I look from Erin’s to Dakota’s face, then to Tyler and Dylan who’re now standing by the window, and finally Zane who’s holding a mug with kitties on it.
He puts it down slowly on the coffee table, his face lines tensing. The stunned silence stretches uncomfortably.
Okay. What now?
Zane and Tyler exchange a strange, long look, and finally it registers that everyone seems sort of…horrified.
“What the hell’s going on?” My enthusiasm evaporates, and when Meg flinches, I realize I’m crushing her hand. I let it go and round up on Zane, fists clenched. “Okay, Z-man, spill. Now.”
“Rafe, man…” Zane pinches the bridge of his nose as if fighting a headache of his own. “Damage is yours.”
“Yeah? That’s what I’m trying to tell you, so what’s with the long faces?”
Honestly, sometimes…
“It was yours, fucker, from the start. Your aunt left it to you in her will. So what exactly did your fucking uncle make you sign?”
I take a step back and stagger. Suddenly Meg is there, her arm around me, her hand on my chest.
“I don’t understand,” I stammer. “What are you talking about?”
Zane sucks on the barbell in his tongue and shakes his head.
Aunt Marnie left me Damage? But then…
There’s a sick feeling in my stomach. I thought Armin wouldn’t be that kind, but he’s my uncle, scum that he is, and I’d craved that kindness. Wanted to believe him. What this means…
“Your aunt left you Damage Control,” Zane says. “It was yours from the moment you turned eighteen. You trusted your fucking uncle, but I don’t. So I dug deeper, asked around. Found a friend of your aunt’s who was mentioned in the will. She was glad your aunt left you Damage, fucker. ’Cuz it was your home, now.”
Can’t be…
“It is your home. And ours.” Zane’s voice drops, and his eyes glitter. “You deserve it, man. You put your damn heart in this, and your aunt knew it. And we know it, too. You’re a good person, always thinking of others first. You gave us a home, and we’re by your side, always. Hope you know this, goddammit.”
The room is spinning in slow circles. My knees feel like water. Meg pulls me toward the sofa and I sink down on it.
“Fuck,” I whisper and put my heavy head in my hands. “Then what was this all about? What’s Armin playing at?”
Meg curls up next to me, puts her arms around me and holds on. Reminding me not all is bad in the world. Keeping me together.
“Good question.” Dylan shoves his hands in his pant pockets and gnaws on the inside of his cheek. “What exactly was that paper he made you sign?”
“I bet he had you transfer the shop title to him,” Tyler says grimly. “He threatened to take Damage from you, then played the good guy and made you sign it over to him. That motherfucker tricked you into giving him exactly what he wanted.”
I moan, dig my thumbs into my throbbing temples. “Jesus. I screwed up.”
Because if I hadn’t signed that damn piece of paper, Damage would be mine now. I thought I’d won it back, when in fact I gave it away. My shop.
To Armin, of all people, the uncle I thought I could trust but who is a fucking slimy worm.
Damn him. Life’s fucking me up again. I’m cold, down to my bones, and bile rises in my throat. I bend over, fighting not to puke on Meg’s carpet.
“Here, have some hot coffee,” Meg says, pressing a warm mug into my hands. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“What he needs is some of this,” Dylan mutters, and something cold replaces the warm mug.
I stare at the small metallic flask. “Whiskey?”
“The hell, Dylan?” Zane grumbles.