I wait, trying not to tense up again. I do my best to unclench my hands. All I want is to forget, and his story brings back all sorts of nightmares. Damn, not sure I wanna sleep tonight.
“So, there I was, trying to keep Shane from going off the edge,” Seth muttered. “Wasn’t holding up so well myself, either. It was raining, and the cars would splash us passing by. Shane hadn’t eaten in days. He even refused water. I think he’d given up. And then she appears.” Seth looks up at me, a half-smile on his face. “She really saw us, man. Looked right at us and came to squat in the puddles to ask how we were doing. You should have seen Shane’s face. It was like he woke up for the first time in days. She went and bought us warm food and a blanket, and then she passed at least every other day to check on us until Zane took us in.”
Their story matches my own in many ways. Okay, so that’s why this is important to Seth. We sit in silence for a while.
Then he says, “I’ll just keep an eye out for her. See if anyone has been bothering her.”
“She saved my life,” I blurt, not even really knowing why I’m telling him this. “But she doesn’t remember me.”
His brows shoot up. “For real?”
“What do you think?” I shake my head. “But it’s more than that.”
“You want her.”
“Damn right I do.”
“She’s hot,” he agrees, and my hands curl into fists again.
“Hands off her, Seth, do you hear me? Shane, too.”
“I heard you the first time.” He rolls his eyes at me and gets up. “She’s yours. I get it.”
“She’s not mine,” I whisper. Not yet, anyway.
And seeing how the truth may turn her off, maybe not ever.
Chapter Six
Evangeline
Leaving the cafe, I hurry to the bus stop as fast as I can. The rain has stopped, but evening’s falling, and I keep seeing Blake in every shadow and dark place. I make it home and barricade myself in my room, then lie on my bed and try to sort out my thoughts. My heart races a thousand miles an hour.
Blake wouldn’t know Seth. Would he? He wouldn’t hurt him. Jesus, I really hope not. Maybe it’s time to go to the police. Denounce him.
Yeah, and for what? Saying he will harm random homeless people if I talk to them? He hasn’t done anything—not yet.
Warn Seth? But what can Seth do? He’s only in danger if I’m seen talking to him. As is any person I’ve helped in the past.
Crap. Micah... I left him at the cafe without any real explanation. Is he pissed with me, I wonder... And I left my walking stick. No way can I go back in there now, not if Seth is still there, not if Blake is watching...
This is crazy. Blake managed to scare me for real. This is stupid. He won’t hurt anyone. He’d go to jail, and his family would never live it down.
But what if he does hurt them? There had been something wild in his eyes.
I could ask for a restraining order. But not coming near me doesn’t mean he can’t go near anyone I talk to afterward and beat the shit out of them.
It’s as if a rat is gnawing at my stomach. I never knew fear could feel so tangible. As I stand at my bedroom window, looking out, I wonder if lying low would be enough for Blake to forget about me and give up. They say that about bullies—that when you stop struggling, they lose interest.
God, I hope so. I want to take back control of my life. I want to do stuff, to experience things, to really live.
Micah. His hot kiss, his strong body, his gentle voice... I should have told him what’s going on, but my first thought was to get away fast, before Blake saw. Now I wish I’d stayed just a moment longer to ask for his phone number.
Too late. At least I know he works at the tattoo shop, Damage Control. He must have my walking stick, too. A good excuse for me to drop in.
Not that I really need the stick, as my flight from the cafe has proven. Yes, my knee aches dully, but I can do without.
Heat rushes up my neck, and a shiver of pleasure goes through me at the memory of his touch. Truth is, any excuse would do if it allows me to see Micah again.
I’m standing outside Damage Control, passers-by jostling me in their hurry to get to their jobs or the shops or their families... A cold wind is blowing.
Rocking back on my heels, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I study the tattoo designs pasted on the inside of the glass. Octopuses, aliens, flowers, abstract symbols.
Stop procrastinating, Ev. Just get inside.
I push the door open. A different guy is standing behind the tall desk this time. My first impression is that of a lion—wide-spaced eyes and a golden mane brushing broad shoulders.
“Hi,” he says, flashing me a smile. “Here for a tattoo?”
“No, I...” I reflexively back away and glance around, hoping Micah will materialize from behind a booth. But no such luck, and again all eyes turn on me. “I’m just looking for someone.”
“Hey, Rafe, she’s looking for Micah,” a guy with blue hair calls from the opening of a booth. He winks at me. “He knows her.”
“Micah isn’t here today,” Rafe the lion-man says. “Want to leave a message for him?”
“Is he okay? Is he sick?” And now I sound like his mother. Crap.
Rafe cocks his head to the side, his eyes crinkling. “He didn’t say.”
Why am I still concerned? I only just saw him yesterday, and he looked fine. But there’s something about Micah—his color, his face, his face—that feels familiar and troubles me.
“Can you give me his phone number, then?” I ask. “He has something of mine.”
The blue-haired guy comes out of his booth and winks at me. The cerulean hue of his T-shirt matches his head. “I wonder what that might be.”
Someone I can’t see whistles from the back of the shop.
“None of your business,” I say, my teeth clenching, and turn to go. “Thank you for your time.”
“Wait,” the blond guy says. “Ocean says Micah knows you.”
I stop and give him a level look. “Yes.”
“Do you think he’s sick? Did he seem sick to you?” He blinks his amber eyes at me, a crease forming between his brows, and I realize he’s concerned, too.
Why would he be concerned that Micah is sick?
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just want to see him. And he does have something of mine.”
He nods quickly. “I’ll give you his address. But you’d better not leave dead animals on his doorstep or harass him, are we clear?”
I open my mouth and close it. He’s kidding me, right? But not a muscle moves in his face, so I can’t tell. Who is this guy?
He writes a few words on a piece of paper and holds it out for me without another word.
“Thanks.” I take it and glance at the address.
“It’s really close,” Ocean says.
A quick look goes between the two of them, one I can’t decipher. It doesn’t matter what they think, if they think I sleep with Micah or whatever—though the thought of sleeping with Micah makes my skin prickle and my heart pound with excitement. A pulse starts between my legs and heat spreads inside me.
Clutching the paper with his address in my hand, I hurry out as fast as my feet can take me.