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She shoots me a strange look. “You’ve been doing your best all your life. Taking care of your parents, of your brother, of everyone at that trailer park. Stop selling yourself short.”
I laugh at that—then stop and press a hand to my ribs. “You should spread your cards again, Kay. If that’s what they say about me, then they aren’t worth a damn.”
She frowns. “I don’t… You might actually have saved my life, and Allie’s, tonight. No matter what it is you think you did when you were younger, you’re a pretty awesome person, Ocean.”
I shake my head, my throat closing up. I swallow hard and let my head drop back. “Never mind.”
It wouldn’t matter, even if she was right.
It’s never enough.
***
I manage to doze off again, and then she drops me off with promises to find me better painkillers. She waves off my thanks, and I stumble into my apartment and fall on my bed. Or sort of lie down gingerly, in so much pain I doubt I’ll sleep.
But I do. I’m out like a light, and when I wake up at dawn, I find I passed out on my bed still in my jacket and boots, my teeth fuzzy and my mouth tasting like the inside of a dirty sock.
I’m way too slow getting up and locating my over-the-counter, pretty fucking useless painkillers and swallow them down with a cup of old coffee, then sit at my kitchen table and stare at nothing.
We need to talk. That’s what she said.
I’m sorry, Ocean. You’re a pretty awesome guy. You helped me and my sister, and I wish you all the best, but I think it’s better we went our separate ways.
I don’t think I could bear it, hearing her saying the words. I’d much rather consider it a given and avoid this convo.
Today starts the convention. It ends tomorrow evening, and then Sunday is free.
Free for others. It’s racing day for me. I’m due at the trailer park in the early afternoon. The track we use isn’t far. It’s an out of the way road, quite deserted and traffic-free, perfect for racing against the rich city-boys who want to show off their fancy, powerful cars and don’t mind throwing their money down the drain for the chance.
The important thing for me is that Duane will pay me a small sum upfront and a bigger one if I win the race.
I have to win that race.
Have to.
It takes me forever to get ready and go to the shop. I move like a hundred-year-old with palsy. I think it’s partly the pain and partly a deep, cold fear.
Of hearing Kayla telling me exactly what she thinks of me.
Of failing the race and not getting the money I need to get Mom well.
Of failing Raine again by letting his mom die.
Of fucking up yet again.
The moment I reach Damage Control, I’m distracted by the amount of work still needed before the doors open. The guys from the guest tattoo stop are there already.
Soul Stain their shop is called. Their banner is already hanging outside the shop, along with a poster informing passersby it’s a tattoo convention and that they’re welcome to step in and get inked.
And free food! And live music by the Brotherhood’s own punk rock band, DeathMoth!
Some people are standing around on the sidewalk, trying to see inside, as I open the door and enter. Chaos greets me, and Shane gestures at me to help him set up the table with the food and drink.
I can handle that, so I hurry over. Everyone is dragging tables around, straightening posters and drawings stuck on boards and on the walls, checking tattoo guns and inks, flipping through catalogues.
A tall, dark-haired guy ambles over and sticks his hand out for me to shake. It’s tattooed, as is his arm, the intricate, colorful design disappearing under the sleeve of his black T-shirt.
“Kade, of Soul Stain,” he says as we shake. “You must be Ocean Storm.”
