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And now my dad is calling as I’m getting ready to leave work, leaving the desk in the hands of Megan, the very nice and very capable wife of Rafe Vestri, who’s co-owner of the shop with Zane Madden. She smiles big and waves me off as I stare at my phone like it’s about to bite me.
I’m not sure I’m ready for this today—but if I don’t deal with it, our dad will turn to Ocean, and that’s the last fucking thing I want.
“What do you want?” I cross the brightly lit space of the shop with its floor-to-wall posters of tattoo designs done in black and white. “I said we’ll talk on Sunday. Right now I’m at work.”
“Raine,” my father says, and my name spoken in his voice is like a physical blow, a throw-back to my childhood. “Cut the bullshit. We need your help. We need cash—”
“Or what?” I push the words out from between gritted teeth, throwing the door open and stepping out into the cold. “Why are you back?”
“I told you, boy, your brother took everything from us, our trailer, our whole life—”
“That’s a big fucking lie and you know it.”
“We’ll see about that,” my good old dad says, and disconnects before I can get another word in.
“Goddammit. Fucking douchebag!” I shake my phone, imagining it’s his head. My heart is pounding with useless rage. “How dare you?” I clench my fingers around the case of the phone, my knuckles white. “How dare you threaten my brother, you piece of shit?”
“Well, hello to you, too, sunshine,” someone says from behind and slaps me on the back, almost throwing me face-first onto the sidewalk. “What’s got you so worked up on this fine day?”
“Micah.” I turn around to glare at him.
He lifts his hands in mock surrender, and arches his brows. “Whoa. Don’t shoot.”
“Bad day,” I mutter and try to relax.
Micah’s the golden boy of Collateral, one of the first tattoo artists to start with Zane Madden, together with my brother, and lately too f
ull of happiness not to piss me off.
I mean, I’m seriously glad for him, but I’m just not in the mood for friendly banter and jokes right now.
He seems to sense my mood. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his old, soft jeans, and rocks back on his heels, blue eyes narrowing. “I’ll leave you in peace, then, buddy. Just remember we’re here if you need anything, all right? All of us.”
I know he means it. The guys working at Damage Control and Collateral Damage are great. I can’t say it often enough. I see it every day, how they stand up for each other, how they have each other’s backs. It’s fucking awesome. And when they offer their support to me, it’s humbling and moving.
But I’m not part of the family. Not really. I’m a newcomer, Ocean Storm’s little brother who got the receptionist job because of that connection. I’ll always be an outsider.
And what the hell’s the matter with me today, huh? Yeah, the day wasn’t perfect. Yeah, work was more stressful than usual, and mention of my bastard parents always gets my hackles up, let alone talking to them and negotiating the minefield that are their demands.
Not to mention today’s planned dinner with this guy I barely remember.
I run my hands through my short hair as Micah walks into the shop, the door closing behind him. I’ve been lie this since three days ago, when I found Jason sitting at that store entrance, when he got under my skin. He did it so easily. A few words, a look, a sneer, driving home one more time how far apart our worlds are, how badly he hates my guts. What an idiot I am to fantasize about him.
As if I didn’t know that.
Focus on other stuff, Raine. Stop obsessing over Jason.
Other stuff. Like how good my life is. Yeah, it’s a damn good life, and if one small complication makes me wanna put my fist through the wall, then I’ve got a problem.
I’ll get through this. This is nothing compared to all that came before, plus now I’m a fucking adult. I can fight, I can solve problems, I can overcome obstacles.
I’m not the helpless kid I used to be, and I don’t need anyone to look out for me, because I’m doing a damn good job of it myself.
Just you watch.
Grabbing some groceries on the way, I make my way home, my parents’ demands bouncing inside my head, setting my teeth on edge.
They want money. That much was clear from the first time they called the shop and got me instead of Ocean. They haven’t set an amount yet, but I’ll bet it’s high. Nothing less would be worth their time—and their return into our lives.
