across from me in our brightly lit kitchen.
I rub at my eyes. I know they’re red and swollen, like on most mornings these days. “Why would we want to do that?”
“To tell our fortune. Nothing better than Turkish coffee, because you boil the coffee with the water and just pour it into your cup without a filter. Then,” she sticks her tongue out to me when I make a face, “you let the coffee powder settle, drink the coffee, and upturn the cup in its saucer. It leaves streaks and symbols you can read. I saw it on TV the other day.”
Her blond-streaked hair is caught up in two pigtails. Her pajama shorts are fuchsia and her tank top green.
My eyes really hurt now.
“What happened to good old palmistry?”
“Passé.” She waves a hand at me dismissively and grins. “We need new methods. Vosprung durch Technik.”
“Isn’t that the ad for a car?”
“Amber.” She sighs. “Advancement through technology. That’s what it means.”
“And Turkish coffee counts as technology, I assume?” I roll my eyes at her.
“You assume correctly.” She grabs my cup before I manage to take a second sip. “But meanwhile we make do.”
“Hey!” I reach for my cup, my very filtered coffee sloshing. “I’m not done.”
“I’ll help you.” She gulps down the rest. “Our fates are intertwined anyway, what with living in this apartment together and whatnot.”
“Christ, Kay. You’ve been watching too much TV.”
“You can never watch too much TV,” she intones and studies the inside of the cup. “Ah-huh. I knew it.”
“I’ve had enough.” I get up, tugging down my blouse over my boy shorts, and turn to go.
“You love him.”
I freeze on the spot by the kitchen door. “Say again?”
“Jesse Lee. You’ve gone and fallen in love with him, despite all my warnings.”
I turn slowly toward her. “Shut up, Kay.” I sit back down, my vision blurring. Awesome. And here I thought I had no more tears to shed. “I’m not in love with him.”