Shane (Damage Control 4)

For that, or for the fact he saved my ass so many times already.

I connect the call.

“Hey, cuz, where the hell are you? Everything all right?” Seth sounds out of breath. Behind him I hear voices. Noises. He’s not alone.

“Seffers,” I mutter. “What’s up?”

“Gym day, remember? Rafe’s showing us some new defense moves. I thought you said you were coming?”

Oh fuck. “Forgot.”

“Get your ass here now. We only just started.” Someone yells something at him, and he moves away from the phone to say, “I am taking it easy, Rafe. Shoulder’s fucking great, I swear to God, man.”

I listen to their banter, my hip propped against the couch, guilt weighing on me. Seth’s got the shit beaten out of him a lot in his life—first courtesy of his mom’s junkie boyfriends and husband, and then of the guards and inmates in prison.

What he probably never counted on was me punching him, throwing him to the floor. Dislocating his shoulder again, for maybe the third time in the past three years. He only took the sling off two months ago, and he needs to be careful with that arm.

Because of me.

“Shane.” He’s back on the phone. “Are you coming?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Busy.”

“Busy staring at the walls of your apartment? Did you even eat anything today? Dammit, Shane.” When I don’t reply, because fuck, I can’t lie to him, he changes track. “Come on, cuz. It’ll be fun. Rafe is riding my ass about how to flex and how to stand, and it’s driving me up the wall. Come save me.”

“Not today.”

Can’t stand the thought of being around people—people from Damage Control, no less, asking me questions. Prodding at wounds they can’t see.

“Okay, man. Your call.” He sounds disappointed, and the weight on my shoulders doubles, forcing me down to sit on the back of the sofa.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. You tired, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Next time, then. And hey, you won’t believe who works the front desk now.”

I shake my head. What do I care?

“You’ll never guess,” he goes on, oblivious. “It’s Cassie.”

“Cassie?”

Wait a sec.

“Crazy, right? I saw her, but I don’t think she saw me. She was busy with some new customers.”

I say nothing, not sure how I feel about this. About the girl I want, but can’t have, the girl who wants all men but me, the girl I shoot pool with because anything else is impossible—about the fact that she’ll be there twice a week when I go to the gym. And that’s not counting the days we train with Rafe.

“Anyway. Have to go now,” Seth says. “Talk to you soon, man. Stay safe.”

Safe. Yeah. What the fuck ever.