Chapter Four

Two Months Later

Eva

“Have fun!” I call out to Ryan. “Thanks again for letting me borrow the patio tonight.”

He gives a two-finger wave over his shoulder as he pulls the glass door closed behind him.

I hope his date goes well. 

I settle into the patio lounger with my big awful finance textbook. Everything about this class is so mind numbing and I am hoping that if I study outside under the moonlight I won’t loath it quite so much. 

How Luke and Ryan can love this trash like they do is beyond me. 

“I should probably change my major.” Even as the words pass through my lips, I know I won’t. I can’t explain why. 

I just won’t. 

The sounds of crickets and the city meld together creating a white noise soundtrack as I dive into the stale text discussing long term investments. I spend what feels like hours reading through the chapter, jotting down notes and running my highlighter all over the page. I just want to get this off my to do list so tomorrow I can make an outline from the mess.

A breeze sails across the patio bringing the scents of late summer. I breathe deep, allowing myself a moment of respite from the soul crushing textbook. A vague hint of something salty and familiar, lies just behind each gust. 

The ocean.

A thrill of joy unfurls behind my ribs as I pull in more air. The breeze must be coming from the east and carries with it the very faint scent of the ocean. My mouth curves into a smile, my ears straining, like if I only try hard enough I’ll hear the roar of the surf. With a big cat-like stretch, I take another deep breath and concentrate on the briny smell I love so much. 

I miss the shore.

Right before my lungs fill to capacity, a trace of smoke permeates my peaceful bubble. 

Shit.

A second later the rattle of rapid footfalls on the fire escape grate rings through the night like an alarm.

Please, no.

My eyes snap open, instantly taking in Jamie as he bounds down the steps from Nina’s landing like a bat out of hell. A lit cigarette is dangling between his lips. His head bent low.  Pretty standard Jamie stuff except…

Everything inside me goes on high alert as a foreboding chill skates up the back of my neck. Something about him is… off. I just can’t put my finger on what it is exactly. The man always looks miserable but there’s a charge in his atmosphere tonight. As soon as he hits the patio and the light I get my answer.

He’s bleeding.

“Oh my god.” I’m on my feet and moving towards him before I realize what I’m doing. “Are you okay?” 

Jamie ignores me and tries to open Ryan’s patio door only to find it locked. He smacks a frustrated palm against the glass leaving behind a blotchy crimson hand print on the window pane that makes my blood run cold.

Wow, bloody handprints are creepy as fuck.

“He’s out on a date,” I explain, coming up behind him. “Do you need to sit down?”

Jamie drops his head back looking at the sky and runs his bloody fingers through his hair. His lip is swollen and bleeding and there’s the beginnings of a bruise across his jaw. His shirt is torn and I can tell the adrenaline from whatever just transpired is still pumping through him. His body is practically humming with it.

“Please sit.” I reach for his arm in some lame attempt to pull him towards the lounger. 

“Jesus, will you get off me?” Jamie rips his arm from my grasp. “I don’t need to sit I just need a fucking first aid kit.” 

I check the urge to wrap my arms around my middle and press my point.

He might be an asshole but he’s bleeding.

“Well you’re in luck!” My cheeks ache from the force of my smile. Maybe if I grin extra hard I won’t make a bigger fool of myself than usual. “I have one handy. Just sit down and I’ll be right back with it.”

Before he can tell me to fuck off, I jet up the fire escape to my window and into my kitchen, seizing the first aid kit from my dance bag and an ice pack from my freezer. I slam it shut behind me only to swiftly spin back on my heel to grab the unopened bottle of vodka off the door. I was saving it for a special occasion but this will have to do. 

After pausing to frantically wash my hands, I scurry back down to the patio with my supplies just in time to watch Jamie take a final drag from his cigarette. He’s sprawled out on the lounger with his legs stretched out and his head back as he gazes up at the sky. His handsome face is pinched in a fierce scowl as he blows a series of smoke rings into the air and his long bloody fingers tap to an unheard tune. No one should look this good while bleeding and smoking a damned cancer stick.

So unfair.

“Alrighty,” I call through another manic grin as I make my way across the patio towards my worst nightmare of a neighbor. “I’ll make this quick because it’s going to be unpleasant.”  I shove the bottle of vodka at him before kneeling down between his knees and popping my kit open. 

“For fuck’s sake. I don’t need you—” Jamie reaches for the box but I reflexively smack his knee and yank my supplies away from him. 

My first aid shit counts as my dance gear; and it’s not that I’m territorial about it or anything, but no one—and I mean no one—touches my dance gear. “Believe me, I’m better at this than you. I’ll be quick about it. I promise.” 

He stares down at my face for a moment assessing me the way a wolf might assess the prey under its paw. But I ignore my little bunny heart and meet his stormy sea blue eyes head on.

I’m not giving up my first aid kit.

“Fine,” he eventually bites through clenched teeth. Then drops back against the seat, taking a swig from the bottle. “Be fast.”

I puff out a shaky-as-hell-sigh and rise up, placing the ice pack on his jaw. “Keep this here.” 

Resting back on my haunches, I take his free hand in mine. The feel of his callused palm in mine sends my stomach into a weird dip, but I ignore it and set to work. Upon closer inspection it’s clear his knuckles are ripped open. There’s way more damage to them than his face. It’s pretty obvious he was in a fight and I’d bet this week’s pointe shoes that whoever he was up against is in far worse shape right now.

We stay quiet as I work; the atmosphere is anything but comfortable. With each passing second my anxiety grows exponentially allowing a scalding tension to work its way under my skin. 

Do not start babbling.

My brows bead with sweat despite the breeze. 

For the love of god don’t babble.

Jamie’s chest rises and falls in long aggravated breaths.

Just keep your head down and be invisible. You’re good at that.

By the last finger the silence is officially too much to hold and for the sake of maintaining steady hands I do the worst thing possible and speak.

“I don’t know if you know this but I dance. Ballet actually—well I’ve started exploring new styles but my bread and butter is ballet. Anyway, it can be pretty rough on the body and it’s always good to have first aid supplies on hand. I’m like, forever battling blisters and sores. Not to mention the occasional fall or sprain. It doesn’t happen often...I mean blisters and stuff are an all the time kind of struggle, they’re not lying about ballerina feet being gross, but I don’t think I’ve fallen in over a year. Knock on wood. But you know...You can never be too prepared. That’s my life motto.”

Ugh, ‘life motto’.... and did I just go into ballet feet?

SERIOUSLY?

“For the love of God, shut the fuck up.” He begs flatly, keeping his eyes closed.

Asshole.

I pull my lips between my teeth and bite down as I begin applying ointment to the wounds. Now would be a good time for a count to twenty—correction, one minute ago would have been a good time for a count to twenty. I’ve been counting to calm down since I was a kid. It started as a way to soothe myself after night terrors and it stuck. The therapist my parents threw me off to gave me lots of other little coping exercises. But counting was always my favorite. It’s clean and straightforward.

I love the simplicity of it.

Or at least, I usually do.  

Right now, it’s worthless. I consider playing the three things sensory game I use whenever counting won’t cut it. But honestly, I don’t think anything short of a tranquilizer will do with Jamie telling me to shut the fuck up while I hold his busted tattooed hand in mine. 

He keeps his eyes closed as I work, as if he’s pretending he’s somewhere far away from me. I carefully select a bandage from my collection and smooth it down across his skin.

“So, what happened?” I ask as I switch hands to begin the whole process over again. 

“What part of shut up don’t you get?”

Least surprising response of all time.

I dab just a touch too hard at his knuckles with the antiseptic wipe.

Man, that rose tattoo on his hand is so nice, such a shame I have to make it angry with rubbing alcohol.

He drops the ice pack to take a pull from the vodka bottle then places it back against his jaw. He keeps his head back. His eyes stay closed. Nothing changes except that he speaks. “Just some drunk ass holes asking for a fight.” 

“You were happy to oblige?”

“Is that a fucking question?”

“I guess so?” Damnit. It was a genuine question but now he’s got me on a roll and everything out of my mouth from here on out is probably going to sound like one whether I want it to or not.

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re annoying?”

Every damn day of my old life.

His eyes are still closed so I take the liberty of sticking my tongue out like a snide child as I select the appropriate bandage for his hand. I rise up again and lean close examining his lip, frowning as I study the damage. That split looks rough and will likely break several times before it heals.

“You know I hurt my lip like this once,” I whisper, making a final attempt to be friendly. “It was the Fourth of July. I was in a tree with this boy. He got startled by a firework and knocked me off the branch.  I landed on my face. Hurt like a bitch.” I laugh at the memory as I gently reach out to clean the cut.

His eyes snap open.

Everything freezes.

I don’t speak. I don’t move. 

I don’t breathe.

Because Jamie is suddenly focused on me. Not ignoring me or merely tolerating my presence…he’s zoned in like I’m all he can see.

  Something deep down knows all that blue will be my undoing one day. It’s an undeniable fact. My lips part as I struggle to pull in air while every nerve ending in my system comes alive. I’ve never been this close to the details of those iridescent pools pulling me in. 

Tiny flecks of deep green around his irises  bloom out into a cool soft blue are encompassed by a vivid azure ring. They’re so hypnotically beautiful but as I continue to fall into their depths, I catch something insidious lurking just beneath the surface of colors that makes me sad. Jamie must notice the small twitch of my brows when I see it because his gaze suddenly turns hostile. He shoots to his feet, breaking the spell as I fall back, landing hard on my ass.

“Were you babbling?” He asks, already heading for the fire escape. “Cause there’s a real good chance he pushed you out of the tree to get the hell away from you.” 

Ouch. 

My gaze hits the ground as the memory of my almost first kiss plays behind my eyes. I always thought it was bad timing, but when he puts it like that… there’s a decent chance that was indeed the case.

“The fuck...” I hear him mutter and when I raise my eyes again a sliver of happiness breaks through the shadow of shame. He’s staring daggers at the bandages on his hands.

Cartoon princess bandages.

“Sorry, it was all I had,” I bite my cheek to hide a smile, very slowly closing my kit.

“I can see normal bandages right fucking there!” Her barks, pointing at my collection.

“Like I said...” I shrug making a big show of snapping the box closed. Jamie stares at me for a menacing moment. For once, I don’t feel the need to cower.

He stalks up the fire escape grumbling about princesses and bratty ass smiles. 

When he disappears through his window I finally let out a soft laugh. Didn’t anyone tell Jamie not to bite the hand that feeds?