Shane (Damage Control 4)

I’d laugh if I wasn’t so caught between going into full panic and talking myself down from it every five minutes.

I imagined the hands pushing me off the scaffold. I imagined the scar on the guy’s face. I’m going paranoid.

Awesome.

“What’s wrong, guys?” Zane leans back and folds his thick arms over his chest. “Spill. Who kicked your puppies? Tell Uncle Z.”

“Fuck off, Zane.” Ocean glares and pushes off the counter. “I’ve got work to do.”

“You do that, skipper.” Zane grins, looking pleased.

What the fuck ever. I swear I don’t get him sometimes.

Then that dark gaze swings back to me. “Now you, fucker. Ocean’s just going through a rough patch, but you… What’s up with you, huh? You’ve been down the dumps for a while.”

“I’m okay.”

“The hell you are.” His grin fades. “You’ve been drifting like a ghost for the past weeks, and I’ve waited as long as I could for you to tell me what the problem is. But you’re not talking or getting better, and I won’t wait until you’re back on the street before I demand to know what the problem is. Not this time.”

“I said I’m okay.”

Shit, I’d rather have a pissed off Zane snapping at me rather than this worried version of him—because I can’t talk about it, about the flashbacks and nightmares, the new-found unease about the construction site and the paranoia, much less about my past.

Not without coming apart at the fucking seams.

“You coming to my wedding?” Zane waits, eyes half-closed, as if my answer will give him a clue as to my mental state.

“I am.”

“Good.” He draws breath as if to say something more, but then seems to change his mind. Shaking his head, he turns to clean his tools, leaving me with a new thought spinning inside my head like a top.

Cassie asked me to be her date at the wedding, but I guess that’s over now, too.

***

Why am I so pissed at not going to the wedding with Cassie? I shouldn’t get so hung up on a date. What am I, fifteen?

So what is it? Is it that she’s been invited to the wedding, that she’s back in the group, not an outsider anymore—but I am? Am I so fucking petty?

Nah. I’m glad she’s back in the group. It’s just that… I was so damn excited she asked me to be her date.

Stupid, Shane, I tell myself for the millionth time. You knew it meant nothing anyway. You’re almost twenty, goddammit. Get over it. It’s just a party.

Though… given I didn’t even finish school, that I lost the last couple years of my life to prison and the streets, no wonder every party seems like a huge thing. That a date seems so fucking important. Haven’t been on many in my life. And it wasn’t just any date: it was a date with Cassie, and…

And what? What the

fuck will you do, Shane? Will you cry like a baby?

Son of a bitch.

I gather my stuff from the locker and think about hitting the gym—or the bar. Maybe the gym first, and then the bar. The thought of going to my bed has me breaking out in cold sweat. Fuck knows what new brand of nightmares I’ll have to wade through tonight.

The gym isn’t far from here, so I set out, pulling up the hood of my jacket, bracing myself against the icy wind. Passersby hurry past, clutching their bags of shopping, holding their hoods low over their faces. Children laugh, skipping alongside their parents.

Normal people.

Not like me.