Ocean (Damage Control 5)

“So he told you more than you’ll admit.”

I shrug and bite at a fingernail.

“He trusted you. He cares for you.” Amber leans over, pulls my hand down. “Why won’t you accept you’re feeling something for that boy? I fought what I felt for JJ, and it only delayed the inevitable.”

“Jesse Lee loves you, Amber. As well he should, because you’re an awesome chick. But Ocean doesn’t love me.”

“So you admit it, then.” She grins at me, and I frown, thinking back on what I said. “You love Ocean.” And she starts throwing popcorn over us like confetti, singing “Kay loves Ocean! Kay loves Ocean!”

“Shut up, you crazy woman.”

I don’t love him. I won’t. Love brings pain. Love hurts.

Love ends.

And I can’t bear the thought of anything ending when it comes to Ocean.

***

I finish up the long-sleeved T-shirt I started making for him weeks ago. And the fingerless gloves. I pack them up and sit on my hands, thinking.

He hasn’t called. I haven’t either. It’s been days since the accident. Through the grapevine, I heard he’s been going to work and that he seems battered but otherwise okay.

I know better. But I can’t force him to talk to me, or be with me if he doesn’t want to. Even if curiosity is eating me up from the inside, and worry has my stomach in knots.

He has shown me the tip of the iceberg and left me to imagine all sorts of terrible scenarios about his past and his mom and his brother and this Livvy chick who stars in his nightmares and who’s so important to him he inked his forearm in her honor.

A puzzle? Scratch that. Ocean Storm is a mystery, an enigma. Why did he carry dead lilies in his car? Why does he draw parts of people and objects? What did he mean when he said he caused a child to die? How?

Was it when he lived on the street? How did he end up at Damage Control?

God, I still can’t believe his dad threw him out when he was younger. It makes my heart hurt for him. Guess I’m used to bitching about my parents for being too conservative and never stopped to think how other people’s parents can be.

Which reminds me.

I call my sister and tap my fingers impatiently on the kitchen counter waiting for her to pick up. My Tarot cards are there, and I spread them as the phone rings and rings.

It’s a tradition by now, to do some spreads while talking to Allie.

She doesn’t pick up, though, and I put the phone down to finish my spread. I was trying to think of Allie as I did it, but my thoughts kept drifting to Ocean.

Shocker, I know—but Amber is right. I can’t believe he’s a bad person.

I don’t know what to think. Or do.

Seven of Cups. Huh. I expected something terrible to appear, I realize. Something with swords, probably. But Seven of Cups… that’s confusion and wishful thinking. And choices.

Are we talking about Ocean? Or myself?

I glance at my cell. I should try Allie again, but I want to finish this spread first. I remember the loathing in Ocean’s gaze when he saw the cards. A gambler for a father. A gambler who spends all the family money.

And his mom is sick. Plus now he lost his car. His life really is a mess.

Still, I flinch when I turn the next card over: Five of Pentacles. That means financial loss. Hardship. Poverty.

It makes sense, doesn’t it? Intuition, like Amber said. Like I said so many times. Or maybe in this case it’s just logic. Accidents, sickness. These things cost.

I wonder how much Ocean is making at the tattoo shop. Can’t be very much. Zane Madden and Rafe Vestri, the owners, may have expanded it, but the shop is vulnerable at this point. My dad often talked about his small business when I was younger and around to listen.