Ocean (Damage Control Book 5)

by Jo Raven

  “Tell me again why we’re here instead of the café where Ev and Cassie are waiting for us?” Amber climbs out of my tiny, yellow, ten-year-old Mini Cooper.

  I grab my small package and follow her out, lost in thought.

  Yep, I’m the proud owner of a car. Hard to believe it. I saved every penny from my various jobs over the past two years—anything from serving tables to babysitting to walking the neighbors’ dogs, and finally the clothes I’ve been designing, sewing and selling—to buy it off a jaded college classmate for a couple of thousand. In theory, I could use it to visit my family on occasion.

  But I don’t want to go. I haven’t even told them I bought a car. Which is awful, I know. They’ve been sending me money, helping me out, even if they don’t agree with my choices. Mom especially.

  Doesn’t stop her from asking me to go back home every time we talk on the phone and telling me to stop acting up. Besides, they have money. It’s just that they’d rather spend it on classes they condone.

  Or on a huge wedding for me to marry a random guy with money and move in with my in-laws.

  Why do families have to be so complicated?

  “Kay? Did you hear me? Why are we here?”

  “Because I’m needed.”

  “For what? By whom?”

  Stuffing my package into my purse, I button up my light blue coat and wrap my rainbow-colored scarf around my neck. “I don’t know yet. But the cards said so.”

  “Kay, you’re getting obsessed with those cards.”

  “I’m so not.” I tuck a strand of my newly dyed hair behind one ear as the wind buffets us across the street. “I just like them.”

  To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure what the cards were trying to tell me. There was the Five of Cups—regret, loss, despair. The Knight of Swords—action. And the Three of Pentacles—teamwork.

  I assumed my help was needed, and something’s inexorably drawing me to Damage Control like a string wrapped around my wrist.

  A rope called infatuation, Ev would say. A crush.

  Ev is all talk. And it’s not true.

  To avoid more discussion, I hurry to open the door of the tattoo shop. We enter into a wave of warmth, soft music and the smell of antiseptic, metal and some vaguely spicy air-freshener or cleaning product.

  I don’t have a crush. And I’m not obsessed with the Tarot cards.

  Okay, so I am a little worried about a certain someone. That’s different, right? There’s the dark spot that intrigued me from the start—that flat-out refusal to have his fortune told—and now his bad mood, the nightmare, his bruised chest.

  And the accident. Someone rammed the back of his truck. Nothing too bad, he said. He’s okay.

  But I want to see for myself. Because he’s slowly emerging from the void like a magic picture, the dark spots drifting, coming together, touching the golden, bright parts—of him laughing, catching me on the dance floor before I fell, taking me home, carrying me inside. Sleeping on the old armchair by my bed to make sure I was all right.

  Letting me see layers in him I hadn’t imagined.

  So… magic, intuition, or whatever this is, I had to come.

  Two customers occupy the orange chairs near the desk, and Tyler’s tall, broad-shouldered form is a shadow behind it, his face cast in the light from the computer monitor.

  He looks up as we approach and lifts a dark brow. He grins. “What have we here? Girls! We have girls!”

  At his gleeful yell, I take a step back involuntarily. Amber flushes crimson. I notice the customers gaping at us and shoot them an uncertain smile.

  I clear my throat and turn back to Tyler. “We’re here—”

  “And a good thing you are.” He gets up, looming over me, dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins. Then he hollers over his shoulder, “Jesse Lee! Get your ass over here. Amber wants to see you.”

  I fold my arms over my boobs. “And what am I, chopped liver?”

  “You wanna see Jesse Lee, too?” Tyler gives me a long look under dark lashes. “Or someone else?”

  Heat rises to my face. Tyler is always a tease, and I shouldn’t get flustered by it. Only there is someone else, and now I’m standing here, I hesitate to ask.

  Jesse arrives, saving me from having to reply to Tyler who’s still staring at me, looking amused.

  Crap.

  “Hey, baby,” Jesse croons, grabbing Amber in his arms and crushing his mouth to hers.

  Tyler whistles.

  I look away, trying to decide what to do, if to admit what I’m here for, or walk out and forget about it. Stop obsessing, like Amber said, stop worrying for no good reason. He’s fine. He doesn’t need me checking up on him. Nothing has changed between us, not really.

  Making up my mind to go, I turn back again to let Amber know that this visit was a bust—at least for me.

  And then I see him.

  Ocean.

  Blue hair, dark brows, a gray T-shirt stretched tight over a strong chest and shoulders, low-slung jeans, combat boots. My gaze snags on his long neck, his sharp jaw, his mouth.

  He finally notices me, and he stops in his tracks. “Kay?” he whispers.

  I’m not sure why he’s looking at me like that, like I’m a hallucination—although it could be because I’ve dyed my hair bright red. Like, flaming red.

  But then, as I take in his haggard face and bloodshot eyes, I know I was right: something’s wrong.

  “Hi,” I say and smile. I pull the package from my purse and extend it toward him. “I brought you something.”

  He blinks at the package, then up at me. In his eyes, confusion wars with curiosity and something else, something bright and new. “For me?”

  Since he’s not reaching for it, I close the distance between us and thrust it into his chest. “For you, yes.”

  Finally he takes it. He licks his lips and I bite mine. This boy’s too sexy for his own good, and he doesn’t even seem to notice. He tears at the paper slowly, strong hands a little clumsy, as if he hasn’t done this often.

  He stops and stares at my gift. I see the corners of his pretty mouth curve up, and then he’s grinning widely.

  “Holy shit,” he mutters and shakes his head.

  “I baked it and decorated it,” I say.

  The muffin is pretty, if I say so myself. The frosting is blue, and there’s a red cherry on top.

  “Blue for Mr. Blue,” I whisper.

  “What?” He pales, and I wonder why. “What did you just call me?”

  “Blue.” I tilt my head to the side, trying to solve his new puzzle. “Blue hair, blue eyes. Blue. Duh.”

  He’s utterly still for a long moment, two red spots on his cheek bones, bright in his white face.

  “What’s the matter?” I’m worried I put my foot in my mouth somehow. “What did I say?”

  “Nothing.” But he won’t look at me. “Why?”

  The roughness in his voice makes my chest go tight. “Why what?”

  “This.” He still won’t look at me as he lifts the muffin. “Why?”

  “Do I need a reason?” I shrug, because, hey.

  He finally looks up, and I can’t read his face, although his smile lingers, faint. “You made me a muffin for no reason?”

  Put that way… “I didn’t say that. You seem stressed out these days. So I made it for you.”

  He swallows. The shop has faded around us, the sounds, the smells, the voices. It’s just him, blue against blue against blue, the muffin frosting, his hair, his eyes. His smile.

  “What can I give you back?” he whispers, and it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself.

  “Nothing,” I reply anyway. Then again… There is something I want. “But you could let me see.”

  “See what?”

  “Your palm.”

  Confusion tightens his brow, but when I reach for his hand, he lets me take it. Large, strong, the backside dotted with light freckles. When I turn it over, there’s a line of black ink on his thumb.
/>   So warm. His palm is rough when I run my fingers over it, its lines deep.

  “Why are you really here?” he breathes.

  “I had this feeling,” I tell him truthfully. “That you needed my help.” I glance up and realize with a start how close together we’re standing. If I stood on tiptoes, I could kiss that soft-looking mouth, know if he tastes as spicy as he smells. “Do you?”

  Something flashes over his features. Something dark and painful, vanishing in an instant.

  “That depends.” His grin is back, brightening his clear eyes, lifting the corners of his beautiful mouth. He lifts the hand I’m holding to touch my face. “Can you cook soup?”

  ***

  I have a date with Ocean Storm. Tonight.

  To cook soup.

  Okay, maybe it’s not a date. Doesn’t much sound like one, but a girl can dream, right? Or rather fantasize and delude herself.

  It’s enough that he asked me for help. Let me look at his palm. Let me in. Even if just a little.

  Yet the warm feeling in my chest won’t quit as Amber and I make our way to the coffee shop where we’re meeting with the girls. I park, climb out of the car and haul Amber inside. I want to see the girls and go home. There’s an itch under my skin to be left alone, think, prepare.

  For what exactly? To cook soup? I sigh to myself as we enter the coffee shop and make a beeline for the table occupied by our friends.

  Maybe to dress up? To fix my hair? To think about the deep lines in his palm?

  What am I doing?

  I’m in a bit of a trance as we sit down and Cassie goes to get our coffee for us. I smile absently at Ev and Manon. The Damage girls.

  I’m just friends with Ocean. So why am I freaking out?

  “So when are you and Jesse moving in together?” Ev wants to know, and Amber blushes. She does that a lot lately, more than usual. Interesting. “Any date set? Apartment found?”

  “We looked at a tiny studio we like,” she says. “Could be the one.”

  “As long as it fits a double bed…” Ev winks, then turns to me. “Hey, girl, did you read the cards for me?”

  “No. I…” Was distracted. Trying to read my own fate. Spreading them again and again.

  Obsessed, Amber said. Maybe I am. I kept seeing paths and the urge to act, to take a chance, a risk.

  And ended up with the spread that spoke of someone’s need for my help. There was no indication it was Ocean. I just felt it in my gut.

  “That’s okay,” Ev says as Cassie returns with our coffees and plonks herself in the seat next to her. “I decided I’d rather wait and be pleasantly surprised when Micah and I take the next step. I’d rather not think it was fated, you know? But that it’s something we’ve worked on together.”

  She sounds so sure. So content and safe in her love for Micah. In his love for her. How is she doing that? How can she just wait and not want to sneak a peek into the future?

  “So… studio? Double bed?” Cassie turns to Amber. “Moving in together, and…? When? What next?”

  “I don’t know yet. Soonish, I guess. Jesse’s so excited about it.”

  “Like you’re not.” Cassie winks. “I can’t imagine not living with Shane, and it’s only been a couple of months.”

  “How is he doing?”

  “Fine. Better. Sometimes he loses his footing a little. A trigger, a nightmare. But he recovers.”

  “Because you’re there for him,” Amber says, her eyes shining.

  It’s so weird, watching the two of them interact—Amber and Cassie. After the awful fight over Jesse Lee, it’s hard to believe they’re fast becoming friends, but there you go. After Cassie apologized and got together with Shane, everything seemed to smooth out.

  “Jesse likes the studio,” Amber says, sipping at her Latte. “And he was glad to leave his apartment, even though he’s getting along much better with his roommates nowadays. But it’s chaos in there, and now with Travis’ friend crashing in their living room it’s impossible to have any quiet and privacy.”

  “Privacy, huh?” Manon waggles her fine brows, and laughter bursts out of me.

  She’s a quiet one, but she can be funny when she’s relaxed.

  “What about you?” Manon turns to me, a gleam in her eye, and my laughter dies. “I heard a certain blue-haired someone drove you home and stayed the night last week.”

  “Yeah, well.” I swallow hard. “That’s all that happened, sadly.”

  “That boy wants you,” Ev declares.

  She’s said that before. But the evidence points to the contrary. “I don’t think so.”

  “He so does. He’s waiting for the right moment to make his move.”

  “He never needed a right moment to make his move in the past.” I’ve watched him hit on girls week after week in Halo, leaving with them, my heart feeling all twisty and unsettled. “Can we just change the subject?”

  I’m thinking of the lines in his palm. The head line, broken and crosshatched over and over—important decisions he’s had to make in his life. The forked life line indicating interruptions and changes. A fate line, also cracked and marked with obstacles.

  The only straight, consistent line is that of the heart. So long and deep. Like a wound.

  The fact he let me see? It feels like a much greater gift than my stupid muffin.

  “I like Ocean,” Amber says quietly. “He’s a good guy. He’s helping one of Jesse’s friends out, even though he doesn’t know him. Heart of gold.”

  Helping out a friend of Jesse’s? I open my mouth to ask more about this, but Ev leans forward.

  “Do you girls know anything about his brother? Micah was telling me the other day that he overheard Ocean talking to him, and it sounded bad.”

  “Grim?” I lean forward, too, forgetting all about my other question. I’m not even trying to pretend I’m not interested. “Why, what did he say?”

  “Well, Ocean kept asking if the brother was okay. Raine is his name, apparently. If he could see him. And that he was sorry.”

  “Sorry about what?” The edge of the table is digging into my stomach. “Did he say?”

  “Something about an accident. And about their parents.”

  “His parents are alive?”

  “I know, right?” Ev sighs. “He never talks about any family, so I assumed he was an orphan, like Micah and Jesse. But Micah says they’re alive. Ocean told him so.”

  “He doesn’t look so good lately,” Cassie says, and there’s worry in her voice. “Ocean, I mean.”

  Yeah. So I’m not the only one who noticed he looks off. Withdrawn, quiet, glum. Worn out.

  “Did something happen to him?” I ask. “Something I don’t know about?”

  “Aw, you’re concerned,” Cassie says in a singsong voice. “I knew it. You’re in love.”

  “What? Why? Not true. Not in love with him.” I grab my coffee mug and hide behind it. “You’re the ones who brought this up.” I gulp down some scalding liquid, tasting nothing. “Did I mention I’m not in love with him?”

  Silence falls over the table, and I’m fully aware of four pairs of eyes boring a hole through my head.

  “What?” I mumble.

  “Don’t you know,” Ev says, a grin spreading on her face, “that denial is the first stage?”

  “That’s for grief, not love,” I say, but Ev is snickering like an evil witch.

  “Same thing,” she replies. “Same thing, baby girl. You’ll see.”

  ***

  Much later, after evening has fallen, I park outside Ocean’s building. I’ve never been to his place before, but he explained on the phone how to get here.

  I’m unaccountably nervous. And excited.

  Unaccountably because I know Ocean, and because this isn’t a date.

  Repeat after me, Kay: Not a date. No reason why you’ve spent two hours trying to find the perfect outfit and hairstyle. No reason why your hands are shaking as you turn off the engine and why sweat is running down your back
.

  I don’t have a crush on Ocean. I don’t. I just like him.

  A little too much.

  I’m nervous because I got to read the lines of his life, I tell myself, shivering as I remember touching his rough palm. And because I know his brother’s name, and the fact he has problems with him, and his parents live, and there was an accident…

  One taste, a dip of a fingertip into the mystery that is Ocean, and I’m thirsty for more. Denial or not, I’m dying to know more.

  If curiosity killed the cat, this is a high-risk mission.

  One last deep breath, and I grab my bag of groceries and step out of the car. Smoothing down my coat and skirt, I hit the door buzzer.

  Here we go.

  He only asked for my help. That’s what I’m here for. To make soup, apparently. No problemo. I can do this in my sleep.

  Mom ensured I have all it takes to make a good wife. Cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, mending socks. All the important skills a woman needs, right? No matter how I fought it, despite my protests, some knowledge managed to seep in.

  The door clicks open. I push it and enter the dimness of the building. The elevator, small and claustrophobic, brings me up to the third floor.

  When the doors scrape open, I find myself on a narrow landing with three doors. One of them is open a crack, and yellow light spills out.

  Someone’s standing at the opening, blue hair falling into long-lashed eyes, muscular shoulders, arms folded over a broad chest. He’s dressed in low-slung black sweats and a white tank top that leaves his strong arms bare, the tattoo of an angel on his forearm barely visible.

  I shiver with cold just by looking at him. “Hey.”

  “Come in,” he says ands steps back inside.

  I follow and a blast of warmth swallows me. “Whoa. Let me guess. You left the oven on? Or maybe you decided to turn your apartment into a sauna?”

  He snorts, watching me as I put down my groceries and shrug off my coat. “Nah. I like it warm, and he was cold, so…”

  He. Who’s ‘he’?

  Ocean huffs, probably noticing my blank expression, and takes my hand. “Come on. Let me introduce you to Jason.”

  Jason.

  Too shocked for words, I let him lead me into his tiny living room. The curtains are drawn against the only window. A corner lamp is on, and in the dim light his sofa and coffee table are mere shadows.