by Jo Raven
Clunk, clunk goes the engine.
“Son of a bitch.” I slam my hand on the wheel.
Feels good, the pain radiating up my arm, the heat. So I do it again. And again. I bow my head, panting.
It’s not enough. I need something… someone. I think of Kayla’s hand on my chest, resting there, as if counting my heartbeats, and it feels as if I’m gonna fall to pieces.
I can’t let it happen. I need to be strong. Hard. Impenetrable. Unbreakable. Can’t let this news of my mom’s sickness, or the possibility of back-breaking expenses destroy me. Not when I’m responsible for Mom. There might be a way to fix this. Cure her. Get financial aid.
Get Raine to see me, see her.
Break this vicious circle of guilt and anger. Be free to be who I want, be with whom I want, be happy. Real fucking happy, not the kind with the skin-deep smiles and forced laughter.
Thunder crashes in the distance. The rain is pouring in sheets on the highway, on my Chevy. I squint at the road ahead, racing toward Madison.
Toward Kayla. I wanna talk to her. Tell her about what happened, about what might happen. Need to touch her, kiss her.
Even if it’s dangerous. Even if it means I have to tell her more, and in so doing lose her. But I haven’t had her anyway, so what’s there to lose, right?
Fuck, the rain is a waterfall now, washing over the car, and I can’t see shit. I brake and try to downshift, but the stick won’t move. It’s locked. I’m a racer, but racing blindly in the dark and rain isn’t my specialty.
Cursing, I shove at the shift with all I have, but it won’t budge. What the fuck? The shadow of a much slower car looms up ahead, and I swerve to avoid it, slam on the brakes—
— and lose control of the Chevy. The tires skid, the world spins, and next thing I know there’s an impact and then another, throwing me against the seatbelt so hard I see stars and blackness.
Silence.
Darkness.
Then a ringing in my ears and a pressure on my chest.
Oh fuck.
It takes a moment for my eyes to clear and my lungs to start working again. Breathing fucking hurts, and I hiss as I try to make sense of what I see.
Murky water around me. Sediment billowing like clouds outside the windows of the Chevy.
I’m underwater.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the hell happened?
Memory hits me, the memory of losing control of my car. Sliding. Hitting something. Smashing into the metal fence by the side of the road.
Plunging into water.
Holy shit.
My right wrist hurts like a bitch, but I can move my hand. Okay. I’m okay. Need to get out of here.
I try the door.
It won’t budge. I rattle it. Nothing. Then I jab at the button to open the window and I have a moment of pure, cold panic when nothing happens.
Just my luck, to drown in a puddle by the side of the highway.
But then the window slides down, and I suck in a breath right before the water pours in, kicking me in the face.
Forcing my shoulders through the narrow opening, I propel myself out of the Chevy and up. Kicking my feet, I swim upward. It feels like forever, but it can’t be more than six or seven feet before I break the surface and float in the darkness, gasping for air. Every breath sends fire through my ribs.
Joy.
But at least I don’t seem to have any broken bones. Goddamn lucky.
To my left I see the lights of the highway. I head toward them and splash to the shore. I’m shaking with the piercing cold and can’t seem to stop as I drag my feet through the mud, struggling to climb out of the pond.
I almost don’t make it up the damn bank. I keep sliding back into the water, my muscles like jelly, my joints like rubber. Finally I flop on the shore, in the cold mud, my heart pounding against my ribs.
Fucking hell. And now?
I guess I should call the cops. Call someone, anyone, if my cell still works. With a heartfelt curse, I fumble in the pocket of my dripping jacket, unzip it and pull the phone out, wrapped up in its little Ziploc bag.
I shake my head at myself. Even for someone who doesn’t believe in luck or fate, this is kinda crazy.
Snorting, I sign in, typing over the plastic as it’s still raining, my wet hands shaking so badly I almost drop the cell twice. The screen lights up. I should call Seth, maybe. Or Micah. Hell, maybe Rafe or Zane, if those two don’t answer.
Or a cab?
Can’t think straight. Doesn’t help that a text message pops up before I make up my mind.
It’s from Kayla.
It reads, “Come back home.”
My breath catches. Kayla. Home. The two words fit like the long lost pieces of a puzzle, and my eyes sting.
I press call before I realize.
Chapter Eleven
Kayla
Death.
The card of Death keeps coming up.
Frowning, sitting cross-legged on my carpet like always, I stare at the painting of a skeleton in a knight’s armor and tell myself to leave it be, gather the cards and, I don’t know, throw them out of the window. Or into the trash can. Anywhere where I won’t be able to see them and obsess with what they’re telling me.
What I’m telling myself.
Death doesn’t really mean death, I remind myself for the hundredth time. It’s about endings, and resolutions, and change.
And yet. Seeing that grinning skull chills my blood.
Death isn’t always a negative card. Change is a good thing. Endings lead to beginnings.
Though the card was inversed. Which gives it a negative meaning. Possibly. Maybe? And why the hell does it keep coming up?
“Death,” I whisper, “and Eight of Wands for travel and speed, and the Five of Swords to signify conflict and loss and defeat. And betrayal.”
“Kay, are you seriously playing with your cards while I’m pouring my heart out to you?” my sister demands indignantly, her voice tinny yet sharp over the phone. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You pour your heart out to me twice a week. It’s hardly an emergency.”
Loss. Betrayal. Speed. Endings. What does it mean?
“You’re a little bitch,” Allie declares dramatically.
“No.” I sigh. “I’m your sister. I love you. But it doesn’t matter what I tell you, because you never listen to me. Look.” I close my eyes. “I know I’m younger than you. I know I’m the weird one, and the rebel without cause. But I’m still your family.”
“Kay… You don’t understand.”
“You don’t love this guy. He’s a douchebag. Why are you with him?”
“See? You don’t get it.”
Heat unfurls along my neck, seeping into my ears. “Jeez, sis. I’m not stupid, okay? You’re unhappy with him. Leave him. Find someone you can be happy with. Sometimes the simplest solution is the best.”
“Your stupid cards told you that? That’s not reality.”
“Isn’t it?” I gather up the cards angrily and shuffle them again. “They don’t tell me anything I don’t know, they’re not about unicorns and rainbows. They only spell out my worries and my hopes.”
“It’s just a stupid game, Kay.”
“It’s not stupid. It’s like dreams. They are reflections. Symbols. Our brains are working things out, things our conscious minds haven’t grasped yet.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Then she starts to cry.
Holy crap… Biting my lip, a weight settling on my chest, I scatter the cards and lean back against the couch.
“Allie, listen,” I tell her. “We may not always get along, but anything you need, anything I can do for you, I’ll do it.” I listen to the sniffling sounds at the other end of the line, and wish I had the right words for this. “I’m here for you. You know that, right? Say the word, and I’ll drive over to visit you. Or you come and visit me. We’d go out. You’d meet my friends. They are awesome guys. And girls. And—”
“Ca
n’t.” She clears her throat. “Can’t leave Brad. I’d let Mom and Dad down. I’m their oldest. They depend on me.”
“To do what? Ruin your life?”
“I have to go now,” she says and hangs up.
Leaving me worried and sad and defeated.
Defeat. Were the cards about me, not Ocean? Endings. Resolutions. Change.
Christ.
Allie’s unhappy. No, not unhappy. She’s spiraling. She can’t see that by pleasing our parents she is destroying her soul. I need to see her, talk to her.
But how can I force her to see me if she doesn’t want to? Like Ocean’s brother, Raine, refusing to see him.
And I shouldn’t be thinking about Ocean, who has been ignoring my phone calls and texts since yesterday. Besides, my brother talks to me. It’s only my sister I’m worried about.
Anyway. Resolutions.
I need a plan. I’m going to call my brother, and we’ll decide what to do. Together. And if he doesn’t think I should interfere, then… Then I’ll talk to Allie again and see.
One way or another, I have to try. Not because I know much about happiness and how to get it, but I know unhappiness when I see it.
When in doubt, change. Change is what the cards are telling me to do.
And stop worrying about Ocean. Don’t even answer the phone if he calls. He had his chance, right?
Okay, so the cards aren’t telling me that, but hey, if he wanted to see me again, he’d have texted or called back, right?
So of course right then my cell starts ringing and dancing on the coffee table with a call from Ocean.
Goosebumps. I’m covered in goosebumps, and at the same time my face goes hot and my heart starts racing.
Grabbing my phone, I draw a shaky breath and click connect as I surge to my feet and stumble toward the kitchen.
There goes my resolution. I’m such a lost case when it comes to Ocean Storm, not even my cards can save me.
I guess it’s fate.
***
“Hey.” My voice is all husky. Crap. I swallow hard and try again. “Hello?”
Static filters down the line. I pad over to the sink, then turn back around and prop my hip against it.
Don’t know why I came here. I just needed to move.
“Kay,” his voice finally rings in my ear, distant and crackling, and my knees go weak.
God, what is it with this boy that I can’t remain angry at him?
“Yeah, that’s me. What’s up?” Oh yeah, I’m so cool. Not like I called him a hundred times and sent him, like, fifty texts asking if we could talk. “Everything okay?”
“No,” he says, and it takes a long moment for that word to sink in.
“What? Why?” My heart is pounding, a hammer to my ribs. “Ocean.”
“Can you…?” He’s panting over the connection, and holy shit, what’s going on? “Call Seth, tell him to pick me up. I guess I’m,” he groans and my heart does a jolting thing in my chest, “at about thirty miles from Milwaukee on the interstate.”
“Did your car break down? What—?”
“He’ll see the broken roadside fence. I’ll be waiting.”
Oh God. “Are you hurt? Are you in your car? Should I call an ambulance?”
But he doesn’t seem to be listening to me. “Missed you, Kay,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t answer when you called. I thought I was leaving. But I’m not.”
He’s panting harshly. Shit, I don’t like this. It’s raining outside, and he’s stranded on the highway, possibly hurt. And he’s rambling.
“I’m coming to get you,” I say, pushing off the sink and starting toward the living room. “Did you hear me, Ocean? Stay where you are, I’m on my way.”
“It’s cold,” he whispers, and then the line goes dead.
***
My first thought is to get to him, make sure he’s okay. But he can’t be okay, not if his car went through the fence, and I’m not sure I’d be that much of a help.
Not that I’m sitting this one out. No frigging way. No matter what I feel for Ocean, what happened between us and where that leaves us, I’m heading out there to find him.
But I’ve called for reinforcements. Seth and Manon, Micah and Ev, Shane and Cassie. Turns out Jesse and Amber are out of town, but I leave them a message.
Now let’s just hope my Mini Cooper is up to task. It zooms through the rain-slicked city, and thankfully the rain is beginning to let up by the time I hit the interstate.
Mini Cooper ninja to the rescue.
I laugh hysterically, alone in my tiny car. Then I step on the gas and turn up the music to shut myself up.
This isn’t the time for a nervous breakdown, Kay. Just find him. He’s okay. He’s perfectly okay.
And if he’s not?
Shut up, brain.
I almost miss the site in the dark and the drizzle, but I spot the gap in the roadside fence just in time and park on the shoulder.
Holy crap, he went right through. I gape at the pick-up sized hole in the metal fence and my gut clenches.
And that’s when I remember that, in my panic and rush to get here, I forgot to call 9-1-1. So I do that as I finally get moving, throwing the door open and jumping out, zipping up my jacket.
It’s cold out here, the wind sharp. In the illumination of the headlights, I climb off the asphalt road and slide in the wet mud down the sloping ground. Something big and flat glitters a little further, catching the headlights of a passing car.
Water. A pond. A large holding pond.
My breath catches in my throat as I move toward the flat expanse. Ocean didn’t say anything about a pond, and while my conscious mind knows he’s all right—we spoke not so long ago—the fear I feel can’t be checked. It makes my back cramp and my muscles tighten, my skin feel itchy and too small for my body.
“Ocean!” I reach the edge of the water and look down at its shimmery surface, my flesh crawling. Bile rises in my throat. “Ocean, where are you?”
This has to be the place, right? Crap, could this be the place of an older accident, and he’s someplace else, waiting for me?
Or he’s in his car, under the water, already d—
“Kay.” The voice is low, and raspy, and I spin around so fast I almost fall over. “Here.”
He’s sitting on the ground, his broad shoulders hunched over. His hair is plastered to his head, half-covering his face. He lifts a hand to sweep it back, and even in the dimness I can see how badly it’s shaking.
Jesus.
I scramble down in the mud to touch his face. His skin is icy cold, and he grunts when I cup his cheeks, his stubble rough under my palms.
“Hey, Sweet Muffins.” His mouth twists into a weak grin.
Trust Ocean to remember the stupid nickname he gave me while sitting in the mud and probably in shock. “Where is your Chevy?”
“In the pond.”
“The world tilts. “Oh God, you could have died. I…” I force the hysteria down. “Are you hurt? Is anything broken?”
He shakes his head in my hands, and just like that, a dam breaks, and I have tears running down my face, scalding hot. I throw my arms around him, holding him to me.
“You’re okay,” I whisper over and over. “You got out. You got out okay.”
After a while I realize he’s still shaking in my hold, great shudders wracking his big frame. He must be freezing, I think. He’s drenched in icy water.
“I’m calling an ambulance.” I pull back reluctantly, slide my hands back up to his face. I can’t stop touching him. “Just to make sure nothing’s wrong.”
“No. No ambulance.” His eyes look huge and dark in his white face. His hands come up to find my own face, ice-cold and unsteady. “No hospitals.”
My protest is lost in the brush of his lips over mine, shockingly cold, and soft, and firm, and I kiss him back, a sob catching in my throat.
He draws back. “You all right?”
“You’re asking me?” God, of course he is.
He almost died, and he’s worried about me. He’s the sweetest boy ever, protective and selfless, and I want…
I want to protect him, too, to take care of him. I want to be with him, be the one he smiles for, the one he turns to when he needs help.
And he did, didn’t he? He called me first. What does it mean?
“Kay?”
“I’m fine.” I smile absently.
“Sorry I didn’t return your calls. I was…” He shivers violently. “I thought I was leaving, but I’m not, Kay.”
Leaving. There it is again, talk of going away, and that horrible feeling of sliding off balance on the edge of a sheer cliff.
“Good. I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay.”
With me.
But I don’t say that. I don’t know what he wants.
Am I crazy? I barely know him. We kissed, we made out, and I have feelings for him, feelings I don’t remember ever having for anyone.
“Need to call the cops,” he says. “Forgot to call the cops.”
“I called them. They should be here any minute now.” Slowly, I stand up and reach for his hands. “Come on. Let’s go sit inside my car to wait.”
At first I think he’ll refuse my help, but after a moment’s hesitation, he grips my hand and heaves himself on his feet.
Doesn’t work out so well. He’s tall and heavy, and his hand slips from mine as I stumble backward.
He falls back on his ass with a groan, and I wince.
Great help you are, Kay.
But he reaches for me again, his expression so trusting it twists up my heart, and this time I brace my heels in the mud not to slip as I haul him up.
He called me first. He called me before anyone else.
This has to mean something.
He weaves on his feet, and I stare at him like an idiot before I realize he’s really unsteady, and not only because of the mud. Shock and hypothermia, I think, moving closer and wrapping my other arm around his lean waist.
“Okay?” I ask.
He huffs out in reply, leaning into me. “Guess this is a bit like it, too,” he mumbles, letting go of my hand to enfold me in both his arms.
“Like what?”
“Like dancing.”