Ocean (Damage Control Book 5)

by Jo Raven

  She winks, and it’s a hot bolt to my crotch. Looking at her, listening to her is doing something to my insides. Like a knot kept tight for too long, clogging my lungs, is unraveling.

  What’s happening to me?

  “Can’t,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” She sticks out her tongue, smiles. Her teeth are a little crooked, her incisors cutting into her lush lower lip. It’s charming. Sexy. Kinda hypnotizing.

  Like I wanna push her against the wall, suck her lip into my mouth and bite.

  Hell.

  “I’m outta here,” I mutter, turning, “just need to—”

  “Sure, I’m only—”

  We crash together, her elbow knocking in my ribs, and pain shoots through my chest, making me gasp.

  “The fuck.” I wrap an arm around my middle, trying to breathe around the pain, while Kayla gapes at me. “Christ.”

  She hangs back for precisely two seconds, then pushes at my arm and lifts my sweater. She’s lightning fast, this girl.

  “Holy crap, what happened to you?” She pokes at my side, and I swear under my breath. “You’re black and blue.”

  I grab her hand, stop her from poking the tender spot again. “Black and—?” Oh. Right. I look down at my bruised self. “It was the seatbelt.”

  “What?” She’s blinking those big eyes, confusion written all over her face.

  “Someone rear-ended my truck last night. The bruising’s from the seatbelt. See, I’m—”

  “Holy crap. Nobody told me.” Red spots appear on her pale cheeks. “You should get checked out. Does it hurt when you breathe? Oh God, you carried me last night!”

  “I’ll live,” I tell her, letting my sweater fall over the livid bruises. “It’s not so bad.”

  “It looks bad.” Her full bottom lip quivers, and she bites it again. Goddammit, this girl is trying to drive me mad.

  Against my better judgment, I put a finger under her chin and lift it until she looks me in the eye. “I swear it’s not that bad. And you’re light like a feather.”

  She snorts, and it’s a bit watery. I frown. Before she glances away, I see her long lashes wet.

  As if she’s about to cry for me. For the ugly bruises decorating my chest and the possibility I hurt myself carrying her home.

  I’m so transfixed by that I don’t even breathe.

  Nobody has given two shits about me since I was a kid. Nobody ever cared if I was hurt, if something was wrong.

  Nobody has ever fucking cried for me.

  The knot in my chest untangles a bit more and it aches. Hell. What am I doing?

  “Take care.” Letting my hand drop from her face, I grab my jacket and hurry the hell out of her bathroom, her apartment, the bright energy that surrounds her, cursing myself all the way to the street.

  ***

  The day drags. Despite feeling worn out and stretched thin from lack of proper sleep, I force myself to the gym for some cardio on the bike and a few rounds with the punching bag. Shane’s girl, Cassie, who mans the reception desk, keeps giving me questioning looks.

  Why? Is it my sexy raccoon look, complete with dark circles and three-day scruff? Or the fact I move gingerly, swallowing curses every time I lift my right arm or breathe too deeply?

  Who the fuck knows? The moment she steps around the desk, seemingly intent on coming to talk to me, I throw in the towel and head for the men’s changing rooms to avoid her.

  Don’t get me wrong, I like Cassie. I like her even more since she apologized to Jesse for kissing him against his will and since she moved into Shane’s life and turned it about. She’s a nice girl with a talent for making Shane smile.

  Good enough for me.

  Not in the mood to talk right now, though, and especially not about me.

  And what if she wasn’t gonna talk about you, asshole? a voice that sounds a lot like mine mutters in the back of my mind. What if she wanted to talk about Shane, or about herself? What if she needs your help with something? Not everything is about you.

  Did I say the voice sounds like mine? Scratch that. It sounds just like Raine’s.

  You think everything’s about you, Shun. Well, it fucking ain’t. Fuck you, Shun. Don’t call me ever again. Go to hell. You’re dead to me. You—

  “Ocean, watch out!” Someone crashes into me, and I see red as pain explodes in my side.

  Ow, dammit. What the hell?

  “Sorry, man.” I see the guy lift his hands through blurry eyes. He’s one of the co-owners of the gym, Derrick. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing.” I straighten. Shit. “Wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m good.”

  Am I, though? I wonder as he nods and turns away. The ribs will heal. They’re just bruised. But my head’s not here. I’m so fucking worried. About Mom. About Raine.

  The good news is my truck is still running. The dented bumper seems to be the only issue—although the engine clunks when I slow down or accelerate. Don’t know what’s up with that.

  Probably it’s just that the engine’s rusty and banged-up, like me.

  But we’ve both made it through worse. We go some way back, my Chevy and I. Three years at least. Lasted more than any girl I’ve been with—not hard to beat that record, though, seeing as I’ve never been with a girl for longer than a night.

  My Chevy’s nothing like the powerful, streamlined cars I used to race with back in Milwaukee. But she’s like an old dog—my faithful, trusted friend, not letting me down when everyone else does.

  And that in my book is what counts the most.

  ***

  “How’re the ribs?” Seth asks me as I prepare for my first appointment of the day, preparing my station and checking my tattoo gun.

  “I’ll live,” I inform him, an echo of my reply to Kayla this morning.

  Only she’d looked sad and worried. Not convinced at all.

  And also cute and sweet and sexy, and shit, I need to fucking stop this, like, yesterday.

  I grab my customer list for the day and stare at it blindly, struggling to focus.

  Tired. So fucking tired. It’s the back and forth between Madison and Milwaukee, I think. Not the distance as much as the whiplash I get between my two lives.

  Why do I do it? Why do I feel this obligation to take care of my old folks when they never took care of me?

  They’re my parents, but they don’t love me. This is sick. I’m every bit as sick as they are for doing this, for checking on them, making sure they have food, that they’re okay.

  Checking Mom’s still alive.

  Seth mutters something about sucking it up and ambles away, presumably returning to his own cubicle.

  Both he and Shane officially graduated as Zane’s trainees and were offered full-time jobs as inkers. It’s taken some of the customer load off of our backs—mine, Jesse’s and Micah’s. Even though they are new, they come with Zane Madden’s recommendation, and they’re so damn good nobody has ever complained.

  “The hot cousins,” chicks call them. They’re like twins, even more so now that Shane’s hair is shorter than he used to have it.

  My hair’s dark, too, but I’ve had it blue for years. I used to have it longer, and bluer, back when it was my signature trait, my color. My flag.

  Goes with the name. Can’t beat that. Ocean and blue.

  Besides, my brother used to call me that. Blue.

  I’ve kept my hair dyed, clinging to that persona, letting it be the one thing people see about me, that one thing that kept me sane and alive back then. That defined me. It was a rebirth of sorts. New color, new name, a new anchor to life.

  New profession. Cars and speed. The one thing that destroyed my life and made my brother hate me. That split us up and put a rift between us.

  Sometimes I wanna rip my hair out from the roots. Or shave my head and be done with it. Done with mourning and remembering and hoping.

  Or so I tell myself.

  My customer walks in, and I nod
absently at her, forcing my mind back to the present. We’d already talked on the phone about what she wants. A butterfly on her ankle.

  She’s a tall, pretty brunette with big gray eyes that remind me of Kayla’s.

  Kayla. Dammit. Jesse Lee hasn’t come in yet, but as soon as I’m done here, I’m gonna find him and introduce his face to my fist for the prank. As if Kayla would ever say she likes me or she trusts me, or whatever.

  Asshole.

  As I show the customer my drawings, and we discuss colors and size, I wonder if Kayla has any ink on her. And if not, if she’d like some.

  If she’d let me put some on her.

  Damn.

  No reason why the thought should get me hard, but fuck if it doesn’t. This keeps happening, despite my resolve to stop thinking about her.

  It’s so damn confusing, I think as I set about preparing my materials for the tattoo. One moment I think she wants me, the next she pulls back. One moment she seems not to even care I’m around, and the next she seems worried about me.

  Add to that my back-and-forth between my body wanting her and my mind reeling me back, and it’s like whiplash.

  “I like your hair,” my customer tells me, and I realize I’ve paused—again—with the tattoo gun in my hand. “Nice color.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And your T-shirt. What’s that logo?”

  “DeathMoth. A local punk rock group. Zane Madden’s girlfriend is the vocalist, and Rafe Vestri the drummer.”

  “Cool.” She keeps peeking at me and smiling, her cheeks coloring. Wait, is she checking me out?

  “This will sting a little,” I tell her, my mind racing.

  “I don’t mind some pain,” she whispers. Bats her lashes at me. “Mixed with pleasure.”

  “Uh-huh. Are we talking about after-work hours?” Just to be sure we’re on the same page.

  “Yes.” She colors some more. “If you like.”

  Okay. She is hitting on me. Check.

  I mean, hell, it’s not like it doesn’t happen. I may not be exotic looking and shit, but chicks seem to dig me, blue hair and all. Can’t say I understand it, but I’m not gonna complain.

  I should say something. Give a witty comeback. Show her we’re on the same page. That I get off work at eight.

  She’s attractive. Long legs, great rack, shiny hair. Pouty mouth. Last night I’d planned to bang a random girl, so… Why the hell not?

  Very good question. In fact, there’s no good reason why not.

  Then why am I not saying anything?

  The silence stretches. I turn this over in my mind as I focus on her skin, outlining the tattoo, then choosing the colors to fill it in with.

  “Look,” she says eventually as I work. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You probably have a girlfriend.”

  “It’s okay,” I mutter, not looking up.

  Because there is no girlfriend. There is no reason.

  Only I can’t get Kayla out of my goddamn mind, and I don’t understand how the hell the idea of fucking another woman makes me feel like I’m cheating.

  Joy.

  ***

  Jesse doesn’t come in to work until late. I hear him talking to Tyler, so I wait for them to finish, and then I barge into his cubicle to confront him.

  I’m not even sure why I feel the need to do this, why I’m so mad at him for it.

  He looks up from where he’s sitting on his stool, a preoccupied frown on his face. “Hey, Shun, what’s up?”

  I wince at the use of the nickname. Jesse probably doesn’t remember how much I hate it or why.

  Shun, my brother’s voice says in my memory. It’s all your fault. Screw you, Shun. Screw—

  A hand claps on my shoulder, and I jerk back. “Ocean. Hey.”

  Fuck, I keep spacing out. There’s a concerned look in Jesse’s eyes I don’t want to see directed at me.

  My breath rattling, I shake his hand off. “You.” I have to stop and swallow hard. “Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

  “Do what? Put my hand on your shoulder?” His brows draw together and his eyes crinkle, as if he’s torn between amusement and annoyance. “What are you talking about?”

  “No, dammit.” I jab a finger at his chest. “You came and had the balls to tell me that Kayla fucking asked for me. At the bar. Before you left. You—”

  “Hey, hey!” He holds his hands up, eyes wide. “It was the truth.”

  “No, it fucking wasn’t. She didn’t ask for me.” Bitterness wells in my chest. “It was a lie to get me to drive her home.”

  “Like you didn’t want to? Suck my dick, Ocean-boy.” He gives me the finger, and I shake my head, my fists itching for a fight.

  “Fuck you, J. You had no right to lie about that.”

  “I didn’t fucking lie. I don’t lie.” His skin is too dark for a full flush, but there’s definitely color on his cheekbones. “Not my fault if she doesn’t remember, is it? I asked her, if one of us were to stay and drive you home, who would you rather have? And she said your name.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Just…”

  “Just what?” I give him a wary look, not ready to let go of my anger. I prefer anger to the confusion that plagues me whenever I think about her.

  “Well, maybe I didn’t ask her last night.”

  My head’s pounding. I rub at my eyes. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

  “Look, I did ask her.” He puffs a breath. “Another night, when we went out together, a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Motherfucker.” But I can’t work up a good rant right now, can’t hold on to my anger, because the confusion is back, and with it a weird spark of warmth in my chest.

  Jesse Lee doesn’t lie. Yeah, I forgot this little detail. It’s true, then. A couple of weeks ago, she said it.

  She asked for me.

  I turn away, fighting the pleasure the thought brings me. It’s like a ball of light expanding in my chest.

  “So how did it go?” he asks.

  “As if it’s any of your damn business,” I mutter, turning to go. “Stay out of this.”

  “Oh, come on. You jumped at the chance to take her home.”

  “What the fuck ever.”

  “Ocean.”

  I stop in my tracks but don’t turn. “What?”

  A pause, then, “Are you okay, buddy?”

  Fuck. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine. You sound pissed as hell.” Jesse sounds uncertain. “Didn’t mean to step on your fucking toes, man. Sorry.”

  I’m scaring my friends, dammit. I’ve been in a black mood for months now. “Forget it.”

  “It’s just that I thought you liked Kayla, and Amber said Kayla likes you, so… Are we good?”

  Amber said that?

  I glance at him over my shoulder. “I’m good.” But the lines of worry between his brows seem deeper than usual. I turn around completely. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” He slumps on his stool. “I need a favor.”

  “What sort of favor?” My budget’s tight as a drum, and time is also on short supply of late, but this is Jesse. “Hit me.”

  “It’s for a friend of mine. Jason.”

  If there’s one thing you should know about me is that I’d do anything for Raine, my brother, for my good-for-nothing parents, and I’d do anything for my Damage Control family. No matter what. Even when things are rough.

  So I nod. “Tell me what you need.”

  ***

  The next morning as I drive out of town I’m half-regretting my promise to Jesse, but I’d never take it back. It’s just that, hell, life is a bitch already, and dammit, I don’t need more shit.

  Then I remember what Jesse said and feel fucking bad for regretting it even for a minute. I sometimes forget others have had it worse than me.

  Life sucks ass.

  So I’ll do my best to help out Jason. But I’ll deal with this later, when I return to Madison. Right now my thoughts are all tangle
d up to what lies ahead, where I’m heading.

  Where I don’t wanna go. Where I swore I’d never return. Yet here I am.

  Back in hell.

  Must be a flaw in my making, one of many. This need to protect, to care for people who never once cared for me. Making sure they cling to life and don’t drift into nothing, when nothing was all they ever had to offer.

  So bitter, Ocean. We just established there are others worse off than you. Suck it up and drive.

  In any case… Yeah. A flaw. Why do I keep coming back, to check on them? Why do I bother? Why do I spend my time and my money on them?

  No wonder Raine hates me. Not only did I fail him in every way possible, now I’m caring for those who let us down in the first place.

  My hell is in the outskirts of Milwaukee. The engine kicks as I slow down, taking the exit from the highway and driving the last stretch.

  To the place where Raine and I grew up, a trailer park packed with trash and filth. The place where our parents are still living—if you call that living.

  Home sweet home.

  Chapter Five

  Kayla

  “He drove you home. Carried you to your apartment. Put you in bed.” Amber frowns. “And then just walked out?”

  “I know, right?” I park down the street from Damage Control. “He could at least have tied me to the bed and had wild sex with me first.”

  I’m all talk, I know, trying to sound sassy and world-weary when the memory of his arms around me, his body close to mine, sends fire leaping through my veins.

  “Kay!” Amber is laughing, her cheeks flame red. “Oh God.”

  “Hey, what are you blushing for? It’s not like you and Jesse only hold hands in bed, is it?”

  “Shut up,” she mutters, but her mouth curves into a bright smile. Then she pales. “Oh crap on a stick, are we too loud? Are we—?”

  “You can’t muffle a real good time.” I smirk, and her blush is back, full-force.

  “Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”

  “You shouldn’t be. Don’t you dare be embarrassed on my behalf,” I tell her. “I’m happy you’re happy.”

  It’s true. It’s so sweet. Please, dear God, let them be happy and sappy and beautiful together ever after.

  Even if it means listening to them every night. Even if it means Amber moves out and leaves me on my own.