by Jo Raven
With one last look at his long legs and broad chest, that bright halo of hair, I hurry away. God, what if he caught me looking?
Mortifying.
My leg twinges and I slow down. There’s a heaviness on the air. The fracture in my leg hurts, my knee above all. Although it’s almost healed, I’m a barometer, able to tell you when rain is coming. Who needs the weather forecast when I’m around?
I cross the avenue carefully. Not that I have a phobia of bikes now, but I sure as hell don’t want to get run over again. So okay, I may be a bit scared of them... with good reason.
As I reach the bus stop, I hear a distant shout behind me, but when I turn I don’t see anyone. Cars race by. Drivers honk and rev their engines. I must have imagined it.
Shrugging to myself, I board the bus and take a seat by the window. What do I want to do with my life? There's one thing I love doing: helping people. But I’m not supposed to care if the homeless people I see around me live or die. If they’re sick or hungry. That’s none of my business.
‘They don’t deserve your time or our parent’s hard-earned money,’ Joel tells me day in and day out. ‘They live in their own world. Lazy bums. Low-lives.’
He sounds so much like Blake it’s unbearable.
If I don’t go to college, if I keep my job at the sports store instead and rent a cheap apartment on the wrong side of the tracks, will I be a low-life in his eyes, too?
And hell, how can I jog—well, at this point, limp—through my neighborhood, in my shiny new jogging shoes and pants, wearing my new watch that does everything apart from making coffee, with my cell phone that can read my emails out loud in case I’m too bored to use my hands, in front of people who don’t have to eat?
So, yeah, I know we’re not millionaires, and I know I shouldn’t waste money on stupid stuff, and I’m aware that my parents worked hard to get where they are now and be able to afford two cars and all the nice things in life, but hey... Using my pocket money to buy food and sometimes medicine for people who need it isn’t big spending. Pocket money indeed... It’s not like I’m taking anything away from anyone.
Thing is, I used to have a purpose in my life before the accident. The hurt wasn’t just physical. I lost people. And it cost me. Joel rolls his eyes when I mention it, and Mom and Dad don’t get it.
I knew my people. Before the bike hit me and broke my leg, I did my rounds at least three times a week. Jogging was my excuse to check on everyone I knew was out there, taking shelter in store entrances and bus stops. I lost two older guys before the accident—Brent who was found dead one cool summer morning, and Jimmy, who was hooked on drugs and choked on his own vomit one night.
Then there was this young guy I ran across a few times. First, he’d been sitting with a few of my regulars outside Kohl’s department store in late summer. Then in the fall I found him curled up in a sleeping bag in a small alley off State Street. I recognized his torn blue jacket and his long ratty hair.
A few days later he was burning up with fever and coughing his lungs out. He could barely breathe. It looked like pneumonia. I called 9-1-1 and stayed to see that the ambulance arrived. His lips were blue, barely visible under his scraggly blond beard. As I held his too-thin hand and brushed stringy hair off his sunken face, I was scared they’d be too late.
I never found out what happened to him. I’d only stepped around the corner to check for the ambulance when the bike ran me over. It was a nasty fall. A compound fracture and a popped knee. I passed out from the pain. When I woke up, I was in hospital, and nobody knew anything about a sick young man.
That was seven months ago.
I’m afraid I lost him, too. That he died in that alley. In the end, I never even got his name, and now he’s most probably dead.
He was my responsibility. I found him and then I let him down. Nobody seems to know what happened to him. He’s gone.
I sigh, closing my eyes.
‘Cut the melodrama, Evie.’
That’s what Blake would have said. In fact, that’s what he always says. ‘That’s too deep, Evie. You’re overthinking this, Evie. Stop playing at being a hero. Leave people to their fate. What is it to you? What do you owe them?’
Screw you, Blake. It’s not about owing. It’s about giving. About righting an injustice. About caring, something you’ll never understand in your life.
***
Next day at work I’m rearranging the running shoes on their supports, after a family of five decided to examine them all and then conveniently forgot where they’d found each one, when I hear my name.
“Hey, Ev!” Cassie bounces in my direction, grinning widely. “Want to grab some coffee after work?”
“Sure.”
I like Cassie. With her doll face, gray eyes and long blond curls caught in a ponytail, she’s so cute I want to pinch her cheeks. She never fails to greet me and ask me how I am. Customers love her, and especially the kids. She’s a whirlwind of energy and joy.
“I know just the place,” she gushes, eyes bright. “They make the best coffee in town. You’ll see. And the cupcakes!”
Sounds good. But I don’t say yes immediately. I don’t want to go to another cafe. I realize with a jolt that I want to see that guy again, see if he’s there across the street today, too.
Crazy. “I don’t know...”
“Oh, we can go wherever you like,” Cassie says and waves a hand back and forth. “I don’t mind. Honest.”
I smile at her. I really want us to hang out together. I’ve never had any real friends—the bitches at my high school sucked at pretending they liked me—and the need to start over fills me to bursting.
“There’s this donut place,” I start and see her face split into another grin. “Close by. We can grab something and sit outside to eat it. They have benches and tables. I mean, it’s cold, but at least it’s dry today.”
“Sounds good to me,” she quips. She moves closer, helping me rearrange the shoes, and looks down at my leg when I limp to the next row. “I’ve been meaning to ask you... Did you sprain your ankle? Want me to have a look at it?”
“No, it’s fine.” I straighten a blue-and-silver running shoe. “It’s really fine.”
“You limp,” she points out, sounding concerned. “It’s been what, two weeks now since you started working here? If it’s a bad sprain, you should have it x-rayed to see if—”
“It’s not my ankle.” I wipe my hands down my jogging pants. “I broke my leg seven months ago. It’s almost healed now.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay. It was an accident.” I remember the pain vividly. I remember the bike plowing into me, the moment of confusion and searing agony. Then I’d lost track of time, probably blacked out, until the flashing lights of the ambulance seared my eyes.
It’s not okay. It changed my life. Made me scared to go out of the house for months. Caused me to lose track of the people I was trying to help. And not to forget... ‘Who will want a cripple like you now?’
Jesus.
“Hey...” Cassie’s gray eyes are a bit wide, her mouth downturned. “I touched a sore topic, didn’t I? Put my foot in my mouth again? I do this a lot, poking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I’m sor—”
“Don’t be.” I reach out and squeeze her arm, giving her a quick smile. “Accidents happen. Life happens. Who knows? Maybe it was for the best.”
She doesn’t look reassured, and I think about my words as I get back to work. Truth is, I can’t see what’s good about breaking my leg and not moving out of the state, or about fighting with my parents. Well, apart from not having to be around Blake anymore.
But what is done is done.
***
Cassie isn’t as chatty as usual as we brace against the cold and walk to the donut shop. I think she feels she overstepped some boundary, so I try to distract her. I tell her about my family—the good parts, the parts where we went on vacation together to Califo
rnia when we were little and actually had fun, and about my brother Joel’s antics—and she starts to relax as we stand in line.
Unfortunately, now I’m the one tensing up. The memories bring a sting of pain to my chest. I used to like Joel back then. He was a menace, but he wasn’t trying to mold me into something I was not.
Those days are long past.
By the time we get our coffee and donuts, Cassie looks happier and is telling me about her dream to work with damaged pets. She wants to make a difference, and it reminds me again of my own puny attempts to right the world and of the people I lost. Those I wasn’t able to save.
“You okay?” Cassie frowns at me. She has powdered sugar on her top lip.
I smile and nod. “Yeah.”
“Love these donuts.” And as if to prove it, she stuffs her mouth with the rest, making me giggle. She jabs a finger at me. “You’re not eating.”
I hurry to rectify that mistake. After all, it buys me time to think—about the fight, the things my family keep pounding into me, my feeble attempts to help others.
Was it worth it? Does anything I do make a difference? I’ve never managed to save anyone. What if Dad is right? What if even Blake is right? I’m not Superman. Maybe buying a few homeless people lunch or giving them a blanket makes no difference in the end. Maybe it’s all for nothing.
“Hey.” Cassie nudges me with her elbow. “That guy’s staring at you. Do you know him?”
I look up, startled, half-eaten donut in my hand. Sure enough, he’s at his usual spot, his pale hair catching the light, and he seems to be staring our way.
“He’s not looking at me,” I say with conviction.
“Yes, he is. He’s been like that for a while.”
I swallow hard. “Maybe he’s looking at you.” Cassie is so pretty it’s no wonder. I bet even from a distance she has the guys falling like flies.
But this makes no sense. The guy was looking this way yesterday, too.
He’s still staring, his hands fisted at his sides. His whole being seems focused on us, and it makes me shiver. Then he spins on his heel and enters the tattoo shop, the door banging behind him. What the hell?
My mouth hangs slack. I turn to Cassie, and I find an amused expression on her face. “This has happened before, hasn’t it?” she mutters.
“What?”
“This guy. You were not surprised to see him.”
I stuff my face with the rest of my donut and chew as slowly as possible. I don’t know what to think. He may be crazy. He may be dangerous. Maybe I should stop coming here.
He may look an angel, but, as my experience with Blake has shown me, inside he may be rotten as hell.
CHAPTER THREE
MICAH
Dammit. I spent the whole night and morning psyching myself to go talk to her, to find out if it’s her, Ev, and she showed up with this blond chick. What do I do now?
I march back inside Damage Control and find Seth sweeping the floor, dark head bent over the chore. He has some Native American blood in him, just like his cousin, Shane, who’s also an apprentice here. His tattoos climb his neck, the most impressive one a snake—the design Zane inked on all of us strays, the ones he and Rafe took in. The Damage Boyz, as they call us.
Seth, Shane and Jesse don’t pay for their apprenticeship—of course not, none of us have any money to our names—but they clean the shop while learning the craft.
I step around Seth and into my booth. I sit on my stool and swivel around.
“Hey, Micah.” It’s Ocean, the other tattoo artist. I often wonder if he dyes his hair blue to match his name. “Going out for beers tonight at a new place nearby, Halo. Hear of it?”
I close my eyes and rub by face. “Nope. Look, I got work to do.” Bullshit, I’m still on a break, but so what.
“Well, Shane and Jesse will be there,” says Ocean, who can’t take a fucking hint. “Seth says he’ll swing by, too. Wanna come?”
I shove my fingers into my short hair and sigh. “Maybe another time.”
“Come on, buddy.” Ocean grins widely. Yeah, nothing can get the sunny boy of Damage Control down. “You never meet with us.”
“I’m not sociable, okay?”
“Come on. We’ll play pool and hang out, and then we could—”
“Hey. Ocean.” I lift a hand, my patience fraying. “Not tonight, all right?”
“Sure, man.” He turns away, so I’m not sure I hear his next words correctly, but it sounds like, “Just don’t shut out your family.”
Shit. I lean against the counter after he’s gone. Didn’t realize I was shutting anyone out. Maybe I should meet the guys tonight. Maybe...
Ev.
Who cares who she’s with? I need to see if it’s her.
I shoot out of my seat, and I’m out of Damage Control in two strides. My open jacket flaps as I cross the street, making a beeline for the donut shop.
Only the two girls aren’t sitting at the bench anymore. I peek inside the shop, then down the street. The hell? I wasn’t gone for so long, was I? Will I miss my chance once again? It was only yesterday I ran after her, calling for her, but she never turned around.
I catch glimpse of a slender girl rounding the corner, maybe fifteen yards away. I hesitate, but the slight limp gives her away, and I run after her. My combat boots thump rhythmically on the sidewalk, faster and faster, as I weave between passersby and pound down the avenue.
Where is she?
Slowing down, I look around but can’t see her. “Fuck!” I turn in a circle, tugging on my short hair.
I set off again, pushing through a throng at a burger stand and then a bus stop. What the hell? She was right ahead of me. With her limp, she can’t go fast. I pace up and down, cursing, and have to stifle a cough. My lungs feel tight.
Useless. She’s vanished into thin air. Could be a sign I should let this go. It probably isn’t her, and even if it is, no reason to butt into her life.
Fuck this. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I turn around to go and brace against the cold wind.
Then I see her. She’s not even ten feet away. Dressed in jogging tights and a long hoodie, she’s hurrying away from me. For one fleeting second, she glances over her shoulder, right at me, and I see stark fear in her eyes.
Fuck. She’s afraid of me. Of course she is. I’m acting like a goddamn stalker, watching her, going after her. I lift my hands and shake my head, taking a step back, then another, bumping into people.
But she’s not looking at me anymore. She darts forward, her ponytail flying. My eyes narrow when I see her stumble.
Damn. Without a second thought, I sprint after her, closing the small distance in a heartbeat. She’s going down, her knee buckling. Making a grab for her arm, I manage to snag her sleeve and hold her up. Time stops, stretches like toffee, and my whole world shrinks around my hand that’s keeping her from falling and her whiskey-colored eyes, huge in her pale face.
Fixed on me.
I stare back. Is it her? Is she Ev? Suddenly, I’m unsure. My memory is hazy. The eyes... That’s all I really remember, but can I trust a mind that was burning with fever?
Finally, I gather my wits and haul her upright. Her hand flexes, and she grips my arm in a surprisingly strong hold. Her other hand closes around a fistful of my shirt that peeks through my open jacket, and she winces as she straightens.
She won’t look at me now. I need to see her eyes again. With a fingertip I lift her chin, and swallow hard. I open my mouth to speak her name, but she beats me to it.
“Who are you?” she whispers.
I’m speechless. She’s so pretty—her mouth wide and soft, her cheeks flushed, her eyes so bright they burn into me. I slide my other hand around her, to the small of her back, feeling the sweet curve of her hips and her slim waist. She smells of flowers.
I bow my head. Only an inch separates our lips. “Micah,” I whisper. “I’m Micah Owens.” Are you Ev?
But before I say it, my wild run catches up wit
h me, and I start to cough.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
She pulls away as I double over, hacking. At the hospital, the doctor said this might happen—the shortness of breath and coughing. I’ve been out of the woods for a good six months now, but the cough persists.
I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and find her hand on my other arm. Her expression has turned into one of concern.
“Are you all right?”
I nod as I straighten, panting. “Just a cold.”
She frowns but seems to accept my explanation. Her hand releases my arm and rises to my face. I freeze, completely out of my depth—and she touches my cheek, lightly, the sensation barely there. It makes me shudder with longing.
“Micah,” she whispers my name.
She bites her lip, and it’s so distracting I lift my hand and caress her mouth. It’s like the essence of a cloud, unbearably soft. I’m suddenly struck with a breathtaking need to touch my mouth to hers and see if she tastes as good as she smells.
I bend my head, so very close to her, and draw in her smell like oxygen. Roses? Jasmine? I’m not sure, but it’s intoxicating. Warm skin and freshness and one hundred percent beautiful girl.
She pulls back, her gaze uncertain. “Why were you watching me?” she asks.
It jolts me out of my trance.
Fuck. “You remind me of someone,” I rasp.
She studies my face for a long moment, and I wonder if she sees the truth. Then she sighs. “I have to go. I’m late.”
I want to slap myself upside the head. “Wait...”
She steps back before I get a chance to try and save the situation. “Bye, Micah,” she says softly as she turns and hurries toward the bus stop.
“Will you be back tomorrow?” I call after her. “At the donut shop?”
She doesn’t answer as the bus arrives with a squeal of tires, and she climbs in, vanishing into its darkness.