by Jo Raven
“He treated Octavia like dog shit scraped off the sole of his shoe,” Matt says, dark eyes flashing, shoulders tensing. “Beat up my buddy, Evan. Turned Ross against you all. I’d say he hurt you, all right.”
“Why are we talking about Jasper?” Maggie is flustered, cheeks reddening. “In front of a guest! All I wanted was to have a quiet lunch with you all.”
Quiet falls over the table.
Sympathetic heat licks at my cheeks. Poor Maggie.
“Now, now, lovely,” the older gentleman, Maggie’s boyfriend, says, patting her hand. “Why don’t we finish lunch? We’re just talking, that’s all.”
“The food is delicious,” I say, and dare smile at her. “Everyone’s great.”
She smiles back, and everyone relaxes.
Phew.
“That’s so nice of you to say,” Maggie says and lifts a bowl off the table. “More salad?”
“Yes, please.”
The conversation starts again around me, murmurs and questions and “pass me the roast” kind of talk. Crisis averted, my mind goes back to this Ross and their dad and the fact he hurt this family. The fact Octavia was asking Merc if he called their half-brother and Gigi got upset.
Why would Merc call the guy? What is going on? Is there a connection with the dreams I have of him bleeding?
But why would there be?
But before I get a chance to sit down with Merc and ask him about this shadow family of his living in the small town of Destiny, life takes me back to Memphis.
Griffin is still fighting a hard battle. They need him to go through more chemo and radiation before they operate to take out the tumors, but he isn’t responding well to the treatments.
This is the bad news, and yeah, it’s really grim.
The good news is that Merc has come along with me.
Yeah, he’s right here, magically conjuring up coffee and sandwiches, blankets and whatever else makes life easier while waiting to hear what is going on from the doctors in charge.
My sister seems calmer, at least. She has invited Griffin to stay with her until he gets better. Even if they don’t know if he’ll make it. Even though he still isn’t sure he wants to be with her.
This is complicated.
About as complicated as being with Merc is easy. Where Griffin is a sullen, brooding bad boy—though granted, also sick, but still—Merc likes to wrap his arms around me, kiss me, hold me close, preferably on his lap. He likes to share his sandwiches with me, he asks how I feel, what I need.
And honestly, I can’t wait to get back home so we can have sex again. Those kisses he steals in quiet moments, pinning me against the wall in hallways and passages, kissing the hell out of me, letting me feel how hard he is for me, how bad he wants me…
I’m a lucky girl.
It’s slowly sinking in that he may not be going anywhere. That he may be telling the truth when he says he wants me to stay.
My sister echoes my thoughts as we sit side by side on the hard plastic seats of the waiting room. “This guy is in love with you.”
Okay, not exactly my thoughts, but close. “You think?”
“You don’t think so?”
“You know I’m a terrible judge of such things.”
“Well, he is.” She squeezes my knee. “It was clear from the start.”
“You mean when he flirted with you?”
“No, dummy, I mean when he basically told me it’s you he wants, not me, and begged me to give you his phone number.”
That makes me snicker.
“Do you love him?”
I chew on my lip. “Maybe?”
She sighs and shakes her head as if I’m acting up. But I’m not. I really don’t trust myself.
“I’m thinking of moving to St. Louis, for good,” I tell her. “Not just because of Merc.” I steal a glance at his tall form. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt that molds to that mouthwatering chest and shoulders. His huge headphones are hanging around his neck. He sips coffee from a plastic cup and watching the news on the TV mounted on the wall. “I’m thinking of maybe taking some classes. Study something.”
“You wanted to study archaeology,” my sister says. “Remember? You were collecting books about Rome and Hannibal.”
“That was long ago.”
“You don’t want to anymore?”
“Sure I do.” I’m surprised at the realization. For so long I felt that taking time for myself was selfish. I had to make sure Soph was okay. But something’s changed. “I can’t play at being you much longer, sis.”
She nods, as if she’d expected this, though it’s a shock to me. “I know.”
Maybe meeting Merc changed me. Maybe it’s been a long time coming, and I only realized now. I can’t be my sister’s shadow any longer.
I’m running out of money and excuses. I need a job. I need a direction. I want to be Cos, be myself. To step on my path without fear and regrets. To hold Merc’s hand and believe this moment can stretch into a lifetime.
Even if it doesn’t work out that way. I want to give it a try.
I want to live my life.
I’m still watching Merc, so it’s only by chance that I see what happens next:
The plastic cup drops from his hand, hitting the floor without a sound, dark liquid splashing him, spreading in a puddle at his feet.
He curses.
Looks down.
All the blood drains from his face, and he sways, takes a stumbling step back.
I shoot to my feet and grab his arm before he goes down. “Merc! Shit.” I drag him to the seats just in time. He sinks down heavily and bends over. “What’s wrong?”
It takes him a long moment to straighten, and when he does, his face looks gray, sweat shining on his forehead.
He frowns, gaze darting to the TV and away. “I dunno.”
The news playing is about a body found in a suburb, near a stream. They’re showing pics of the body, covered with a sheet, police swarming around it with dogs sniffing the ground. The light slants across the scene, the sun dipping low.
“Why don’t you go and grab some real lunch?” my sister says, shooting Merc a worried look. “Or you want to lie down? Maybe you caught a bug. Lots of that going around in hospitals.”
I don’t bother pointing out we’ve only been here for a day. But I could be wrong. Maybe hospital super bugs can get you down within hours. What do I know, right?
“Better yet,” my sister goes on, “why don’t you both go back home? In St. Louis.” She smiles at me tiredly. “Someone just decided to move and start anew. No time like now.”
“But you—”
“I’ll be fine, sis.”
“I don’t know.” I’m torn, looking between Merc who decidedly isn’t looking so good, and my sister who’s needed me for so long I can’t remember what it’s like to set my own priorities.
Like studying, finding my place.
And Merc.
Above all, Merc. I didn’t realize how important he’s become to me until I saw him almost drop to the floor a moment before. If he’s sick, I want to take care of him.
“Go. Shoo.” My sister’s smile widens, as if she can read my thoughts. She gets up from her seat. “Griffin will get better, we need to believe it. And I’ll be fine. I promise.”
I’m still bent over Merc who seems mesmerized by the TV images. What’s the matter with him? Never seen him like this.
Straightening, I go to her, hug her. “Okay,” I tell her. “But I’m not going anywhere.” I think about this. “Figuratively speaking. I’ll be around, if you need me. And if I move to St. Louis, I’ll see you more often, maybe? Have coffee together and talk about everything?”
“You bet.” She pulls away first, and on her gaze there’s a gleam of determination I’ve never seen before.
Suddenly my perspective shifts, and it’s not a matter of solid and shadow anymore, a matter of the one fading when the other is there, of existing to fill a gap.
We’re two,
we’re whole on our own.
For the first time in my life, I feel free.
“You sure you wanted to leave so soon?” Merc asks.
He insisted on driving back, and though I’d have rather taken the bus, seeing how shaken he seems, leaving his car in Memphis wouldn’t have been such a good idea.
He already looks better, though, as he throws his car into park in front of my sister’s building so I can go up and grab clean clothes and kitty.
Yeah, I decided it’s time for kitty to relocate, for many reasons.
One, my sis won’t be coming back yet.
Two, Griffin is allergic to cats, and if he’s moving in with my sister, with his defenses so low, the risk is too high.
And three, I’m going to have to go back and grab my stuff before I move to St. Louis and if Merc can look after her meanwhile… I shoot a text to my sister to let her know why her cat won’t be living with her anymore and get a heart emoji and an ‘Are you sure?’ question.
Not sure about anything, but I shoot an affirmative anyway.
“Kitty! Come here. Kit!” But she’s hiding somewhere, determined to make this as difficult as possible. “Come on, kitten.”
Merc comes inside as I gather my stuff, shoving it all into my suitcase, and just seeing him makes me smile.
“How can I help? Gimme that suitcase.”
“Grab the cat?” I suggest.
The traitor kitty comes out sniffing the air. What’s this? She likes his scent as much as I do?
Good God.
“On it.” He scoops her up in one hand, and the cat goes limp like a bean bag. A very small bean bag. She tries to lick his fingers. “Now give me the suitcase,” he demands.
I hand it to him without a word, trying to hide the fact I’m checking out the way his biceps bulge so nicely when he lifts it. “Thanks. You still okay with me leaving my stuff and the cat at your place?”
He grins, and my heart resumes beating. “Sure. As for the cat, I didn’t get around to asking JC about it, but I guess we’ll see what he says.” He lifts the cat higher and tells her seriously, “We’ll cat-ambush him.”
I swallow a laugh. I wasn’t sure how he’d react. He did say I could leave the kitten with him, but you never know.
“Does this mean you’re moving in with me?” he asks, his gaze sliding to me, raking over me, darkening, as if he’s thinking of all the wicked things he’ll do to me the moment I say yes.
The kitty meows.
“Is that a yes? Huh?” he murmurs.
My heart is starting to pound hard, and I open my mouth to reply, and it’s only then it registers he’s talking to the cat, not me.
I’m imagining things.
God.
Turning away, I grab my laptop and stuff it into my backpack, make a final check to make sure I didn’t leave anything important.
When I turn back toward Merc, he has a strange expression on his face, as if he wants to say something but can’t find the words.
I don’t give him time to find them. “Shall we go?”
The cat blinks at me, still hanging in his hand.
Oh whatever. I don’t even know why I’m so upset. A few days ago I was worried that it was too soon to meet his family, too soon to trust this thing between us, and now I’m mad because he didn’t ask me to move in with him?
Get a grip, Cos.
And give this time. Moving in together is a huge step—and since when do you want that? How about making your own way, like you were thinking five minutes ago?
It’s just that… you want to make your way together with Merc, right? That’s the thing. But just because being with him feels like the best thing that ever happened to you doesn’t mean you should dive in head-first.
Take it a step at a time.
Chapter Twenty-One
Merc
“Breathe,” someone is saying. “Breathe, Merc. Goddammit, dude, what’s going on with you? Snap out of it right now or I’m taking you to the hospital!”
I’m being shaken, rattled about. Dragged out from a darkness thick like molasses and dropped on a bed, gasping and sweating, thrashing like a fish out of the water.
My bed.
JC is scowling down at me, one hand braced on the headboard, the other lifted as if to stop some threat. “Rise and shine,” he growls, and I blink at him.
“Wha?” I try to sit up, but I’m tangled up in my covers. “The hell?”
“My thoughts exactly.” He leans back. “You wouldn’t wake up. You popping sleeping pills again?”
I manage to free my arms but instead of sitting up, I lay my head back down, fucking exhausted. “That’s none of your goddamn business.”
“Did you or didn’t you, Merc?”
“Just two, all right?” My pillow’s all soaked with sweat. My sheets are clammy. I’m shivering with cold, and reaction from the images, from all the blood spreading—
I groan. Don’t think about it.
Erase.
He finally straightens, getting out of my personal space. With a guy as tall and imposing as JC, that’s a lot of space freed, almost the size of a small country. “They’re getting worse, aren’t they?”
“What? Who?” I blink.
“Your nightmares.”
Oh, that. “Nah.”
“You should see a therapist, Merc.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“I’m not kidding. You didn’t hear yourself screaming.”
“Screaming?” Jesus on a pogo stick, as they say. “You serious?”
“Told you I’m not kidding. Something’s obviously bothering you, and I’m not talking about the mattress. Did something bad happen? Is your family okay?”
“Yeah, dude, they’re fine.” I finally manage to heave myself up to a sitting position and scrub my hand over the grit in my eyes. “Look, thanks for waking me up, and all that, but I’m okay.”
“And all that?” He sounds incredulous.
“You were probably up anyway. You said you don’t sleep much.”
“So you’re gonna pretend everything’s just fine?”
“Everything is fine,” I inform him. “Look, sorry if I scared the shit outta you, but hey, I’m really fine.”
He sniffs at the notion of being scared.
I mean… screaming. Me. What in the hell, right? What in the actual fuck?
And worse still, when he turns around to go, I almost shoot out of the bed to stop him, my heart trying to pound out of my mouth. “JC, wait.”
He gives a long-suffering sigh but throws a glance at me over his shoulder. “Get up and come have some coffee. I just made a fresh pot.”
It takes some doing, but I make it out of bed, take a leak, wash my face, and half-human, half-zombie, I follow the smell of coffee. It leads me to the kitchen where JC is pouring two mugs of the dark gold at the counter.
He acknowledges my terrifying appearance—hair sticking in all directions, mouth cracked, arms stretched in front of me, making creaking noises—with a nod.
“Sit,” he says. “And stop pretending to be one of the Walking Dead. Your performance leaves a lot to be desired.”
“Kick a man when he’s down, why don’t you?” I eye his tired face. “Will you tell me why you can’t sleep at night?”
“Why, will you? Are you in a sharing mood?”
“Come on, JC.” I run both hands through my hair. “We’re roommates. We have no secrets from each other.”
“Then tell me. What are your dreams about?” He pushes a hot mug of coffee in front of me, and I wrap my chilled fingers around it.
Ah what the hell, right? He asked for it, he can have it.
“I see a body,” I tell him. I take a sip of the burned tar that JC calls coffee and wince. “A woman, lying in the dirt by the river. She’s covered in blood.”
“Kinky,” he says, but sounds doubtful, like he can’t decide whether I’m being serious or not.
“She’s dead.” My head starts to spin, and I ja
m the heel of my hand into my forehead, with the vague notion that the pain might help. “There’s someone there…I think he killed her. He has an ax…” The pain spikes behind my eyes. “Shit.”
“That’s a realistic-sounding nightmare,” JC says quietly. “You sure it’s just a dream?”
And that, ladies and gentlemen is the question of the day, the one I’ve been trying to avoid.
“It has to be,” I mutter. “If it isn’t, then what the hell do I do?”
Pouring myself a drink, I raise the glass and swallow it down, hissing at the burn. Then I pour myself another. The bottle is running dry. When did I drink it all?
It’s a bad sign, needing a few drinks every night to build up the courage to go to bed, right? Let alone think about sleeping. With the pills not helping, I turned to whiskey and as the room starts to spin lazily, and my heart finally slows down, and my muscles uncoil, I wonder what I’m gonna do.
The cat licks my bare foot, making me jerk. I lean down and stroke her head, the velvety down fur tickling my fingertips.
Breathe, I tell myself.
Why does it feel like I’m sinking into mire instead of moving forward in my life? I have no excuse for feeling like this. My family’s great. My childhood was okay. I’m healthy, not stupid—well, except when it comes to girls, it seems. Girls like me.
Everything should be fine.
Everything is fine.
Fucking dreams. I thought they were going away, but surprise. They’re back with a vengeance, turning every night into hell.
I pour myself another glass, swallow it down. Rub at my chest. My heart’s racing again.
So I slam my fist against my ribs. “Stop. Fuck.”
That piece of news I saw on TV in that Memphis hospital… why did it hit me so hard? I don’t fucking get it. A body in the woods.
Like the body in my dreams. Is that the connection?
This is stupid. I’d be laughing myself silly if I wasn’t so goddamn tired. I’m not one of those tortured guys with the dark pasts. I was a damn happy kid. I’m a solid adult. I’ve had a good life.
In the quiet of the apartment—JC is out somewhere, probably having expensive drinks in an expensive exclusive club with his rich friends, telling them about his freakshow of a roommate—my phone rings, almost giving me a heart attack.
