by Jo Raven
“What do you mean?” Tyler’s brows draw together. “What’s going on with you? Come on, spill. Don’t make me drag Zane out.”
“Look, I gotta go. I’m all right, honest.” I sidestep him and wish for a smoke. Maybe I’ll buy a pack on the way. “See you tomorrow, Ty.”
He grumbles as I walk away, hair in his eyes, hiding his expression. I bet he’s stressed out about the event, too, and doesn’t need any shit from me. Just as well.
The need to see Kayla is eating me up alive. This is sick. I’m the one who drove her away, and now all I can think about is her.
Serves me right, I guess. A fitting punishment for my past. For being so worthless.
Maybe Zane didn’t tell me about the tattoos because he doesn’t think I should be in the brotherhood, either. Maybe he forgot to let Tyler know.
All my life I’ve expected this, waited for the other shoe to drop. For the rejection. Like with my father, and my mother, and my brother. Waited for the moment they realize I’m no good, and they throw me out like trash, telling me never to come back.
And maybe sometimes I force the issue, push their buttons and poke where it hurts, to see if they’ll do it. Rejection is like an old shirt on my shoulders. Familiar. Safe. It’s the way the world spins.
So yeah, Kayla’s silence is safe. She’d kept me off balance with her kindness, her forgiveness. Guess the world is now back on rote. I should take it for what it is and move on. Let her go.
I try.
As I wait for the bus, leaning against the bus stop, hands deep inside my pockets, I think about her. As I ride home, and then walk the few blocks to my building, she’s smiling and talking inside my head. And while I ride up in the elevator and unlock my door, she’s lying naked underneath me, moaning my name.
Then, as I wander inside my empty apartment, she’s putting her arms around me and telling me everything’s gonna be okay.
Fuck. I still can’t stop thinking about her.
Desperate measures. I break out the bottle of Jack from the bottom cabinet in the kitchen, and suck it straight. Like mother’s milk. It goes right to my head, since I’ve barely eaten anything all day, and I return to the sofa to continue with the self-medication.
Never cared if I was alone before. Managed not to think about it. Decided not to care. I need to find that I’m-all-outta-fucks place in my mind again.
I lift the bottle and salute the motherfucking world. “You suck,” I tell it. “Fuck you.”
Not good enough.
Did the cards tell her this would happen?
Why am I hung up on a girl who lets cards and omens dictate her life? How’s that different from my old man’s addiction to gambling?
Jesus fuck. I kick at the coffee table, send it crashing to the floor. I’m over this, dammit. Over her. Maybe the booze wasn’t such a good idea after all, making me feel sorry for myself. That’s bullshit.
I guess… I guess I’ve been deluding myself, thinking I expected this. That this is like everything else in my life. Deep inside I was hoping Kayla would be different, that she’d hold on to me. Insist to find out more. Insist I was innocent. That she’d fight for me.
Guess I was wrong.
Chapter Fifteen
Kayla
“Are you telling me that was the end of your conversation?” Amber asks, an accusing look on her pretty face. She pops a popcorn into her mouth and turns her back to the Sons of Anarchy rerun we’ve been sort of watching. “He basically implied he knows you’ll kick him to the curb when you find out who he really is, whatever that means,” she waves a hand back and forth, “and you drove him home?”
“Better than kicking him to the curb, isn’t it?”
I haven’t told Amber what he said about getting a kid killed. I’m not sure I should, not without knowing more about it.
“Kay.” She scowls at me, the look spoiled by a piece of popcorn sticking to the corner of her mouth. “Kayla Cynthia Everett.”
“Who’s Cynthia? That’s not my middle name.”
“I had to make one up on the fly, okay? What is your middle name anyway? And the main question is, why didn’t you stop him? Why didn’t you pin him to your bed and command him to tell you what he meant?”
“I tried. I told him I doubt it’s anything so bad. I asked him to tell me what it’s all about. He wouldn’t. He does that. Clams up so completely it’s like talking to a wall.” I hug my favorite cushion—one I made with blue satin and silver beads—and curl up on the sofa. “I hate it.”
And I hate myself. I don’t think I tried hard enough. I was in a bit of a shock. It sounded so bad, and it made me wonder how well I know him. How well we know anyone, ever.
“It sounds awful,” Amber says in sympathy, because she’s a sweet girl. I mean, she hasn’t told me she thinks I’m an idiot yet, although I bet she’s thinking it.
“It is awful. Every time I decide I won’t go looking for him, call him or visit, the more I want to see him, and hold him, kiss him. Get down and dirty with him. Comfort him. Jeez, what does that make me, Amber?”
“Confused?”
“For sure.”
“And in love?”
“Come on, be serious.” Heat rises to my face.
“I am.” Amber turns down the volume on the TV. It’s girls’ night, a rule we don’t strictly follow since Amber and Jesse Lee became an item, but it’s nice when she can make it. “Listen, Kay. You’re an intuitive person. You’ve said it yourself so many times. The cards, the tea leaves, the palm reading, that’s not magic. It’s intuition.”
“So what does that have to do with him?”
“A whole lot. Your sixth sense is telling you he’s not a bad buy. Hell, the whole brotherhood thinks he isn’t a bad guy. They’d be in for a shock if he was. Zane would lose his shit. He’s intuitive, too, you know. He’s collected amazing people around him. He hasn’t made one single mistake so far.”
“Yeah.” I glance at the muted TV set. “What if Ocean is his mistake? The exception that confirms the rule? What if he’s a serial killer or something?”
“Now you’re talking crazy.” She pops another popcorn into her mouth and chews. “Is he coming to the tattoo event?”
“I forgot all about it. Does he have a choice?”
“It’s a big thing, good promotion for the shop, good money to be made. Why wouldn’t he want to come?”
I think of his mom, who is sick. I wish I knew what’s wrong with her. How serious it is. I’m guessing it’s bad. I wish I could help.
But he won’t frigging talk to me! Crap. Come to think of it, he didn’t even tell me why he thought he was leaving, and why he decided to stay after all. Why he was so happy telling me about it.
“I just wish he’d talk to me,” I whisper.
“Maybe he’s going through a phase. I mean, he’s down on his luck lately. I heard about the accident. Sorry we couldn’t be there. These past weeks have been sort of crazy, but we found a place.” She claps a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide. “Oh my God, I didn’t tell you, did I? Forget about the studio, we found a one-bedroom apartment that’s perfect. You’ll love it.”
I squeal for her, although I’m bummed she’s moving out. Everyone keeps moving out. Ev, now Amber. “That’s awesome! Where is it?”
“Not far from the campus. And if Jason needs to crash somewhere, he can do it at our place. We’ll have space. It was sweet of Ocean to give him shelter at a time when he’s not doing so well himself. See, he’s a nice guy. Which is why you don’t believe he’s hiding something so terrible.”
Except for what he told me, about getting a child killed.
“Why do you think he’s not doing well? I mean, apart from what I told you, and the accident. Did Jesse say something?”
Amber rolls her eyes. “And then you claim you’re not in love with Ocean.”
“I’m not, okay? What’s so strange about asking what you mean when you’re being all vague and mysterious?”
Hon
estly.
She relents, although it’s obvious she doesn’t believe me. “It’s just the change in Ocean, you know? He won’t play pool anymore, or chase after chicks, or talk much. He drinks and broods. It’s not like him.”
I nod, a tightness in my throat. “He has his reasons.”
“So he told you more than you’ll admit.”
I shrug and bite at a fingernail.
“He trusted you. He cares for you.” Amber leans over, pulls my hand down. “Why won’t you accept you’re feeling something for that boy? I fought what I felt for JJ, and it only delayed the inevitable.”
“Jesse Lee loves you, Amber. As well he should, because you’re an awesome chick. But Ocean doesn’t love me.”
“So you admit it, then.” She grins at me, and I frown, thinking back on what I said. “You love Ocean.” And she starts throwing popcorn over us like confetti, singing “Kay loves Ocean! Kay loves Ocean!”
“Shut up, you crazy woman.”
I don’t love him. I won’t. Love brings pain. Love hurts.
Love ends.
And I can’t bear the thought of anything ending when it comes to Ocean.
***
I finish up the long-sleeved T-shirt I started making for him weeks ago. And the fingerless gloves. I pack them up and sit on my hands, thinking.
He hasn’t called. I haven’t either. It’s been days since the accident. Through the grapevine, I heard he’s been going to work and that he seems battered but otherwise okay.
I know better. But I can’t force him to talk to me, or be with me if he doesn’t want to. Even if curiosity is eating me up from the inside, and worry has my stomach in knots.
He has shown me the tip of the iceberg and left me to imagine all sorts of terrible scenarios about his past and his mom and his brother and this Livvy chick who stars in his nightmares and who’s so important to him he inked his forearm in her honor.
A puzzle? Scratch that. Ocean Storm is a mystery, an enigma. Why did he carry dead lilies in his car? Why does he draw parts of people and objects? What did he mean when he said he caused a child to die? How?
Was it when he lived on the street? How did he end up at Damage Control?
God, I still can’t believe his dad threw him out when he was younger. It makes my heart hurt for him. Guess I’m used to bitching about my parents for being too conservative and never stopped to think how other people’s parents can be.
Which reminds me.
I call my sister and tap my fingers impatiently on the kitchen counter waiting for her to pick up. My Tarot cards are there, and I spread them as the phone rings and rings.
It’s a tradition by now, to do some spreads while talking to Allie.
She doesn’t pick up, though, and I put the phone down to finish my spread. I was trying to think of Allie as I did it, but my thoughts kept drifting to Ocean.
Shocker, I know—but Amber is right. I can’t believe he’s a bad person.
I don’t know what to think. Or do.
Seven of Cups. Huh. I expected something terrible to appear, I realize. Something with swords, probably. But Seven of Cups… that’s confusion and wishful thinking. And choices.
Are we talking about Ocean? Or myself?
I glance at my cell. I should try Allie again, but I want to finish this spread first. I remember the loathing in Ocean’s gaze when he saw the cards. A gambler for a father. A gambler who spends all the family money.
And his mom is sick. Plus now he lost his car. His life really is a mess.
Still, I flinch when I turn the next card over: Five of Pentacles. That means financial loss. Hardship. Poverty.
It makes sense, doesn’t it? Intuition, like Amber said. Like I said so many times. Or maybe in this case it’s just logic. Accidents, sickness. These things cost.
I wonder how much Ocean is making at the tattoo shop. Can’t be very much. Zane Madden and Rafe Vestri, the owners, may have expanded it, but the shop is vulnerable at this point. My dad often talked about his small business when I was younger and around to listen.
Smoothing a fingertip over the card, I imagine I’m touching Ocean’s face, his smooth skin right over the stubble of his jaw.
I can’t help with that. Money is tight. But if it helped, I could… I could sell my car. Or something. I totally would.
For a man I’m not in love with. Not at all.
Right.
Then I turn the final card and stare.
The Lovers.
Holding hands, gazing at each other.
I don’t need to think about the meaning of this card. It’s obvious. Relationships. Decisions. Growth.
Sexual attraction. Love.
Sweeping the cards to the floor, I grab my cell and call my sis again. This is stupid. I’m scaring myself with this stuff. Why does it matter if I found The Lovers’ card in my spread?
I know better than this. Better than to choose to believe certain signs and not those I don’t like.
Or those I don’t believe.
But this is it, exactly. I don’t believe in foretelling the future. Or in luck. I only want to find signs that it’s okay to feel the way I feel.
About him.
And what way is that, Kay, huh? I ask myself as the call connects and my sister answers.
“Hello. Kay, this isn’t a good time.”
“Why?” Hey, it’s my sis, I can’t be indiscreet and obnoxious with her.
“Not in the mood, Kay.”
“And why is that?”
“Christ. I just had a fight with Brad. Happy?”
“No, I’m not frigging happy.” I mean, not really. Maybe a little? “He’s a douche. You shouldn’t be with him.”
“Oh, shut up, not again.” She sighs. “Look, I gotta go.”
“Wait.” I clutch the cell more tightly. “You were crying again.”
“No shit. We fought, Kay. What do you think?”
“Is he worth it, sis? All the heartbreak?”
“What kind of question is that? He’s my fiancé.”
“But does he also make you smile and laugh and swoon? Is he amazing in bed? Is he the best kisser? Does he… does he carry you home in his arms if you get drunk and does he touch your mouth if you burn yourself with your coffee in the morning?”
The silence that follows is so loud it’s deafening.
What the hell did I just ask? What am I really trying to figure out?
“Kay…” She swallows audibly. “This isn’t one of those romance books you’re reading. This isn’t love. Told you before. This is real life.”
This isn’t love.
“You don’t love Brad.”
“Love has nothing to do with a relationship, little sis.”
“Then what does?”
“Mutual understanding. Respect. Mutual goals.”
“And do you and Brad have any of that?”
“I’ve got to go. I think he’s back.”
A bad feeling grips me. “Allie, I want to come visit you. This week. Please say yes.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Kay, I have—”
“I’m coming over. Friday. Even just for coffee. Love you.”
As she hangs up, her words whirl through my mind like spinning tops.
This isn’t love.
Brad doesn’t do for her what Ocean does for me. Things you do when you care for someone. Like he cares for me, and I’m…
Oh no.
No frigging way. I’m not in frigging love. Not for a guy who won’t talk to me, won’t open up and who insists he’s bad to the bone. I mean, who am I to argue with that? What if he’s right?
And even if deep inside he’s a good guy and cares for me… I already know how this ends. He’ll break up with me like he did with every other chick he’s been with, and I’ll sink in heartbreak and despair, like my sister, and my parents, and everyone I watched doing this dance as I grew up.
***
When I drive over to Damage Control the ne
xt day, it’s not even midday, and I don’t expect anyone to be around. Anyone but Amber and Ev, that is, with whom I want to talk about setting up our stand for the tattoo convention.
But the place is crawling with people, preparing for said convention, since it’s taking place tomorrow.
Duh, Kay. Logical.
Still I don’t expect to see Ocean there—don’t know why, really. Just wasn’t counting on it. Wasn’t prepared.
I’m still not prepared when I enter and find him right in front of me. He’s carrying a complicated-looking gadget while Micah and Shane move a bench to another part of the shop.
He’s a spot of color in the chaos of the shop, his blue hair mussed, his muscular arms bare in the sweat-drenched green tank top he’s wearing. His jeans hung low on those narrow hips and tight little ass, and oh boy, is it getting hot in here?
His gorgeous face is haggard and tired when he turns around. Then it goes white when he sees me, and two red spots bloom on his cheekbones. A flash of something hot and bright goes off behind his eyes, something like joy.
“Kay.”
I shiver. I’ll always shiver when he says my name in that deep, raspy voice.
“Hey. Wow, this place sure looks different. All ready for the big event?”
Because, oh God, I’m not ready. I’m not prepared to talk to him.
“Getting there.” He wipes his face on the back of his forearm, flashing me the small tattoo of the angel. He looks straight at me, meeting my gaze, deep blue sucking me in, studded with stars like space.
Or maybe I’m hyperventilating.
I mean, it’s Ocean. Can’t help the way my body takes notice when he’s around and the way butterflies somersault in my stomach.
“Will you be here tomorrow?” he asks. “Amber said something about you two having a stall?”
“Yes?” I realize with a jolt I’m staring at his beautiful mouth and wrench my gaze away, to a spot beyond him, where two guys are wrestling a huge table into a corner. “I mean, yes, we are.”
He’s looking at me. I can feel the weight of his gaze on my face.
“I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then,” he mutters quietly, and of course I have to see his expression.