Dark Child

by Jo Raven

  Oh shit.

  “You still have your job,” I say. “And I’ll head back tomorrow, make sure you don’t lose it.”

  I don’t mention the fact that I need to find a job to live on myself. She doesn’t need to know.

  I can do this.

  “That won’t be enough.” She puts her hands down, shoots me a bleak look. “What I make is barely enough to cover the rent of my apartment, and I have a loan that I need to pay back. I’m screwed.”

  Words don’t come. What could I say? Leave him to fend for himself? You’re not sure he wants to be with you anyway, so skip town?

  “What about his family?” I finally ask.

  “His parents… they’re estranged, as far as I know. They disowned him.”

  Awesome.

  If our parents could help… But Dad is in his artists’ colony in Nashville, penniless and happy to be in his own world, and Mom… Mom has a new rich boyfriend. The only times I talked to her, she complained about him, about Dad, about me and Soph and everything in the world from the asshole who keeps parking his car outside her new house to the lady who does her nails.

  But the point is… Mom can help. She has access to money now. Soph is her daughter, Griffin is the man Soph loves.

  That has to count for something, right?

  Time passes sluggishly, minutes dragging like hours. Nurses and doctors bustle back and forth, but it seems there’s no update yet on Griffin’s results. A doctor stops when she starts after him but then explains he isn’t the right person to talk to—and besides, is Sophie family?

  It’s like a vicious blow, even if he doesn’t realize it. I can see it on her face. She is his family. Nobody else has come to be with him, nobody else seems to have shed tears and spent sleepless nights in a hard hospital chair for him.

  Doesn’t it make Sophie his family?

  “I’m going back inside to sit with him,” she says, face pale, eyes reddened, grabbing her purse from her seat. “I’ve had enough of waiting for someone to talk to me.”

  “You’re family.” Merc’s words echo again in my ears.

  How strange that family isn’t a synonym of a bloodline but a connection you form and build with someone you like, someone you care about.

  Someone you decide to entrust your heart with.

  Still trying to wrap my head around this thought, I grab my backpack and follow her down echoing hallways. We hurry past half-open doors from which murmuring voices waft together with the stomach-turning hospital smells I’m getting familiar with—antiseptic, chlorine, and a deeper layer of sickness and pain.

  I’m so glad we’ve all been relatively healthy in my family. Can’t imagine the soul-crushing toll it would take to see a loved-one hurt and losing hope in a battle against death. Losing my parents, strange birds as they are, or worse, Sophie, or Merc…

  There it is again. That feeling that grips my chest, my thoughts, a feeling that I need him, that I’d be shattered if I lost him.

  “You’re family…”

  A doctor walks by before we reach Griffin’s room, and my sister stops him to ask. And Bingo. This one seems to be the right person to talk to.

  Griffin is feeling better, he tells us as he leads us down the corridor. His reaction to the drugs is uncommon, but sometimes that can happen.

  There’s some good news, too. The tumors have shrunk a lot, and that means he may have the surgery to remove them soon.

  The odds are good, the doc says carefully.

  I can’t bear to look at my sister’s face with the words still hovering in the air.

  Griffin is in a room with several other beds. I bet he’s the guy in the farthest bed, the youngest in the room, and the handsomest, and if I had any doubts as to which one is him, they’re dispelled when my sister makes a beeline for him.

  Yep, that’s the one. My sis has good taste, I think as I wander more slowly after her, giving them a minute. Guy’s dark, tall and handsome—at least from what I see of him under the covers. His arms, lying over the blue hospital blanket, are covered in tattoos, there’s a bandage around his neck, and despite the dark scruff, he looks boyishly innocent as he lies there asleep.

  Oh, Soph… Yeah, he’s handsome, and she’s so in love with him. Does he feel the same way? Does he feel anything at all for her? Did he, before? Will he fall back with her once more? Will he treat her right?

  Says the girl who hasn’t had a guy treat her right ever, well, not until Merc…

  Griffin seems to wake up as my sister sits on the bed. His hands clench on top of the covers, but he doesn’t touch her, and she doesn’t take his hand or anything.

  It seems oddly formal. Distant.

  But what do I know? All these months I thought they had grown closer again, but from what Sophie told me today, and from what I see, I’m not so sure anymore.

  My sister talks to him quietly. He says nothing in return.

  I hang back to give them some privacy, leaning against the window sill. Outside, the day is gray and dark. Cars roll down the street below, the stick figures of pedestrians seem to float down a lazy stream, carried beyond salvation.

  And… the prize for the most morbid imagination goes to yours truly.

  My thoughts are too loud in the quiet. I want to shut the world out for a few moments—and didn’t someone tell me that recently? A certain blond and hot someone, standing in his kitchen, grinning down at me.

  Stop thinking about Merc.

  I can spend a day without him, right? Without thinking about him and pining for him.

  Sighing, I pull out my phone, push the earbuds into my ears and hit play on my Spotify app. Closing my eyes, I shove the phone into my purse.

  Then I gasp and flail as screaming voices and thunder assault me. “Holy shit!” I jerk the buds out of my ears. “What was that?”

  Disapproving faces turn toward me. Someone from a bed to my left shushes me.

  Whoa. I press a hand to my heart and slump back. I’d expected my travel music mix, and instead got… “Noisy Heaven” by Beach Slang?

  What? That’s not my playlist. That’s Merc’s music.

  Lifting my phone from my purse, I stare at the screen and can’t believe my eyes. That… idiot. He wouldn’t… He didn’t!

  He did.

  He made me a playlist called Merc Rocks.

  Laughter bursts out of me before I can stop it, and I clap a hand over my mouth. Oh my frigging God, he did.

  Bastard. That funny, sexy bastard. I want to hear his voice, tell him about my day, about my sister and Griffin and ask how he’s been.

  I’m dialing his number before I can double guess myself again.

  We only have one life, right?

  His phone rings and rings, and uncertainty digs its claws in. No reason why. We only talked yesterday, everything was fine. I wonder when I will ever get out of that rut where I think every guy I like will suddenly turn cold and dump me without an explanation—or with an explanation that will break me open and stomp on me until I’m reduced to dust.

  When I’ll find that elusive sense of trust that’s so easy to shatter and so hard to rebuild.

  He picks up on the sixth ring. “Hello?” He sounds out of breath.

  “It’s me. Cosima. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Hey,” he says, voice warming. “No, I was chasing after my nephews. What’s up, pretty girl?”

  Oh God, he’s babysitting? Just imagining him with kids hurts my ovaries, in a good way.

  “I’m okay,” I hedge. It’s so good to hear his voice. It’s like a hug, and I feel like I could use a hug right now. “Just thought to give you a call.”

  “Right.” He’s silent for a beat. Then, “What’s wrong?”

  It’s scary how he can read me over the phone, just from a few neutral words I’ve spoken. How I can’t hide from him even as I tell myself it’s what I should do.

  “I’m in Memphis,” I whisper.

  A few more beats. He lets out a long breath. “CatG
irl, is your sister okay?”

  CatGirl. That’s a new one, and it almost makes me smile.

  I swallow hard, turn away, toward the window. I touch the cold glass. “Not really. But her guy seems better. He was admitted to the hospital, but they may let him out tomorrow.”

  “Shit,” he says softly, and the feeling behind that little swearword makes me smile.

  Not because it’s funny. But because he’s upset on my sister’s behalf.

  Suddenly his voice isn’t enough. I wish he were here so I could throw my arms around him, so he could grip me hard and hold me close.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow.” I trace patterns with my finger on the fog my breath leaves on the window.

  “Okay. What about the kitty? Want me to feed her?”

  Aw. My heart turns over, I swear. “The neighbor said she’ll do that, but thanks.”

  “Great. Look, Cos… CosieCat. You sound tired. And sad. You sure you don’t want me to come over and then drive you back home? It’s no trouble.”

  He’d drive for hours to come here just to drive me back to St. Louis?

  It’s that sweetness in him that slays me. The kindness and the heat and everything that makes Merc who he is. Women talk of bad boys and how sexy and awesome they are. I’ve had enough of bad boys. There’s something to be said about a genuinely good guy.

  Good to me. Never petty, never indifferent, never violent. I want his concern, his touch, nobody else’s.

  I fight it. “I’ll be fine.”

  He says goodbye, and vaguely aware of it, of the line going silent as I stay clutching my phone and trying to stop myself from calling back and asking him to please drive over tonight and hold me.

  Because now I’m starting to believe he’d do it.

  Oh man… I’m starting to feel way too much for this sexy, good boy who’s obsessed with music, sexing me against walls—and who’s named after a God of the dead.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Merc

  Sunday lunch with the family doesn’t feel the same as always. Something’s missing, and I can’t put my finger on it. The air feels too thick, a sense of drowning, as if there isn’t enough oxygen in the room, as if not all of us are accounted for.

  But Gigi distracts me, banging her knife on her glass. Silence spreads. Jarett’s smile is faint but bright, his neck flushed—a mirror of my sister’s flaming cheeks.

  “I told you I have an announcement to make,” she says breathlessly, then points her knife at Mom. “No, it’s not a grandbaby. Not yet.”

  Mom lets out a strangled laugh.

  “No, the thing is…” She meets her man’s gaze, draws a bracing breath. “Jarett asked me to marry him.”

  I’d suspected it, but the hoots of approval and clapping of hands, the beaming faces around me, cut through the strange mind fog. I whistle and clap along with them, so fucking pleased for them as anyone who followed their story from up close. They beat the odds, kept the faith and stayed in love.

  “Way to go, guys,” I tell them afterward, clasping hands with Jarett and giving my sis a hug. “Congratulations. Have you set a date?”

  “Not yet. Oh God. It’s so weird. You’re not the first people I’ve told about this, I’ve already told Sydney, but it doesn’t get any easier.” She fans her face, puffs, eyes shining. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. Haven’t seen your bestie around recently. How is she doing?”

  See? I’m making an effort to be sociable, be my usual self so I won’t raise any flags and attract the family attention. Between the nightmares and my worry about CosieCat, my missing her and still wondering how she feels about me, I’ve turned into a quiet version of myself.

  “Great. She’s doing great. She’s in love with her boys. They’re all so in love.”

  “Boys?” Octavia stares at Gigi with round eyes from across the table. “Like, how many?”

  “What was that?” Mom asks. “Boys?”

  Gigi snickers madly and turns to whisper something to Jarett. He grins at her and slings an arm around her, tucking her into his side.

  “Love comes in many forms, Maggie,” he tells my mom. “Don’t you agree? As long as everyone is happy.”

  Jarett sure looks happy these days. He sure as hell deserves to be, after going through hell for so long—his parents dying, then foster parents going the same way, having his brother killed in a gang shooting, losing everything.

  Now he’s going to marry my crazy-ass sister, who’s glowing with joy when she’s around him, so yeah. They’re so different, but they’re a match, and that’s all that matters.

  Just like Mom seems to be a match for the man sitting by her side. He’s murmuring in her ear, and she smiles at him. I’ve never seen her smile like that at anyone. Her face is so… unguarded. Carefree. Her eyes shine. She looks younger than she ever has before.

  It’s really great to see her so radiant and content. To see them all so joyful, sitting around the table with their partners and families, sharing whispered secrets, insider jokes, planning their future.

  And I wish Cos was here with me. She’s what’s missing from this table, this reunion. Her absence is a hole cut in the fabric of reality, and through it I see only emptiness.

  My hands curl into fists on top of the table. Is it strange to want someone so much when you haven’t known them all that long? I remember how quickly Octavia fell for Matt, even when he was being an ass to her. I remember Gigi falling for Jarett so fast I had to warn her about his involvement with the gangs and all but hold her back until he sorted his life out.

  But they knew from the start, didn’t they? They knew they’d found the person they wanted to spend their lives with.

  Is this what I’m feeling? This certainty that I’ve found my other half?

  “Everything okay?” Octavia asks after lunch, trying to feed her son Max who’s in the high chair and rolling a toy car through a blob of his food. His food is also all over the high chair, all over his face, and all over my sister.

  I wonder if he ate any of it.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

  I think of Cos. I wish I were there, taking care of her, I wish she’d trust me. But someone hurt her, I’m sure of it. Some asshole broke her trust, broke her heart, and she’s treading carefully.

  Good, I tell myself. It’s good that she’s guarding her heart. That she doesn’t trust any random dickhead who wants into her panties.

  Though I sure wish she’d trust me. What I feel for her… it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and it’s only getting stronger by the day. I just…

  “Uncle Merc!” It’s Cole, Matt’s youngest, nephew extraordinaire. “Look! You stepped on a cornflake. You’re a—”

  “Don’t say it, kid.”

  “—A cereal killer!”

  I close my eyes, strangle a laugh. He’s a true nephew of mine even if we don’t share any DNA.

  Mary, Matt’s oldest, starts to giggle, and Max starts banging his plastic spoon on his bowl.

  “Cereal!” he yells in time to the banging. “Cereal!”

  Christ.

  Octavia laughs the laughter of the exhausted mother who’s one step away from full-blown hysteria. “Don’t step on the cereal, Uncle Merc.”

  “Et tu, Brutus?” I mutter darkly, sinking into an armchair, then sighing again, with fondness and exhaustion, when Cole clambers over me with a book he wants to show me. “Yes, yes, show me.”

  Octavia rolls her eyes at me and pries the plastic spoon from Max’s grubby hand so she can wash him.

  Looks like she’ll have to wash the whole room. I’m pretty sure there’s baby food on the walls and the ceiling.

  “You look better,” she says with a smile in my direction.

  I nod as I turn the pages of the book Cole insists on showing me. It’s The Crow comic, and I wonder if a kid his age should be reading it.

  I do feel better. Since I’ve been with Cos, the nightmares have been fewer, less terrifying. I’m
starting to sleep better, feel more like myself.

  And yet… “Those dreams you had of me. Matt said you still get them?”

  Her face colors. Octavia has dark hair, but her skin is even whiter than mine, and she blushes easily. “Yeah. Not as often as when I was pregnant, though. I thought… I mean, you’re fine, right? You’re happy.”

  “Yeah, sis.” I glance back down at the comic book, Cole tugging on my sleeve. “I’m fine. But you mentioned…” On the pages, the Crow prepares to jump into the night. “Ross. Do you still call him on the phone? Is he okay?”

  Our half-brother.

  She shoots me a questioning glance, dark brows rising almost to her hairline. “I try his number sometimes, but he never answers the phone.” Her eyes narrow. “Since when do you care?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Ah-huh.”

  I don’t know why the hell I’m asking all this. Ross, or his fuckface of a father—my father, too—doesn’t star in my dreams. In fact, I don’t remember them in my dreams, except… except that place looks so damn familiar.

  “Hey, sis, was there a sort of… Indian temple in Destiny?”

  “A what?”

  I wince. “A temple. By the river.”

  “Oh, you mean the Pagoda? Not a real one, of course. It’s at the edge of that mansion owned by the Lesters, on the bank of Little River, the stream at the south of town.”

  I freeze. I fucking freeze, because I didn’t expect her to say yes.

  Slow down, Merc, I tell myself. This doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t even mean it’s the same temple, and even if it is, it could be you weaved that memory into your dreams, along with all the other fucked up stuff your mind conjured up for your viewing pleasure.

  “Why you asking?”

  “Nothing. Just remembered it, is all.”

  “You hated that place as a kid.”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah. Wouldn’t go near it. You screamed once when Gigi and I tried to get you to walk along the stream with us. You screamed and screamed, and we had to call Mom to come home from work to calm you down.”