He's asleep. On the steps of a building. It's like a weird déjà vu-not from my memories, but from his.
"Jesse." I lean over and shake him. "JJ!"
He starts awake, sitting up, and I see a darkening bruise on his jaw. What happened here?
"Are you all right?" I ask, and he blinks, looking confused. "Come on." I grab his hand and pull. "Let's go home."
Chapter Fourteen
Jesse
"Let's go home."
In my dream I'm sitting in a back alley behind a restaurant, waiting for Helen, curled up on the step. Fear runs through me like a current, tension and exhaustion born of uncertainty about tomorrow. Where will I end up? Will I be safe? Will I have money? Where will I sleep?
Will she be okay?
Then I'm blinking, and there's Amber. Amber … Her face doesn't fit in with my memories, and yet seeing her calms me down and wraps a warm band around my chest.
Still … Can't recognize this place. The steps are all wrong, and what is she doing here? My brain's muddled from sleep and I'm disoriented.
I should … Should be careful. Walk away. My jaw hurts, and my ribs smart. Not a good sign, and it's the kind of pain my nightmares feed on. It's probably why I have so much trouble getting my brain to let go of the dream.
But her hand is on my arm, fingertips digging lightly into my muscle, and I let her pull me to my feet, bracing my other hand on the wall. The street lights blind me as I stagger down the steps, following her onto the street. The headlights of a passing car stab my eyeballs, and I curse under my breath.
"Why aren't you sleeping in your bed?" she asks, her small hand slipping down to slide into mine, and I curl my fingers around it, a weight lifting off my chest-as if I've caught a lifeline in the storm.
"My bed." My apartment. What the hell? I was back on the streets for a moment there. Kinda missed a whole year of my life. "I don't … "
Memory returns in fits and starts, and I bite back a groan. Oh yeah, I remember now. Dammit.
She glances at me, probably waiting for an answer.
"Shit happened." Real enlightening, J, very smooth.
"I thought you'd still be at work at this time."
"Yeah, well, I left early. Had something I needed to do."
"And did you?"
"Nope." That's the problem. Everything went wrong, every single damn thing, tonight of all nights. A night that's bad by default.
Except for Amber finding me and putting her hand in mine. Yeah, that's the only thing that gives me hope, though for what, I can't imagine.
The rest of the way I turn the night's events over and over in my head until it hurts like a mother, and I barely notice when she stops at a building entrance and unlocks.
That's when I realize she hasn't led me to my apartment, but to hers.
Thank fucking God.
"Have you eaten anything tonight?" she asks, and I take a moment to figure out she's talking to me, too distracted by her scent and the warmth of her skin against mine as we go up the steps.
"Don't think I have." As a matter of fact, I can't recall eating anything after a hurried breakfast. Had to leave early for the shop. Taking on Seth's shift means I don't go running as often as I'd like to, but hey, cleaning is a decent workout, I guess.
"Come on in." She tugs her hand free of mine to open the apartment door, and I resist the urge to snatch it back.
"Kayla in?" I amble into her living room and switch on the lights. It's tidy and clean and smells of some floral cleaner.
"She's out."
"Just you and me, then, kitten?" I flash her a grin when she turns to give me a look from where she's hanging her purse on a hook behind the door.
"Cut it out, JJ."
Still not taking my shit. I almost reel with relief. Back on solid ground after a night of spinning like a damn merry-go-round.
"I know." I wink at her and lick my lips. "I'm a big dick."
Doesn't stop a flush from rising to her cheeks, and I grin wider.
Gotcha.
I love getting under her skin. Fuck, I love getting skin-to-skin with her even better, but after our last encounter and the way it ended … Because of my knee-jerk reaction to anything having to do with Helen and my past.
"I wouldn't know the size of your dick," she deadpans, slipping off her sandals and padding quietly across the room to close the curtains on the two windows facing the street below. "But from your need to talk about it constantly, I'd guess it's very small."
"What?" I sputter and cup my crotch protectively. "This is small? Who the hell said that?"
"So you're big. Just how big are you?"
I gape at her, even as my dick starts getting interested in the proceedings, hardening against my palm. "Big." I can't believe I'm having this conversation with her, with Amber. My gaze strays to the swell of her tits under her tight, green top and my dick jumps under my hand, making me hiss. "Big enough."
"We'll see about that." She winks at me heading to the kitchen, and I choke on my inhale.
What the fuck just happened?
What happened is I walked right into that one. Shit, that's a first. This girl's messing with my head, throwing my teasing back at me.
That's a first, and damn if I don't like it.
"Is it good?" She pushes a glass of juice toward me as I inhale the last of the spicy tuna rolls she put in front of me less than a minute earlier.
"Terrible," I say with my mouth full and lick hot sauce off my fingers. "A health hazard. I think you're trying to poison me."
She giggles, but then her eyes focus on my finger-licking and widen a little before she turns away.
"I'll let Kayla know how much you hated her rolls," she says.
"Oh, she made them?" I could have eaten another ten of the tiny things, but I gulp down the juice instead. "They're really good. Maybe she could show me how to make them one day."
"You want to learn how to cook?"
I put my glass down, shrug. "Yeah. Is it weird? I've watched Mel at the taco stand, but I can't eat tacos every night."
She blinks at me, looking confused. "Can't you cook something else?"
"If I knew, I would." Now my belly's full, my eyelids are drooping. I stifle a yawn. "It's strange, having a kitchen, you know, where you can store food and cook and stuff. On the street you just grab what's cheap and ready."
Her face falls, and yeah, I've shoved her into the shitty reality of my past again. I keep forgetting most people have no clue what that's like.
Not sure whether I should say I'm sorry for speaking out or cut my losses and shut up.
But then she says, "I'm sorry."
What is she sorry for?
"Well, I'm not. Having a kitchen is damn cool, let me tell you that."
She huffs a little laugh and pushes at my shoulder with her hand. "Shut up. You know what I mean." When I stare at her, lost, she swallows hard and sits back down across from me. "I'm sorry you had to live like that before. It makes me sad."
I hate pity. All my life I've fought it. I'm a proud person, although I've had to crack down on my pride quite a few times to avoid checking out of this world. Still … I'm glad she's not pitying me, because otherwise I'd be out the door already.
And thinking she's sad on my behalf sends those bands of warmth tightening around my chest until I can hardly breathe.
"Today … " I turn the cool glass in my hands, making it squeak on the table. "Today's Helen's birthday."
I have no clue why I'm telling her this, sitting at the little table in her bright kitchen, spilling my guts out. I haven't talked about Helen since the day she vanished. What's wrong with me?
And worse still, why can't I seem able to fucking stop?
"I always toast her with a shot of brandy on her birthday. She liked the stuff. I save a bottle in my room for special occasions." I force my hands to still on top of the table. "I asked Mel to let me leave early. Not because of Helen, just … "
My fists are so tight my nails bite into the flesh of my palm, and yet I can't feel any pain. Numb.
"What happened?" Her hands slide over mine like cool water, covering my fists, until I relax them and let my hands lie flat on the table. "When you got home?"
"Things went to hell before that." I draw a breath and find myself trembling, so I pull away my hands and let them fall on my thighs. "On the way, I met Jason. He's a hooker, still works the streets. He's the one who found me that night when I was attacked, three years ago."
"The night you got the scars?"
I find myself scratching at them unconsciously, and make myself stop. "Yeah. Jason has been on my case since then to report what happened to the police. I refused. Guy who cut me up is a gang leader. He'll have my head on a spike if he finds out."
She pales as she bows her head, taking this in. "I understand."