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Mine, a voice in the back of my mind whispers. Mine.
Yeah, right. After this last fuck-up, knowing Rook thinks I’m batshit crazy, I bet she can’t wait to get away from me for good.
***
Turns out the doctor is in the living room, waiting for me to get dressed so he could examine me. Doc’s been around since I was a kid, his blond goatee gone silver. Rook’s parents pay him, but he’s been doing the rounds in all three families for years.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he says, probing at the piece of ceramic stuck in my back.
“He disappeared for months,” Rook says, because he’s so fucking helpful. “Just came back today.”
The sprinklers have been turned off, leaving puddles of water everywhere. A technician is going through the shards of the stove, while a bodyguard stands at the apartment door. A cleaning crew is unpacking equipment to clear up the mess of the kitchen and living room.
Shit. So many people in this apartment I haven’t visited since the car accident, it’s unreal. The cupboards are smashed, there’s food and sauce dripping off every surface and the stench of burnt plastic fills the air.
At least we got dressed. Raylin helped me pull on my pants and she borrowed one of the shir
ts I couldn’t remember I had hanging in my closet.
Holy shit. I lived here for months, and I can hardly remember the place or the things in it. Like the tray with the scotch and glasses on the low corner table, or the cigar box by the sixty-inch flat TV. All I can see in my mind’s eye is the beach house, and Raylin on the king-size bed, naked and—
“Something’s odd here,” the technician says, rubbing at the dark stubble on his chin. “This thing shouldn’t have exploded like that.” He pokes between the shards. “Damn weird.”
“See?” I snarl at Rook, but my voice cracks on a groan when the doctor starts pulling on the shard. Damn, that stings. “Told you. Have you called the police?”
“Christ, Storm, relax. It’s not a bomb or anything. Why would the police care?”
“No, not a bomb,” the technician says. “I’m only saying it shouldn’t have exploded like this, but the wiring is a mess. Or was, before it melted. You’re lucky. If you were still in the kitchen when this happened, not sure you’d have made it out alive.”
“Awesome,” I mutter. The shard slides out of me all the way, and then the doc sprays the wound with something that burns like fire. I bite the inside of my cheek not to yelp. You’d think I’d be used to pain by now, wouldn’t you?
Fuck. Used to the pain and the near-death situations.
“Will he be okay?” Raylin asks and takes my hand. I wrap my fingers around her slim fingers.
“He’ll live.” The old doc is way too cheerful, in my opinion. What he’s doing now feels like he’s cutting me up, which probably means stitches. Far from the first time he’s had to do this. He then slaps some gauze on the wound and tapes it to my back. “He’s lucky it didn’t hit his spine, or he’d be in a world of trouble.”
Yeah, that’s me. So lucky.
But Raylin shudders and her eyes well.
“Hey.” I give her what I hope is a reassuring wink, while all I want is to grab her and run away. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay. You got shot at because of me, and now this…” Then she says, so low I have to strain to hear, “I’m scared.”
“I’ll keep you safe. I’ll do all I can.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?” She’s confusing me, and fuck all I want is to hold her and feel her and taste her…
The doc pats my shoulder, breaking through my thoughts. “You’re good to go, boy.”
“Thanks.” I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. Doc, Dr. Jazz for those who didn’t know him since they could barely walk, is well over six feet tall. He pushes his silver glasses up his long nose and with this dark suit and tie he makes a good impersonation of Freud.
Yeah, I wonder what Freud would have to say about my fears and theories. He’d have a field day. Because if Ray doesn’t believe me, then nobody does. I’m even starting to doubt myself, my memories, what I know.
Bring on the straightjacket. It’s been a long time coming.
