Shane (Damage Control #4)

by Jo Raven

  But I am, and that’s why, even though I confessed my love for him and the reason I did everything I did without any reaction, I sigh when he kisses me and kiss him right back.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Shane

  Wrapped up in Cassie’s arms, her taste in my mouth, her scent both relaxing me and getting me hard, I’m finally okay. Safe. Hopeful. Fucking happy.

  Trying to wrap my head around the fact she kissed Jesse back then to make me notice her is tough. I mean, I noticed her the first time she walked into Halo and stared at her every time since. I thought she was aware of that and not caring.

  Turns out I was wrong, and I want to laugh and yell and tell everyone that she wants me. She’s in love with me.

  Christ. Somewhere inside me I’m starting to believe that maybe this is really happening. The girl who’s been on my mind for so long, who’s been the reason I went out most times just to see, wants me back. Sleeping with me wasn’t a casual thing, like I thought. She means this.

  I can taste it on her lips, hear it in her voice. I should be over the moon.

  And I am. But I can’t, not yet.

  I managed to keep the flashback from taking over, managed to keep the panic attack at bay, and yet…

  The trees whisper over our heads. Snowflakes swirl in the air. What if this isn’t real?

  I break the kiss, grab the pendant. Let the sharp ends dig into my fingers and my palm.

  She’s really here, right? She is real. I’m not dreaming, not mixing things up. But what if I am? What if I’m going crazy? How can I be with her?

  “What is it?” Her fingers trail over her mouth, her eyes are wide, and fuck, she’s so hot, so sweet, so deep in my thoughts she’s a part of me.

  How can I tell her I’m getting worse? That there are things I don’t remember, and they come back to me in flashes? That I’m afraid of my own shadow? That I’ve had more flashbacks in the past couple of months than in the last two years?

  And how is it fair to her, to be with someone as fucked-up as me?

  “Nothing. I just…” I swallow hard. “Fuck. I need to talk to Seth.”

  Hurt crosses her pretty features. God, I wish I could confide in her, but of all people, she’s the last person I’d want to know how messed-up I am. How fucking unstable, exhausted and defeated.

  Not even sure what I’m doing. What I’m supposed to do. How to explain.

  But before I can say anything else, she lowers her hand from her mouth and nods. “Let’s go find him.”

  ***

  Turns out half the guests at the wedding reception are out looking for me. Holy fucking shit. Figures everyone knows I’m a danger to myself.

  Humiliating? Hell, that doesn’t even begin to cover it. I avoid everyone’s eyes as I trudge back inside the house, aware I spoiled Zane and Dakota’s wedding party and pissed at myself.

  Because they were right to go out looking for me. I’m a hazard to myself. What if I really had a flashback and got lost in the woods, froze to death out there?

  Shit.

  At any other time in the recent years I might have said it would be for the best, but not now. Not when Cassie loves me. Not when I have a shot at happiness.

  I wanna live. And I wanna get well, fix my fucked-up mind so that I’m not a hazard or a burden to her. So that I have a real chance with her. Waking up next to her, making love to her, putting a smile on her face.

  Being with her. Having a future together.

  So I swallow the angry words on my tongue, remind myself how grateful I am to have people who care enough to go out in the night looking for me and who only nod when they see me, ask if I’m all right, and don’t try to smash my face into the wall when I reply I only went out for a stroll.

  Yeah. Have to remember this. It’s the truth. It’s real, and it’s a goddamn awesome thing. Something I never expected to have again after my mom died. This sense of family, of people who though sometimes annoying, they always have your back.

  “Fucker, come here.” That’s Zane, intimidating in his dark suit and silver epaulettes and although we work together almost every day, I flinch back. “Need to talk to you.”

  “Look, sorry I threw a wrench into the festivities. Wasn’t on purpose.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, pull on the dreamcatcher, its weight on my ear reassuring.

  I didn’t have it before the prison. It’s part of my new life, which means this is now, this is okay.

  “Forget about that.” Zane waves a hand dismissively and then gestures for me to follow him.

  “I have to talk to Seth.”

  “He’s in here.” Zane opens the door to a study and steps inside. “Come in.”

  “I’ll go find Manon,” Cassie says.

  So I follow him inside and there is Seth, pacing the room, fists held at his sides. The moment I enter, he whirls around and throws himself at me.

  I stumble back, lift my arm to protect myself.

  And find myself in a bear hug that’s crushing my ribs. “Son of a bitch, you had me worried sick. Fuck.”

  I blink, Seth still muttering curses on my shoulder. Over his, I have a clear view of Zane’s smirk.

  Seth pulls back, but keeps a vise-like grip on my arm, as if I’m gonna fucking try and bolt if he lets go.

  He may be right. I didn’t want an audience for what I have to admit and ask. Not the guy who gave me a chance at his tattoo shop.

  Just my luck.

  “What did you wanna tell me?” Seth asks. “Why did you go out? What happened?”

  I fold my arms over my chest, still in my borrowed jacket, and lift my chin. “Long story. But there’s something I need to ask you.” I try to avoid Zane’s gaze and end up staring at the heavy desk that’s covered in heaps of papers and books. I draw a deep breath, force the question out. “Am I going crazy?”

  Seth’s face has gone white. “Why the fuck would you ask me that?”

  “Because I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind, that’s why.”

  “What’s going on?” Seth is in my face now, Zane looming right behind him. “Why you asking? What the hell happened?”

  “It’s getting worse, Seffers.” My voice cracks. I lick my lips, my throat bone-dry. “These flashbacks… the panic attacks. And I’m…” Have to stop again, try to swallow. My throat clicks. “I’m paranoid. I think someone’s out to get me.”

  “Nobody’s out to get you, man.”

  I nod. There, my goddamn fears all confirmed. “Christoph and Marco… They’re still in prison, aren’t they? It’s not that they were released, and you didn’t tell me. You’re keeping tabs.”

  “You know I am. They’re exactly where they were last time, where they deserve to be: behind fucking bars.”

  I’m lightheaded. The relief is huge, but then that means that I’ve lost it. Nobody tried to hurt me. It’s all in my fucking mind.

  “What do you mean it’s getting worse?” Seth asks. “How?”

  “After we got off the streets, starting training at Damage Control,” I glance at Zane whose face is drawn in tight lines, “I got better. I didn’t have a flashback in months. And then suddenly, these past couple of months I had five at work, and more at home.”

  “You’ve had flashbacks over the year,” Zane says. “It’s not the first time you flipped out. And it’s okay, fucker. It’s not like I don’t get them sometimes.”

  I gape at him. He does? And I had flashbacks at Damage Control? What the hell?

  But I can’t remember. Except… except I remember standing outside with Zane, I remember his hand heavy on my shoulder, his words echoing in my ears. It will be okay. You’re okay here.

  Jesus fuck. That lightheaded feeling is back, black chewing away at the edges of my vision.

  “Why don’t you sit down, Shane?” Zane says. “You don’t look so good, man.”

  “I’m fine.” I glance back at Seth, silently pleading with him to understand what I’m trying to say.

  But what he says is, “I
know what happened to you in prison. I know everything. I failed you.”

  “You know? You knew all this time?” What the fuck? As for failing me… How can he think that?

  “Why would you think someone’s after you?” Seth asks, and I do my best to focus on his question.

  “When I fell from that scaffold? I thought someone pushed me. And then again yesterday. And everyone was chewing cinnamon gum.” Christ, it sounds like I’m completely off my rocker. Feels like it, too. “Dammit, Seffers…”

  Say something. Tell me I’m not bound for the straitjacket.

  “You fell off that scaffold, cuz.” Seth’s mouth is downturned. Sadness flickers in his eyes. “That’s what they told me. And cinnamon gum? Why the fuck would they chew cinnamon gum?”

  “Because that’s what Christoph and Marco did, Seffers. In prison.”

  His eyes widen with understanding, but it makes no fucking difference. Once more I got my answer, and it’s like a sucker punch to the stomach.

  I’m imagining things. Mixing past and present.

  “Listen to me. You were getting better,” Seth says. “Do you really think I’d fucking let you go and live alone if I didn’t think that? If I didn’t see that?”

  Dunno what the fuck to say to that, except he was wrong.

  “I got fired,” I say and silence spreads around me like a ripple on a lake. “I was told it’s unsafe for me to work there. They had complaints.” I let my hands fall to my sides. “I’m jobless, and losing my mind. I need…” I struggle to keep my shit together. “Need help, Seffers.”

  More silence, more strained than before. Seth is still pale like a ghost. Fuck, I’ve scared him.

  He can’t be as scared as I am, though. Goddammit…

  “We got you covered, man,” Zane says suddenly. “Don’t worry about the job right now. Maybe it’s for the best. Sounds like something triggered your flashbacks there.”

  “Yeah,” Seth says, finally moving, raking his hands through his hair. “Yeah, maybe it’s a good thing.”

  “The fuck it is.” More black seeps into my vision, and I list sideways. “Fuck.”

  “Shane, sit the fuck down,” Zane snaps.

  The hell I will. I glare at him.

  Zane opens his mouth to say more, but Seth steps forward.

  “Maybe you should talk to someone, cuz,” he says. “A good therapist, not like the asshole you talked to in prison.”

  Christ. “That won’t help. Besides, who will pay for that?”

  “You don’t know that. It might help.” Seth doesn’t look like he’s about to back down on this one. “Ask Asher. Ask Tyler. Ask anyone. As for paying…” He exchanges a look with Zane. “We’ll work something out.”

  “Fuck, Seffers, I don’t know.”

  “Take the chance, man. What do you have to lose? You do want to get better, don’t you? For Cassie?”

  I nod.

  “Speaking of the devil…” Zane goes to the door and opens it. “Cassie, tell him to sit down. Fucker listens to you.”

  Cassie?

  Shit, it’s not just Cassie at the opening. As she comes to put her arm around me, behind her follow Ocean, and Micah with Ev, and Jesse with Amber, and Tyler with Erin, and everyone I know in this fucking world.

  Oh hell…

  Cassie drags me to a chair in the corner of the room, and just in time, too, before my legs fold under me.

  Talk about feeling cornered. But she stays there, standing beside me, her hands on my shoulders, and it’s not as bad as it could be.

  A therapist. The last one told me I should man up and stop complaining, that I was a man and should stop being a pussy.

  “What’s going on here?” she asks, rubbing my shoulders. “Seth?”

  “It’s gonna be okay,” he says quietly. “He’ll be okay.”

  Does he believe it? Will it work out?

  “I’ll do it,” I tell him. “I’ll fucking do it. I’ll talk to a therapist.”

  Cassie lets out a startled sound like a gasp and loops her arms around my neck, crossing them over my chest. “God, I love you,” she whispers in my ear. “I love you.”

  Her words jolt me like tiny electric charges, dance inside my head like fireflies. If she means them… If she means it…

  My breath sticks in my lungs. Does she realize how damaged I am? Will she still mean it when she does?

  No matter. I let her warmth spread into me, her presence ground me, and nod to myself.

  To get well, to be with her, I’d do anything. I’ll try anything.

  Meeting a goddamn therapist seems like a small price to pay.

  ***

  The party has grown loud and wild. Everyone is dancing, young and old and drunk, swirling colors that make me dizzy. I’m still a little unsteady, reeling from everything that’s happened today.

  Seated in an armchair in the living room, amidst the chaos, I absently rub at the fine scar on my arm, and the memory flashes again before my eyes—the prison, the blade.

  Me, fighting back.

  I fought back. Cut him up. Busted up his face.

  A savage smile curls my lips. It’s a weird thing, half-joyful, half-angry. If I did it once… I can do it again. I won’t roll over and let life fuck me up. I’ll keep rolling until I’m back on my feet.

  “Dance with me?” Cassie asks, and I blink, because from getting back on my feet to dancing there’s a fairly big chasm.

  “I can’t dance.”

  She tugs on my hands. “I have an idea. Please?”

  Can’t deny her anything. So even woozy, I let her pull me to my feet and lead me through the people.

  “Where are we going?” I ask once it becomes clear we’re not joining the swaying bodies gathered around the dais.

  Zane and Dakota are up there setting up microphones and chairs for a performance by DeathMoth, Dakota’s and Rafe’s punk rock group. The party is set to go on till morning, but I doubt I’ll be able to keep my damn eyes open. It’s been a rough couple of days and nights.

  Looking at Cassie, though… Hell, I’d stay awake just for that, just to see her in that tiny dress, with those high heels that make her legs look endless, with that happy smile on her face and her hair swirling around her like sunlight from behind the clouds.

  “Dance with me,” she says again, and I’m drawn to her like a moth to the flame. She pulls my hands, settles them on her hips, slides hers up my shoulders, and together we sway to the echo of the music from the other room. “This okay?”

  I don’t reply. She’s gold and velvet and warm flesh, want and pleasure and leaping fire caught in my arms, pressed against my body. Her hair smells of burnt sugar, her skin of vanilla cream. I wanna lick her, bite her, and as nice as holding her like this might be, laying her down on a bed would be much better.

  I’m hyper aware of her soft tits pressing into my chest, her pelvis sliding over my thickening cock as we turn slowly in a circle, snow falling outside the ceiling-high windows.

  Every brush of her body against mine sends jolts of pleasure up my spine. She’s so damn sexy in her black dress, with her hair loose and those huge badass silver hoops hanging from her ears—and all the tension is gathering in my gut, in my balls, in my dick.

  Another circle, more snowflakes tumbling down outside, and I’m so hard it hurts, and I know she feels it through the layers of our clothes. I gasp when she presses in closer, and then she lifts her face from my shoulder, her mouth seeking mine.

  Oh fuck, yeah. Our mouths crush together, and she’s tearing at the buttons of my shirt just as I’m tugging on her dress, trying to pull it off her shoulders. Need it off, need her naked and under me right the hell now.

  Loud laughter bursts out through the door, and the thrum of a guitar whines over the loudspeakers.

  Cassie draws back, and I stare at her reddened mouth, my pulse pounding in my throat, in my hands, in my dick.

  “I know a place.” She grips my hand and pulls me after her. I follow without a ques
tion. I’d trust her with my life.

  She leads me into a small room down the hall, turns on the light, and closes the door behind us. I get an impression of shuttered window, piles of boxes, and a couch, and then we’re crashing on it, kissing and touching and fumbling with buttons and zippers and belts, need taking over rational thought.

  Despite the fucking mess that is my life right now, I need her, need more than anything in the world to be naked with her, to be inside of her, and she’s here, warm and supple in my arms. That’s all that matters.

  ***

  Her hands slip the shirt from my shoulders, then drag down my chest, her nails scraping lightly over my nipples, turning them into tiny, throbbing points. The sensation throws me off for a moment, the shadows crowding inside my head, and I grab her and push her down on the sofa, pressing my hard-on into the softness between her splayed legs.

  Cassie.

  Real.

  “Shane…” She arches up against me, her dress half off her, leaving her shoulders and the mounds of her tits bare, the black lace of her bra barely covering her hardened nipples. Her long, creamy legs are bent, and I can see her panties—a thin strip of lace.

  Soaked. She wants me. She’s ready.

  Fuck, I want her with a need that borders on physical pain. Figures I can never go slow with her, I’m always desperate to get inside of her, feel her clench around my dick, chase away my ghosts and wipe my mind clean.

  Make everything all right.

  Propping myself up with a hand by her side, I reach down, unzip my pants. I need. Right the fuck now.

  She puts her hands behind my neck, pulls me down, licks at my lips. Her taste teases my senses, distracts me, and I stop what I’m doing to bite lightly on her lower lip, suck it into my mouth, drag a moan from her.

  Holy shit, she tastes like cake and sex, and I slam my free hand on the couch as I fall into her, our tongues twining together, our hips rocking, locked in another fucking dance. One I can follow, with her, now.

  Hell, yeah. I lick her lips, lick the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, trail my mouth down her neck, leaving small bites that make her squirm underneath me. Every twist of her body presses into my painfully hard dick, so I put my hand over her neck, pressing into her throat.