Текст книги "Micah"

Автор книги: Jo Raven

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Chapter Three

Micah

Dammit. I spent the whole night and morning psyching myself to go talk to her, to find out if it’s her, Ev, and she showed up with this blond chick. What do I do now?

I march back inside Damage Control and find Seth sweeping the floor, dark head bent over the chore. He has some Native American blood in him, just like his cousin, Shane, who’s also an apprentice here. His tattoos climb his neck, the most impressive one a snake—the design Zane inked on all of us strays, the ones he and Rafe took in. The Damage Boyz, as they call us.

Seth, Shane and Jesse don’t pay for their apprenticeship—of course not, none of us have any money to our names—but they clean the shop while learning the craft.

I step around Seth and into my booth. I sit on my stool and swivel around.

“Hey, Micah.” It’s Ocean, the other tattoo artist. I often wonder if he dyes his hair blue to match his name. “Going out for beers tonight at a new place nearby, Halo. Hear of it?”

I close my eyes and rub by face. “Nope. Look, I got work to do.” Bullshit, I’m still on a break, but so what.

“Well, Shane and Jesse will be there,” says Ocean, who can’t take a fucking hint. “Seth says he’ll swing by, too. Wanna come?”

I shove my fingers into my short hair and sigh. “Maybe another time.”

“Come on, buddy.” Ocean grins widely. Yeah, nothing can get the sunny boy of Damage Control down. “You never meet with us.”

“I’m not sociable, okay?”

“Come on. We’ll play pool and hang out, and then we could—”

“Hey. Ocean.” I lift a hand, my patience fraying. “Not tonight, all right?”

“Sure, man.” He turns away, so I’m not sure I hear his next words correctly, but it sounds like, “Just don’t shut out your family.”

Shit. I lean against the counter after he’s gone. Didn’t realize I was shutting anyone out. Maybe I should meet the guys tonight. Maybe...

Ev.

Who cares who she’s with? I need to see if it’s her.

I shoot out of my seat, and I’m out of Damage Control in two strides. My open jacket flaps as I cross the street, making a beeline for the donut shop.

Only the two girls aren’t sitting at the bench anymore. I peek inside the shop, then down the street. The hell? I wasn’t gone for so long, was I? Will I miss my chance once again? It was only yesterday I ran after her, calling for her, but she never turned around.

I catch glimpse of a slender girl rounding the corner, maybe fifteen yards away. I hesitate, but the slight limp gives her away, and I run after her. My combat boots thump rhythmically on the sidewalk, faster and faster, as I weave between passersby and pound down the avenue.

Where is she?

Slowing down, I look around but can’t see her. “Fuck!” I turn in a circle, tugging on my short hair.

I set off again, pushing through a throng at a burger stand and then a bus stop. What the hell? She was right ahead of me. With her limp, she can’t go fast. I pace up and down, cursing, and have to stifle a cough. My lungs feel tight.

Useless. She’s vanished into thin air. Could be a sign I should let this go. It probably isn’t her, and even if it is, no reason to butt into her life.

Fuck this. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I turn around to go and brace against the cold wind.

Then I see her. She’s not even ten feet away. Dressed in jogging tights and a long hoodie, she’s hurrying away from me. For one fleeting second, she glances over her shoulder, right at me, and I see stark fear in her eyes.

Fuck. She’s afraid of me. Of course she is. I’m acting like a goddamn stalker, watching her, going after her. I lift my hands and shake my head, taking a step back, then another, bumping into people.

But she’s not looking at me anymore. She darts forward, her ponytail flying. My eyes narrow when I see her stumble.

Damn. Without a second thought, I sprint after her, closing the small distance in a heartbeat. She’s going down, her knee buckling. Making a grab for her arm, I manage to snag her sleeve and hold her up. Time stops, stretches like toffee, and my whole world shrinks around my hand that’s keeping her from falling and her whiskey-colored eyes, huge in her pale face.

Fixed on me.

I stare back. Is it her? Is she Ev? Suddenly, I’m unsure. My memory is hazy. The eyes... That’s all I really remember, but can I trust a mind that was burning with fever?

Finally, I gather my wits and haul her upright. Her hand flexes, and she grips my arm in a surprisingly strong hold. Her other hand closes around a fistful of my shirt that peeks through my open jacket, and she winces as she straightens.

She won’t look at me now. I need to see her eyes again. With a fingertip I lift her chin, and swallow hard. I open my mouth to speak her name, but she beats me to it.

“Who are you?” she whispers.

I’m speechless. She’s so pretty—her mouth wide and soft, her cheeks flushed, her eyes so bright they burn into me. I slide my other hand around her, to the small of her back, feeling the sweet curve of her hips and her slim waist. She smells of flowers.

I bow my head. Only an inch separates our lips. “Micah,” I whisper. “I’m Micah Owens.” Are you Ev?

But before I say it, my wild run catches up with me, and I start to cough.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

She pulls away as I double over, hacking. At the hospital, the doctor said this might happen—the shortness of breath and coughing. I’ve been out of the woods for a good six months now, but the cough persists.

I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and find her hand on my other arm. Her expression has turned into one of concern.

“Are you all right?”

I nod as I straighten, panting. “Just a cold.”

She frowns but seems to accept my explanation. Her hand releases my arm and rises to my face. I freeze, completely out of my depth—and she touches my cheek, lightly, the sensation barely there. It makes me shudder with longing.

“Micah,” she whispers my name.

She bites her lip, and it’s so distracting I lift my hand and caress her mouth. It’s like the essence of a cloud, unbearably soft. I’m suddenly struck with a breathtaking need to touch my mouth to hers and see if she tastes as good as she smells.

I bend my head, so very close to her, and draw in her smell like oxygen. Roses? Jasmine? I’m not sure, but it’s intoxicating. Warm skin and freshness and one hundred percent beautiful girl.

She pulls back, her gaze uncertain. “Why were you watching me?” she asks.

It jolts me out of my trance.

Fuck. “You remind me of someone,” I rasp.

She studies my face for a long moment, and I wonder if she sees the truth. Then she sighs. “I have to go. I’m late.”

I want to slap myself upside the head. “Wait...”

She steps back before I get a chance to try and save the situation. “Bye, Micah,” she says softly as she turns and hurries toward the bus stop.

“Will you be back tomorrow?” I call after her. “At the donut shop?”

She doesn’t answer as the bus arrives with a squeal of tires, and she climbs in, vanishing into its darkness.

***

Seth comes into my booth after work and cocks a dark brow at me. “Ready?”

“For what?” Sitting on my stool, I stare morosely at the mess on my working station. I know I need to clean and tidy up before I leave Damage Control, but can’t find the energy.

That girl is scared of me. She probably thinks I’m a crazy stalker. And I still haven’t had a chance to ask her name. Dammit.

“Come on, man.” Seth pushes dark strands of hair off his face. He wears black studs in his earlobe and silver bars in the shell of his ear. “Alzheimer’s already? Beers. Pool. Tonight.”

“Beers,” I repeat, the words slowly sinking in. Now I remember Ocean telling me about it. “A new bar nearby. Halo.”

“He remembers! It’s a miracle.” Seth squints at some drawings for tattoos I’ve pegged to the cardboard walls of my cubicle. “Coming?”

“Don’t know.”

“Big fucking surprise,” Seth hisses and turns to go.

“What the hell is your problem?”

He turns, his dark eyes flashing. “My problem?”

Shit. “Hey, man. I just...” I rub the back of my neck. “Fuck. I just don’t feel like it tonight, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay.” He jabs a finger at me. “You’re all broken up over a chick you don’t even know. Seriously, man? Come have a beer with your bros. It won’t hurt, I swear.”

That’s how I find myself nodding sheepishly and following Seth out of Damage Control, because he might be intense and in-your-face, but this time he’s damn right. I need to leave this girl alone, whoever she is, get my head out of my ass and spend some time with my brothers. They have my back, and I’ve got a lot more in common with them than with a hazy memory.

We share nightmares and night terrors. We share a damn shitty past and a frail present, with a sliver of hope for a future. And that sliver is like glue, holding our pieces together. Tying us in an inescapable bond.

The bar isn’t far from Damage Control, just a few streets down. The sign flashes over the entrance, the word HALO inside—what else?—a yellow halo of blinking lights.

How fucking original.

At least the inside is more somber and run-of-the-mill. Black stools at the bar, low tables and chairs. Beer logos are projected on the far wall, changing colors, but otherwise, the lights are dim.

Someone shouts our names, and we make our way in the half-darkness. The flashes illuminate faces, bodies, gestures as we walk by the tables lining the wall. We reach the bar, and Ocean gets up from his stool and clasps hands with Seth. He lifts his brows when he sees me.

“I’ll be damned. Look what the cat dragged in.” Ocean grins and grips my hand in a bone-crushing grip, pulling me toward him and clapping me on the back. “Glad you made it, buddy.”

I frown, trying to pull away, but then the others gather around us—Shane and Jesse, raising their beer bottles in my direction.

In fact, Jesse presses a chilled bottle into my hand, and I take it. He pumps fists with me, and his clear green eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins widely. He’s the result of an awesome gene cocktail. Though his eyes are green, his skin is like coffee with milk, and his smile is so white it’s blinding. Chicks dig it a lot.

When I glance around, I find Seth’s gaze on me. He looks amused. Well, as amused as Seth can possibly look, his thick arms folded over his chest, dark hair hiding his face—but I can tell because he snorts softly and shakes his shaggy head.

“Haven’t seen you at the gym lately,” Jesse says, dragging me to the bar and gesturing at a free stool. “Rafe was asking about you.”

Damn. I’ve been so obsessed with seeing the girl across the street, with speaking to her and finding out if she’s Ev, I stopped all other activity.

“Have you been okay?” Jesse gives me a long look, and I shrug.

“Fine.” On most days I’m okay. The after effects of the disease linger, but I’m getting better.

“Awesome.” Shane takes the stool next to mine and gulps down half his beer. His long black hair is caught at the nape. Silver hoops decorate his ears, from which metal tribal feathers and a small dreamcatcher dangle. “Can’t wait for you to return to the gym, so I get to push your face into the dirt.”

“You wish, asshole.” Rafe has been teaching us self-defense and kickboxing. His friend, Asher, drops by sometimes and helps train us.

“Maybe he’s not done running after skirts,” Shane mutters, deliberately looking at the far wall and tipping up his bottle.

“A specific skirt.” Jesse winks.

Motherfucker. “Shut up.” I scowl at my beer. “It’s not like that.”

“Oooh, I’m scared.” Shane gives a theatrical shiver. “What will Micah do to me if I don’t shut it? My knees are knocking together.”

“Don’t mind Shane. He’s just desperate for pussy,” Seth says from somewhere behind me. “He got carpal tunnel syndrome from wanking off every night.”

Shane growls and gives him the finger.

Jesse chuckles. “Yeah. At least you’re into a real chick, man, not bad porn.”

“I’m not into anyone,” I snap, a bit too loud, and push my beer on the counter. “Cut it out, suckers.”

“Now you’re telling us what we can or can’t say?” Shane fairly snarls at me.

“And if I am?” My fists itch. Maybe a good brawl might take out some of the tension I can feel in my shoulders. “Got a problem with that, asshole?”

This was a motherfucking bad idea. What I want is to stop thinking about her, and they won’t give me a moment’s peace, goddammit.

Especially when Shane curls his lip and says, “Maybe I should go check out this chick that’s got you all twisted up in knots. Say hi.”

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m on my feet and in Shane’s face, a fistful of his black t-shirt bunched up in my hand. “Back the fuck off, do you hear me? Don’t even think about talking to her. Fucker.”

“Hey, hey.” Ocean materializes next to me, slinging an arm over my shoulders and hauling me back. “Relax, sunshine. And you, guys, drop it. Let’s not chase him away just yet, now that he finally showed up.”

“Not my fault he can’t take a joke,” Shane mutters, returning to his beer. Seth hovers beside him and whispers something in his ear.

“Whatever,” I hiss, shaking Ocean’s arm off and downing the rest of my beer. I lift the bottle for the bartender to get me another.

The bartender asks for my ID, and I shove my fake one in his face. He still doesn’t look too pleased. Not one of us is twenty-one, and I guess it shows. He scowls at me but finally pulls up another beer and slides it on the bar in front of me.

“Drink up,” Shane says, not looking at me. “Can’t wait to whip your ass at pool. Oh and by the way, loser buys the next round. That will be you.”

“Dream on, motherfucker. I’m gonna beat your stupid ass so hard you won’t know what hit you.”

Tension twangs on the air. I can see Ocean opening his mouth to say something, and for once I think it might be good if he does, when Shane snorts and raises his bottle.

“We’ll see about that,” he says and gulps down the rest of his beer. “Come on. Missed you at pool, man. The others suck.”

The release of tension in the air is so sudden I swear my damn ears pop. Jesse and Ocean wander to the pool tables, and I grab my beer and follow. Looks like the evening won’t be a total loss, after all. With the almost-fight, it’s the first time in days I stop thinking about the girl across the street for a while. Shane wins the first game of pool. I win the second, and the evening rolls without more incidents. I have a good time with the guys.

Problem is, I know tomorrow the respite will be over, and my obsession with the mysterious, sweet-smelling girl will return.

***

I’m lost inside a city that has to be Madison but isn’t. The shop facades are foreign, the alleys warp into different dimensions. I’m sick. I know I am, but there’s nothing I can do. My lungs are twisted and aching, unable to draw air. I roll in the dirt. The walls melt like toffee, leaving behind them white skeletons with grinning skulls, caught in giant black spider webs.

A hand slips into mine and squeezes. Eyes like warm honey look into mine. “I’m Ev,” she whispers. “Hang on in there.”

But the skeletons grab her and draw her away and she screams as she’s pulled into the spider web and left to die. I twist and force my heavy body to move, to go after her, help her. A shout catches in my throat, suffocating.

“Wake up. Micah, wake up!” Big hands clench on my shoulders and shake me roughly until my eyes blink open. I take in a small room with posters on the walls and a man’s face over me.

Seth. And this is my bedroom. Sweat is drying on my face and bare chest, and my breath rattles in my lungs.

“Man,” he says, shaking his head and standing up, “you have some nasty nightmares.”

I say nothing. What’s there to say? He also has his fair share of bad dreams. I hear him shout sometimes in the night. At least I know he understands.

“What was it this time?” he asks quietly as he steps away from the bed. Arms folded over his cotton-clad chest, he comes to a stop in front of the few sketches I have taped to the wall.

“Same as usual,” I reply shortly.

“The streets?”

I scrub my hand over my face. My eyes itch. “Yeah.”

Better than the other dreams of the group home that leave me feeling sick. At least this one had a good ending.

Seth cocks his head, his black hair hanging over one shoulder, studying my sketches. There are abstract designs and cartoon-like women, and a face I’ve seen in my memory a thousand times this past year. The face I’ve just seen in my dream.

“That her?” he asks.

I ignore the question, hoping he’ll drop it. The sky outside my window is growing light. I groan as I sit up, swinging my legs off the bed. The floor is fucking cold. The air is cold.

“What happened to the heater?” No wonder I’m dreaming of the streets. Although it’s April, it’s still damn cold.

“Broke down again. I’ll call Shane to have a look later.”

The time on my phone reads six in the morning. Fucking hell. We only got home a few hours ago. No wonder I feel like hell warmed over.

Which begs the question... “What are you doing up anyway?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He wanders away from my drawings and stops at the door of my bedroom. “So what will you do?”

“About what?”

“Her.” He nods toward the drawing as he steps out. “Kill it, or leave it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The fear, man. Talking about fear. You’re afraid to talk to her, why, I don’t know. Kill the fear, or leave it and be done with it.”

He makes it sound so damn easy.

I down three cups of black coffee before my brain can function enough for me to shower and get ready. I decide to go for a run. I need to get back my strength, and the illness took a huge toll on me. It’s only recently I can jog for more than ten minutes without coughing my lungs out and feeling like I’ll never get my breath back. Getting stronger every day.

Kill it, or leave it.

The words reverberate in my head as I run through busy streets and parks and turn back toward the apartment. My footfalls thump to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I climb the stairs and bend over, coughing.

Kill it, or leave it.

I’ll talk to her. So what if she thinks I’m a stalker? I’ll just cross the street and say, hey, are you Ev? Because you saved my life, you know, and I wanna thank you for that.

Lame. Probably stupid. But it might help me sleep better, knowing I did it.

So of course it makes sense, with my rotten luck in life, that the girl across the street doesn’t show up, not this afternoon, or the one after. She’s gone.

Chapter Four

Evangeline

Joel is furious. He paces my bedroom, his strides eating up the space, his blue eyes flashing at every turn.

“What the hell were you thinking, Evie? Why can’t you be careful?”

I wince, and I pretend it’s because of my leg—which is propped up on a pillow, an ice pack on my throbbing knee. My almost-fall the other day screwed it up quite a bit.

It’s not that bad, I tell myself. By tomorrow I’ll be able to walk properly again, and by the week’s end, I’ll be as good as new.

I should be glad it isn’t worse. I should be glad Micah kept me from falling and spraining my ankle or maybe even breaking my leg again. A shudder goes through me at the thought.

And I shudder again at the memory of his muscular arms around me, his strong body pressed to mine, those sky-blue eyes fixed on me... His scent of burned ink and musk, the intensity in his gaze, in his voice... I should be creeped out that he watched me and followed me—but I’m not. The way he helped me and then held me, his low voice... he made me feel safe.

Which is stupid. I don’t know him. His behavior is odd. He’s... so hot.

Oh God...

“Evie? Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

My cheeks burn. “Sure.”

“Haven’t you learned that running through the town like that is dangerous? Especially with your leg still so weak. Wasn’t one accident enough?” My brother shakes his head. “Why do you have to go to all the seedy places?

“I didn’t go to any seedy places, Joel. I was downtown.”

“Exactly. Why can’t you stay near home?”

Anger warms my chest. “Why? You moved out and have your life. What am I, a prisoner or an invalid?”

“Neither.” His voice softens and he comes to stand in front of me. He kneels, putting his hands on the bed. His eyes are like a cat’s, green and golden. He’s a looker, my big brother, that’s for sure. “Dammit, Evie. I want what’s best for you.”

“Really?” I lift my chin. “Getting out of the house is good for me. Meeting new people is good for me.”

“Your homeless friends.” His nose wrinkles, and he gets up, his face closing off again. “They’re the reason you had the accident in the first place. Why can’t you let this childish obsession go? Why not let the agencies and organizations do their thing? Why do you feel the need to meddle in their affairs?”

“Childish obsession?” I sit up. “Are you serious? Besides, they aren’t the reason an idiot run me over with his bike.”

“You were out there looking for trouble.”

“I was out for a jog.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Jesus, Joey. What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” He grimaces. “I don’t get into trouble and bring grief to my parents. I don’t break up with a nice guy for no reason. I don’t go—”

“Is this about Blake?”

“No, this is about thinking of others, not just yourself.”

“I think of others! Is this a joke?”

“Dammit, Evie!” His jaw clenches. “You just won’t listen. You make us all worry. That’s selfish. And what about your future? What about college? What about thinking ahead?”

My mouth opens and closes. In this family, no matter what I do or say, it’s always turned on me.

“Going to meet with the guys,” Joel says and turns to go. “Do me a favor and stay out of trouble, okay?”

He leaves before I find my voice. What use is answering anyway? I’m just never right, no matter what I do.

And worse still, a tiny doubt clouds my mind, a treacherous voice saying, what if he’s right? Not for breaking up with Blake, but about roaming the streets, thinking I can make a difference on my own?

I lean back on the pillows and close my eyes, feeling tired and defeated. Because, in the end, I have nothing to show for my efforts—no victories, no people saved, no sign I did something worthwhile. Just a leg that smarts in heavy weather, an ugly limp and whole lot of heartache.

***

Thankfully, the bus stop isn’t far from the sports store. I step off the bus and keep my gaze down. To my embarrassment, I have to use the walking stick I had after the surgery on my leg. It’s a purple and white stick, decorated with flowers like a starburst. For a walking aid, it’s quite pretty.

Oh sure, how incredibly sexy, Ev.

Yeah, as if anyone is watching. It’s morning time, and the tattoo shop is still closed. I hurry past it, my stick tapping on the sidewalk.

Someone steps out of a side street, blocking my way, and I jerk back, my stick screeching on the sidewalk. The guy grins at me and for a moment I just stare at him, stunned.

Blake.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt, and I hate how my voice shakes. I lift my chin. Don’t know why Blake scares me so much. He’s never hit me or anything, but he’s been giving me the heebie-jeebies lately.

He takes a step closer and I fight not to back away. Dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, his dark hair styled back, he smirks at me.

“What do you want, Blake?”

“I wanted to talk.” He waves a hand airily. “Since you won’t answer my phone calls, I thought to come in person.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Joel told me you work at this store nearby.” He clucks his tongue. “You know you could do much better with your life, Evie.”

“My life is fine, thank you, and it’s none of your concern.”

He takes another step toward me, and I thrust my hand forward to keep him back. He snorts. “Really, Evie? That how you treat your boyfriend?”

“Let me refresh your memory: we broke up.”

“No, you broke up. I never did. You like to play games, Evie. Which is why I choose to ignore your little ultimatums and your little tantrums every time.”

A chill goes through me. He’s crazy. “What do you want?”

His lip curls. “If you won’t see me, then you won’t be seeing your homeless buddies, either.”

“What are you saying?”

“I told you to keep away from them. If I see you talking to them, even looking at them, I’ll bust their legs, do you understand?”

I gape at him. “You’re threatening innocent people? Why?”

He shrugs. “I’m only looking out for you. So far you’ve been good, staying on the main street, not deviating. Just keep it up.”

“You’re sick.” My grip on my walking stick tightens. “Stay the hell away from me.”

“Uh-oh.” He wags a finger as he turns and walks away. “Language, Evie. Not very lady-like.”

Damn you, Blake.

I watch his retreating back until he turns a corner and disappears. Fear clogs my throat. I hurry to the sports store and slip inside.

My boss is there, looking pointedly at his watch. It turns out he isn’t overly happy with the two days I had to call in sick and my worsening handicap, and I can’t find it in me to care.

“You should take better care of yourself, Miss Kingsley,” he grumbles, squinting at my walking stick. “Customers at a sport store don’t like to be reminded of accidents that can happen to them while doing said sports.”

“It didn’t happen while doing sports,” I say. “It was—”

“I don’t care what it was. You’d better get rid of that stick as soon as possible.” He actually wags a finger at me. His neck is turning red above his white tennis shirt. “In fact, you’d better put it away for as long as you’re here.”

I gape after him as he walks away, muttering.

“Don’t mind him,” Cassie whispers, her blue eyes wide. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” I stash the stick in the storeroom and do my best not to limp too badly. Of course I fail miserably, because my knee really hurts, and Blake’s appearance and threats have shaken me up pretty bad.

“Afraid he’ll fire you?”

I shrug. Losing this job wouldn’t be the end of the world, I’ll probably find another one soon enough. Maybe I should, and not tell Joel or anyone.

Why does the thought of not passing in front of the tattoo shop—not seeing a certain guy hanging out outside—make me sad?

I force my mind back on the job at hand. Customers come and go, keeping me busy. Going back and forth makes my leg ache so badly I want to weep.

When I finally leave, I’m so tired I can’t see straight. I’m also nervous, thinking Blake may be watching me from the shadows. So when I pass by the tattoo shop and nobody is outside, I’m glad.

Okay, that’s a lie. The sadness that hits me is terrible. Unbearable. I’m amazed that my feet keep moving, my stick keeps hitting the concrete of the sidewalk.

Micah isn’t there.

Maybe I left work earlier, I think as I continue to the bus stop. Or maybe he had to work later today. Or something happened to him. Maybe he’s sick. I remember the way he coughed, and I feel cold. Another face surfaces in my memory—of that young homeless man I lost, his sunken eyes and long stringy hair, coughing as if dying.

I almost turn back and walk into the tattoo shop to see Micah, make sure he’s okay. Almost. But instead I continue to the bus stop, thankful I don’t see Blake anywhere on the way.

I catch my bus and return home, my thoughts churning. When did this happen? When did I turn into an ‘almost’ kind of person?

As I unlock the door and enter the familiar hall, I realize I’m angry at myself. I’ve chickened out. I’m a coward. Blake scared me, but that excuse isn’t good enough. He’s just throwing threats about. He wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t dare.

I used to trust my instincts, my feelings. It’s as if the accident broke more than bones; it broke my faith in me. The girl I was a few months ago wouldn’t have hesitated to walk into that shop and make sure Micah was okay.

It’s not getting into trouble. Not talking to homeless people. Not even saving the world. But it’s the least I can do.

***

Next day drags, probably because I can’t stop thinking of my plans to talk to Micah. Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I think my heart is on overdrive, but the excitement is pleasant. Cassie sends me questioning glances, and I realize I have a smile on my face.

I need to calm down. This is stupid. He may even be outside when I pass on my way to the bus stop, and I won’t even need to do or say anything because I’ll know he’s okay.

But the butterflies remain, doing crazy flips in my insides as I bring shoes from the storeroom and help the customers try them on and as I hang the clothes back at their proper places.

A guy watches me from the door of the shoe shop across the street. I frown. Is everyone watching me these days, or am I going crazy? I turn my back on him and do my best to ignore him.

“What’s up, girl?” Cassie nudges me with her elbow. “Did something happen?”

I steal a moment when the boss isn’t looking and tell her quickly about Micah and our brief encounter.

“No shit!” she says, her mouth open, and I laugh.

The boss sends us a stern look, and we go back to work, tidying up and hiding grins. God, this work day will never end, and it’s only part-time. As I get ready to leave, Cassie turns her back to the boss and makes signs at me to call her afterward to talk.

I’d love to have a friend like that, to chat on the phone and laugh. Only I don’t think there will be anything more to talk about. My life is boring, and as for Micah... I’m just going to say hi to him, that’s all.

Boom go the butterflies in my stomach, exploding all over the place, making me feel slightly sick. Maybe I’m getting the flu or something. This can’t be normal.

I redo my ponytail, then check my face in the bathroom mirror. My eyes look too bright, my cheeks are flushed. I look feverish. Crap.

The day is gray, and a light drizzle falls as I hurry down the street. People give me and my walking stick curious looks, but I ignore them. I’m buzzing with nerves. A homeless young woman is crouched in an alley behind a dumpster, and my steps falter. She looks at me, her face thin and sad.

Mentally, I make a note to come back tomorrow and see how I can help her.

Keep out of trouble, Joel’s voice hisses in my head. Blake’s face flashes in my mind, dark with anger. Not your responsibility, Evie. Let them be.

If I see you talk to them, even look at them, I’ll bust their legs.

Jesus. I frown and pick up my pace, my knee twinging in protest. I shouldn’t be afraid of Blake. He’s a jerk, not dangerous. He’s all talk and nothing more.