Ocean (Damage Control 5)

By now I’m so fucking tired I can barely keep my eyes open—and tomorrow it’s the convention thing.

Fucked-up timing.

What am I gonna do? The doctor was there when I arrived at my folk’s trailer, just finished examining my mom. He took me aside, gave me the grim diagnosis. I paid him.

And realized I don’t have the money to pay for the fucking treatment he’s recommending. I won’t have it in one month, or two, or three. I just don’t make enough.

The urge to hit my head against something is so strong I settle for thumping my forehead with my fist instead.

I talked to Duane about racing again. The one thing I said I’d never do again. What Raine hates me for. Duane was pleased and tried to hide it by pretending he could get anyone to race his cars.

Load of bullshit.

So here I am, about to go back to a hell I thought I’d left behind long ago, when all I want is to grab Kayla, wrap myself in her and never let go.

***

After we deposit Kayla’s sis with her frien

ds, I relocate to the passenger seat, as staying in the back to sleep seems like a douchy move. Kayla drove me to see my mom and back, after all, and I really appreciate that, especially in view of everything that went down before.

I’m not in a mood to talk, though. Pain has me gritting my teeth.

“You need stronger painkillers,” she says, glancing at me. “You should let me take you to a doctor.”

“No.” I shift, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. “It’s okay.”

“I’ll ask Manon if Seth has any leftover to give you, then. He broke enough bones to have a stash by now.”

I don’t refuse. Anything to take the edge off would be great. “Thanks.”

The silence spreads as she drives. She doesn’t put any music on, and I’m drifting in and out of thought, or maybe sleep. Some parts are definitely dream-like, for instance when her hand trails up my cheek and sweeps hair out of my eyes.

Or when I turn my head to find her gaze on me and a soft, mysterious smile on her face.

Definitely dreaming.

Shit.

I straighten, rub at my eyes. “Sorry. Haven’t been sleeping so well lately.”

“Your ribs?” she asks.

“Yeah.” And missing you so much it’s fucking with my mind and breaking me apart.

“Then why didn’t you call me?” she asks.

Wait, back up. I said that last part out loud? Shit.

“Kay?” I search her face for clues, but she’s staring at the road ahead.

“We need to talk,” she says, her small face determined, and even in my battered, exhausted state, my body sits up and takes notice of how sexy that is.

“Did I just fuck up all over again?”

Her mouth twitches. “Why would you think that?”

“Dunno. Been fucking things up all my life.”