by Jo Raven
Her table is mostly empty now. Holy shit, she sold out? Not that I didn’t think she would. Her designs are fun, and I wish I’d grabbed one of the men’s T-Shirts she had on display. They were made of two different cloths, shades of the same color, and had her name on one sleeve.
Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t.
At some point later, Rafe announces that the concert is about to start, and DeathMoth takes the figurative stage. Rafe sets up his drums, three more guys come to stand around him with guitars and a bass, and Dakota fluffs up her wild dark hair and grabs the microphone.
Show time.
I grin to myself as the first song starts with a bang, startling everyone, and Dakota screams the first words into her mic. They’re good, and I’m glad for the music filling up my head, not leaving any space for thoughts. I nod to the next customer and get back to work, letting the music replace the howl that wants to break free from my chest.
By the time the door closes to the public and I finish the last tattoo of the day, everyone is gathering their shit, looking exhausted but pleased. Loads of people showed up, got inked and bought stuff. I see Rafe high-five Zane, and Jesse performs a complicated handshake with Micah that involves a spin and a jump.
The guy I finished inking leaves to pay at the front desk, and I puff out a breath. I’m so ready to call it a day. Evening. Whatever. It’s late, and I’m done.
I tidy up my table and check my inks, getting them ready for tomorrow. It’s dark outside. Dark inside, too.
But something bright flashes at the edge of my vision. There she is. A burst of brightness. She’s walking toward me, swinging a plastic bag in her hand.
I turn away even though I want to go to her and grab my stuff to go.
“Blue,” she says, and I freeze. “Got a minute?”
“Can’t right now,” I lie. “There’s someplace I need to be.”
Her face falls, and I suck a sharp breath. Fuck, I hate making her sad. What harm is there in letting her say her piece? It already hurts.
“Kay,” I begin, “if you—”
“Brought you something,” she says, “but—”
We both stop. Then she grins widely, and fuck, my mouth twitches. I wanna kiss her. So. Fucking. Bad.
“Just a minute,” she says, and I can only nod, reading her lips, as if hypnotized.
She opens the plastic bag and takes out two items from it and places them on my table.
“They’re for you,” she says, her cheeks coloring. “Made them for you. Oh, and these…” She reaches into the pocket of her jacket and takes out a small package. “Painkillers, courtesy of Seth. Take them with water and care. They’re strong.”
I shake my head, at a loss for words. She shakes out the first item on the table—a T-shirt. A blue T-shirt that actually says “BLUE” on it in bold letters. Gray fabric peeks out at the hem and on the sleeves.
“I’ve been making this one for you for a while.” She gives the shirt a fond pat, then her smile falters a little. “But if you don’t like it, I’ll—”
“No! I mean yes. I like it.” I take it from her, a tremor in my hands. “Really like it.”
It’s a present. For me. Made by her. With my name on it. For some reason, this hurts, too. Everything that has to do with this girl hurts—but this is a good pain. It makes me smile, and it makes me wanna weep.
“I also made you these.” She lifts the items in question. They’re fingerless gloves, the same blue as the T-shirt.
I take them. My hands are visibly shaking now, dammit.
“I hope they fit,” she says with a start of that adorable frown on her face. “I tried to measure your hands when you slept the other day, but I wasn’t sure.”
“I don’t care if they don’t fit.” Christ, that came out wrong. “What I mean is…” Yeah, what do I mean?
“They’ll fit,” she whispers and takes a step back, her mouth small and uncertain.
I reach for her, snag her sleeve. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing much.”
But it is. And I want her to know it.
“For Christmas,” I clear my throat because my voice has gone hoarse for some reason, “every year, I made Raine a present. My folks didn’t give a rat’s ass about food and heating, let alone holiday gifts, but Raine was a kid. He wanted to celebrate. He wanted toys. He wanted someone to pay attention to him.” I swallow. Fuck, this isn’t getting any easier. “I didn’t have money to buy him stuff. So I actually made him toys from broken things I found in the trash. Trucks, cars, motorcycles, superheroes.” If anything she looks even more upset now. Shit. “I don’t know I’m telling you this.”
She bites her lip. “And who gave you Christmas presents?”
I snort. “I got no presents.” Who would give them to me? Santa Claus? The fucking Tooth Fairy?
She’s staring down at her hands.
“Your brother must miss you,” she finally says. “He must love you. How could he not? You gave him everything.”
The knot is back in my throat. I clutch her presents in my hands. My first presents, and I’ve botched it by making her sad.
I try to fix it. “Thank you for the gifts, Kay.”
Her lashes lift, and she looks at me, really looks at me, her gaze intense.
“I don’t believe,” she says and puts a hand on my chest, “that you caused a child to die, not on purpose. I don’t believe it was your fault.” She pauses. “When will you tell me that story?”
I shake my head. “Some other day.”
“You’re not a bad person, Ocean. I know it.”
And she walks away, leaving me more confused and hopeful and fucked-up than ever.
Because she wants to know. Insists it’s not my fault. That I’m good.
She’s taking a chance on me. And that makes me wanna take the risk and tell her what happened, and what I’m about to do.
I feel the shift inside me. I will tell her. I need to, even if she walks away without a backward glance.
Clutching my first and last presents from her to my chest, I step out.
***
My phone buzzes as I enter my apartment, carrying the T-shirt and gloves Kayla gave me in my arms. I’m extra-careful as I put them down on the sofa and pull out my phone, wondering if it’s her.
It’s not. It says ‘unknown number’ and I scowl at the screen, debating what to do before I hit connect. “Yeah?”
“Shun.” The connection is bad, but only one person calls me that. “Hey.”
“Raine? That you?” I shove my fingers in my hair and tug. “R.”
“Yeah, I hear you. Bad connection.”
“Where are you? Aunt Martha was looking for you.”
“That old cow didn’t notice I was gone for two days, Shun. That’s when she called me.”
“The fuck.” Anger fills me up, burning in my chest. “Why?”
“She never really cared. Why are you acting all surprised? She’s our old man’s sister.”
Fuck, that’s true. “I thought she took good care of you. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“Come on, Shun.” He huffs. “I was pissed at you. I still am.”
“Because I got your girlfriend killed.”
“Shit, you really don’t know me, do you? Livvy was my best friend, not my girlfriend. I don’t like girls that way, Shun.”
“Ah-huh.”
“Big fucking surprise, huh? How did you miss that? Oh wait, I know. Because you fucking gave me away and left me to rot at fucking Aunt Martha’s place.”
Jesus. “You know I sent you away for your own good.”
“Bullshit. We grew up together. We survived our folks. You can’t tell me—”
“I sent you away because the bad influence was me, all right?” I breathe out, try to steady my voice. “You were right. About everything. It was my fault, everything, and after our old man found out, he went ballistic. He threw me out, not two days after you were gone. I was living on the street for a long time, an
d then I got this job, and I was trying to make ends meet, and…” Why isn’t he saying anything? Fuck. “I wanted you here with me, R. But by the time I could offer you a place to stay, you wouldn’t even talk to me.”
More silence. I check my phone, to make sure the connection wasn’t cut.
“You’re not listening, Shun,” he says quietly just as I bring the phone back to my ear. “I was so damn pissed at you. I couldn’t see straight. You abandoned me, whatever your reasons, with that bitch, Martha. I thought we had each other’s backs. You betrayed me, or so I thought.”
“I wanted what’s best for you.” And damn if my voice doesn’t break down the middle. “I wanted you to have food, and clothes, and go to school. Fuck it.”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “Yeah, okay. At least you wouldn’t have hated me for being gay like our aunt did.”
I blink. “I’m gonna kill her.”
“No, Shun. Leave it be.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You got no problem with it, do you?”
“I suspected it sometimes, but couldn’t be sure. But why should I have a problem with it? As long as you use a condom and don’t sleep around. That shit’s dangerous.”
He laughs, a low, rolling sound I haven’t heard in, fuck, years. My knees buckle, and I sink on the sofa, next to Kayla’s blue sweater and gloves.
“R, you should come see Mom. She’s sick.”
“So you’ve said.”
“She has lupus. They ran tests.”
“I don’t care. And neither should you. Those people, they left us to starve, Shun. To die. They never gave a shit about us, and now you’re trying to save them?” The anger I’m used to hearing in his voice is back. “Fuck them.”
“Raine, come on, I—”
—I can’t. Can’t just forget about them.
But he’s already disconnected, leaving me with the familiar bitter taste of regret in my mouth.
Chapter Nineteen
Kayla
“How’s Allie?” I’m tossing my Tarot cards around, not doing a proper spread for once. For some reason, I’m not in the mood. “She hasn’t moved back with that asshole, has she?”
“No, she hasn’t,” Wyatt says. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Crap. Do you think she’ll go back?”
“It’s possible.” I can practically hear him shrug. “That’s Allie, after all. Pig-headed like all girls.”
“Screw you,” I say without heat, my mind on Allie. “She said Mom would never find it acceptable if she left her fiancé. Do you think that’s true?”
A beat of silence. “Look, Mom’s not a sadistic bitch or anything, okay? I know you two don’t get along, but if Mom knew that guy beat Allie… He really beat her, right?”
“Wyatt, she’s covered in bruises.”
“But are you sure it’s him?”
“You seriously asking me this? She was crying. She was afraid if he came back he’d hurt us both. And he tried.”
“Okay. Then… yeah, I don’t think Mom would be in favor of that.”
“Good to know her daughter’s life is worth more than the neighbors’ speculation.”
“Damn, Kay, why do you hate Mom and Dad so much?” He gives a teenager-y long sigh. “I honestly don’t get it. They’re good people. She’s a good cook. She wasn’t happy with you studying fashion but didn’t lock you up in the basement, either, did she?”
I swallow. “No, Wyatt, they didn’t lock me up in the basement. Because I left home.”
He mutters something I don’t hear as I flip over a card. Temperance. Transformation. Reconciliation. Hope.
Is that for Allie? For me?
For Ocean?
He’s been in my thoughts more than ever, if that’s possible. He filled my mind before, and now it’s as if it’s overflowing with his face, his body, his voice, his past and his present.
“Kay, are you listening to me?” Wyatt barks in the phone.
“Yeah, of course.” I flip another card. It’s become a habit, an unconscious move. Knight of Cups. Romance. Affection.
Huh.
“You weren’t listening. I said, when will you visit? I want you to meet someone.”
“Don’t tell me! The girl from the Iranian family down the street? The one Allie has been talking my ears off about?”
“Has she now?” He sounds amused. “I don’t care what Allie thinks of her. But if you feel the same way…”
“No! I mean, really, no. I don’t feel that way, Wyatt.”
“Good,” he says quietly. “She’s awesome. I want you to meet her.”
“I’d love to.” I bite my fingernail, thinking. “I’m glad you didn’t let our parents influence how you see the world. I was afraid…” I swallow hard. “That you thought like them.”
He’s quiet for a few beats. “Is that why you left? Because they have these ideas?”
“Yeah. I mean, Jesus, Wyatt, they keep commenting on how terrible it is to have a different skin color, or religion. Or culture. Like being different is a disease, and they hate anyone who isn’t just like them, in every way. I hated how they were trying to change me, to force these ideas into me. Plus…” I sigh. “I know this isn’t as serious, but they also disliked any fashion statement of any kind, and fashion, style, means a lot to me. It’s an expression of your personality, you know? Of your beliefs. This stifled me. It killed me. It made me ashamed to be living with them, and fighting them every day of my life on everything was exhausting. That’s why I left. And I’m glad I did, although I miss you.”
He hums. “Our parents aren’t the only people in our lives, and their opinions aren’t the only ones influencing us.” God, now he sounds so grown-up, it’s scary. “You can run as far away as you want, Kay. The main thing is to know what you believe and stick to it, right?” Before I reply, he calls out something, and huffs. “Okay, gotta go, Mom’s been calling me down for dinner for the past ten minutes, and I’ll get the lecture if I don’t hurry.”
There. Now he’s back to sounding like a teenager again. That’s kind of a relief.
“Go,” I tell him magnanimously. “Say hi to your girlfriend from me.”
“Will do,” he replies, “and we have to meet soon!”
Smiling to myself, I disconnect the call and flip one last card.
Seven of Pentacles. Perseverance. Faith. Vision.
Right. I open a cupboard to make myself some hot cocoa. Faith. I haven’t called Ocean, though God knows I want to.
Why not, then?
Putting down my mug, I pull up his number and hit call. It rings once, twice, and then he answers.
“Raine?” he rumbles. “That you?”
“No,” I say. “It’s Kay.”
Man, I wish that brat of a brother he has could see how lucky he is to have Ocean as a brother.
“Kay.” His voice goes quiet. “What’s up?”
“Just checking on you. Have you tried on the T-shirt? Does it fit?”
“I haven’t tried it.”
“Oh.” That makes me frown. “Why not?”
“I didn’t want to dirty it.” He sounds so serious. There’s a vulnerability in his voice that tugs at me.
“You can wash it.”
He says nothing.
“What about the pills? Did you take them?”
“Oh yeah.” He chuckles, and the deep sound makes me tremble. It makes my nipples stiffen and my toes curl. Jeez, this boy.
“And?”
“Loopy. I think…” He laughs again. “I think I’m kinda high.”
I laugh, too. “Are you dizzy?”
“Kinda.”
“Then lie down and rest. Be careful not to fall.”
“Why did you call me?” he asks, his voice just a breath.
“I worry about you, too.”
He doesn’t reply. After a moment, a soft snore reaches my ears, and I snort.
“See you tomorrow,” I whisper, knowing he can’t hear me, and disconnect the call. I wish I was there to brush the hair off h
is face and kiss him goodnight.
But what if he never lets me in all the way?
***
The next day at the convention, as I set up my stall, I look for Ocean but can’t see him anywhere. After a few moments of looking around and not finding him, I abandon Amber with my stuff and walk among the stalls. The door is open, customers and curious passersby already filing in, but he’s not at his table.
Asher Devlin is there, his little son in his arms and his wife, Audrey, by his side. He nods at me, and I coo at the baby.
“Have you guys seen Ocean?” I stroke the baby’s cheek, and he sticks his tongue out at me. “Is he around?”
“Haven’t seen him,” Audrey says, giving me a smile.
I smile back, but I’m pulling out my phone to call him when he walks into the shop, his face set in a stony mask.
My stomach drops.
“Excuse me,” I mutter and start after him. “Blue.”
He turns, and some of the bad humor slips off his face. One side of his mouth curls up. “Kay.”
Aw. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I overslept because of the painkillers. Holy shit, they’re strong. And then I talked to Mom’s doctor and…” His jaw clenches, and his eyes darken. “And it’ll be fine.”
He’s a terrible liar. It’s obvious the news isn’t good.
“Is she worse off than he thought? Or…” An almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Or he wants more money than he said before?”
His chin dips to his chest. “I’ll find the money. Don’t worry about it.”
But how?
A customer joins us and starts asking him about designs and prices, and I step away, leaving him to work.
Soon the shop is full, and my clothes are selling like hotcakes. I’m loving this so hard. When the girls exclaim over my hats, or the guys hold up T-shirts to choose from, or the kids grab the gloves and won’t let go until their parents buy them.
Loving it, I tell you.
And then I look across the room at Ocean’s stand, and all I want is to wrap my arms around him and convince him to kiss me, and trust me, and keep me.
Being in love is exhausting.
Amber was right. I love him. Damn, this wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s frightening, and every instinct I possess tells me to stop and walk away. To laugh it off. To ask the cards for guidance.