Even at Your Darkest Page 6

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a run,” Kane grunts from behind me. “Now you.”

  I press my lips together. For some reason the idea of telling Kane I’m a stripper doesn’t appeal to me. I almost feel ashamed and like he’d be disappointed in me. Which is ridiculous, because the man is nothing to me and therefore has no opinion on what I do with my life. But still.

  “Work,” I reply. That’s safe. He knows I have a second job, he just doesn’t know where it is. Hell, he only knows about the grocery store because he turned up there once while I was working. It was the most awkward experience of my goddamn life.

  “Layton, it’s almost five am. You left for work at eight am.”

  Does he think I don’t know that? I turn to face him, immediately wishing I hadn’t. He’s leaning against the railing, shorts riding low on his hips. I drag my gaze up the hard ridges of his tattooed body, mentally storing every inch into my memory until my eyes finally lock with his. Something close to dark desire circles in his stare, but I ignore it. That’s not happening, ever, and I’d make a complete dick of myself even attempting to be the kind of girl worthy of him. While I’m not a virgin, I’m far from experienced, and he looks like he’s had enough experience for the both of us.

  “I had to work later tonight at my second job,” I say. And wasn’t that the icing on my crap-fest cake today. “I had to cover for someone.”

  I swallow down the bitterness I feel about the whole thing. Something is definitely going on with McKenna. She was a mess when she turned up tonight. Vinny should have never let her dance. If he had just sent her home, then the whole mess that tonight turned into would have been avoided. Wouldn’t have made a difference to me being there this late though. If she’d gone home, I still would have had to cover her ass. But tonight, she attracted the attention of Mr. Michaels, and not in a good way. Her stupid, drunk ass made a fool of us all when she hurled herself at the crowd and injured three people. She’s out of control and acting like she’s high on something other than drugs. Yeah, something is definitely going on with her. I just hope that whatever it is, she doesn’t drag the rest of us down with her.

  “Are you working tomorrow?” He asks.

  I almost don’t want to answer. It hurts just to think about it. “I’m at the store in the morning.”

  At least I don’t have the club tomorrow. Vinny has promised me the entire night off. It’s probably a good job. With all the covering I’m doing for McKenna, I’ll no doubt fall flat on my face if I don’t get a break soon. Besides, after tonight, I’m not sure I want to be around for McKenna’s encore.

  Kane looks disappointed. “You’re not going to get any real sleep between jobs, Layton.”

  Yeah, that thought had crossed my mind, too. “That’s what coffee was invented for,” I say, trying for a joke.

  “Your machine broke.”

  Shit. “Motherfucker,” I sigh. I’d forgotten about that. I’ll have to leave even earlier now to get to the cafe before my shift. There was no way I could go in there caffeine free, I might end up asleep in the storeroom. Karl would pitch a fit. “I’ll figure it out,” I mumble and then offer a half-ass wave and head into my apartment.

  After I shut and lock the door behind me with some difficulty, I head straight into my bedroom. I slump onto the bed and begin to weigh up my options. I could get a couple of hours sleep now and then get up, shower, run to the cafe and be at work on time. Or I could shower real fast now, then sleep for an hour, cafe then work. Or—the more likely option—I could go shower now, relax a little, then go the cafe and work with zero sleep. I could push through until I finish at noon, then crash for the rest of the day.

  Jeez, even trying to plan my day is exhausting.

  I settle on the last option and head into the bathroom, turning the shower on. I’m distracted as I undress, and that’s why I don’t notice the fact that the water is freezing until I step in.

  I scream out, shocked by the icy assault on my skin. When will this goddamn day end? I back out of the shower, studying it as if it will suddenly develop a voice and tell me why it won’t heat up. Before I can assess my own stupidity too much, I automatically whip my head in the direction of the hallway. Someone is banging at my door and shouting my name. Who the hell?

  I wrap myself in a towel and tiptoe through the apartment, forcing the door open a fraction and poking my head through.

  “Kane? What’s up?”

  He pushes on the door, sending me stumbling back as he forces his way in. He walks into my living room and then back to me, placing his hands on my shoulders.

  “What happened?” He asks, his eyes erratic.

  “Uh... nothing?”

  He seems annoyed with my confusion. “Layton, I just heard you scream.”

  Oh boy. I didn’t realize how loud that was. “Oh, I’m sorry. Honestly, it’s nothing. I was in the shower, well I was trying to be anyway, but the water was cold and so I jumped back. I didn’t realize...” I trail off as he stands back and finally looks at anything but my face.

  His eyes darken as if he’s only now realizing I’m just in a towel. He removes his hands from me as though he might catch something, and I squash down the rejection that crawls up my spine. Pulling my towel tighter around me, I look expectantly at the door.

  “Your shower is broken?”

  “Apparently.” I can’t help the snippy tone my voice has suddenly gotten, but his obvious dismissal of my almost naked ass stings. I’m not that bad. “It’s not getting any heat. I’ll call a guy out tomorrow.”

  “I can fix it,” he says, all matter of fact.

  “No, it’s okay. I can call someone.”

  His jaw tics, eyes narrowing. “I just said I’ll do it. You don’t need to call anyone.”

  I huff a breath. “Whatever. Look, I really need to go attempt to not freeze my ass off and get clean.”

  He doesn’t budge, just keeps his intense gaze on me. It penetrates into every pore, reaching right down to my over-worked soul and yanking on it. Goose bumps pimple on my skin, and I pull on the ends of my hair to keep from reaching out and touching him the way my brain really wants me to.

  “You’ll get sick if you use your shower,” he mutters. “Use mine.”

  I blink. Once, twice, then a third. “What?” I croak out.

  “Get your stuff. Come use my shower.”

  He leaves me then and walks over to his own apartment, leaving the door wide open. I take a step back into my own place, shaking my head slightly.

  Use his shower? That feels all kinds of wrong.

  I’m gonna do it anyway.

  Kane

  Fuck.

  I’m such a dickhead. Why the hell have I told her she can come shower here? What is wrong with me? Banging on her door like a fucking asshole, too. Shit. I thought something had happened to her. I heard that scream and just saw danger. It’s not like we live in the best neighborhood. And then there she was, all ivory-skinned perfection in nothing but a goddamn towel. I damn near dropped to my knees and begged her to touch me. Anywhere. Preferably inside my shorts, though at this point I’m not fussy.

  I’m losing my mind, obviously.

  I grip the kitchen counter to stop myself from following her when I grunt at her to go right through. She’s still wearing the fucking towel. Deep breaths. I hear the water and then force myself to relax and, like a total chick, try to work out the best place for me to be sitting when she comes out. That way, she won’t know I’ve been listening to her in there, wishing I was joining her. That I’m currently imagining her wet under the spray of the shower, lathering herself and… shit. I need to get a grip. She’s still practically a stranger to me, and here I am wishing I had my hands on her.

  While she showers, I settle on the sofa, propping my feet on the coffee table in front. I switch the screen on, so I can pretend I’m watching the game replay that’s on. I don’t even know who’s playing. Hell, I don’t even know what fucking game it is.

  My
cell ringing distracts me from my creeping. I answer without glancing at the caller ID.

  “Yeah?”

  “Kane? That is no way to greet your mother.”

  “Hey, Ma,” I sigh. I should have definitely looked. “What’s up? It’s early. Why are you awake?”

  I can feel her smile down the phone. “No reason, really. I just couldn’t sleep, so I thought I'd check that you’re still coming for dinner later.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there,” I reply, distracted as I hear the water in the bathroom shut off.

  “What do you want me to make you? I can make that meatloaf that you like?”

  I’m barely listening as the bathroom door is opening and quiet footsteps are coming toward me. “Whatever, Ma. I’m really busy.”

  “Kane Anthony, don’t you try to shove me off the phone. What are you so damn busy with that you can’t put down for a minute to speak to your mom? I’m here all by myself with no one to talk to all day and you can’t even spare me one minute.”

  I groan, nodding at Layton as she comes into view. She’s got her hair wrapped in a towel that weird way that chicks do, but at least she’s wearing clothes now. “I know you’re by yourself, but I’ll be there tonight. I’m not shoving you off the phone, Ma, I’m just not alone right now.”

  I turn my back to Layton, not wanting her to witness this, but also unable to tell her to just leave. I’d only get it in the neck more from Ma for being rude.

  “Who’s there? Why do you have someone with you at this time?”

  “It’s just my neighbor, Ma, chill. I’ll speak to you later, okay? I’ll call after work when I’m on the road.”

  “Okay. Don’t be late.”

  She clicks off and I breathe a sigh of relief. Goddamn pain in the ass of a woman. I can feel Layton staring at my back, can feel the awkwardness that she seems to carry around with her. Finally, I turn to face her.

  “Yeah?” I ask, not too nicely.

  “Oh,” she stammers. “Yeah. I just wanted to say thanks. I cleaned everything up, so you won’t be finding my hair for weeks.” She laughs a little nervously. “Sorry. I’m just going to go.”

  I let her, smirking slightly when she trips over thin air on her way out. That girl is a hazard to herself. At least my mom was distracting enough for me to be able to ignore her. Something about this chick is definitely messing with me.

  I glance around at the shop and nod. Finally, it’s ready and today is the day. It’s taken what feels like an eternity to get this place up to scratch, but it doesn’t look half bad now. I walk over to the shutter and release the catch so they roll up, feeling satisfied at the loud noise. I haven’t bothered with advertising or anything, but people are bound to have heard about it. Besides, I’ve been getting stopped by people for the past couple of weeks asking what the hell I’m doing with the place. I live in the nosiest fucking town, now. It's like being surrounded by clones of my mom.

  I open my appointment book for the fourth time already this morning and almost snort at the pitiful two jobs I have booked in today. Still, at least it’s something.

  The first one isn’t booked in for another hour, so I busy myself with pulling out some old parts I have lying around. They need cleaning before I can do anything with them. I set up at the workshop area, where I can still see the door, and get to work.

  My first job goes well and luckily creates more business in the future. Turns out that Jake Hoard has a whole bunch of friends he’s going to recommend me to. Not bad for a simple replacing of a drop link. A half hours work. Not gonna lie, I was a little annoyed when he chose to use the waiting area that I only put in for show, but he wasn’t too bad of a dude.

  My second job, the one I’m currently doing, has also chosen to stay. Annoyingly, he’s a talker.

  “So, Thatch. Do you work on bikes, too?”

  I grunt from under the hood of the car, “Yeah.”

  “Awesome,” Grip says, a nickname that he’s forcing me to use. I refuse to ask him where he got it from. “I’m with a motorcycle club just outside of town. They’re always looking for someone halfway decent that won’t talk the talk with the local nosy fuckers.”

  “My number is on the sign outside.”

  A motorcycle club is probably not the most reliable of customers—even I’ve heard things about the Black Rippers MC—but beggars can’t be choosers in my situation, and I can take all the custom I can get. Grip excuses himself to take a call and I finally finish up the job. He only came in for his brake pads, but after noticing a whole heap of other shit that needed sorting, he asked me to get it done. He’s already put the cash down so who am I to complain?

  I’m wiping my hands on a rag when he walks back in and beams at me.

  “All good, brother?” He asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, she’ll ride like a dream for you now.”

  He jumps into the driver’s side and fires the engine. “Yes, she will,” he laughs. “If only my old lady would do the same.”

  I snort, surprised that I’m finding him funny. He’s pissed me off with his chatter for the last three hours. “Women, huh?”

  “Damn straight. Anyway, I was just talking with my guys then, and a few of them need a tune up on their bikes. You okay for them to bring them in tomorrow?”

  I pretend to check my appointment book like a dick. “I can fit them in tomorrow afternoon. How many?”

  “Five.”

  “Shit,” I laugh. “Better be morning.”

  He nods. “No worries, bro. I’ll tell ‘em. You have a good night, man.”

  He fist-bumps me and then flies out of the garage like his ass is on fire. I chuckle to myself. He’ll be back in a few weeks for more work if he keeps driving like that.

  I add the work for tomorrow into the appointment book and shoot a text to Nolan asking if he wants to come help out. I’ll need it if five people are coming in at once. He’s tinkered around with shit as much as me and knows his way around an engine, so I can’t go wrong there. Besides, he told me he needs the cash.

  He replies, I’m in, man. I’ll be there first thing.

  I tidy away my tools and lock up the shop. There's just enough time to hit the shower at home before I make the drive to Ma’s.

  I’m just heading back out again when I see her, sitting on the floor outside her apartment and leaning against the railing. Her keys are nowhere to be seen when I look for them hanging from the door as usual. I frown as I watch her scoop up some ice cream from the tub she has in her hands with a nacho. What the fuck?

  “That’s gross,” I mumble, without realizing.

  She snorts. “I forgot to leave a spoon outside my damn home for emergencies.”

  I smirk at her sarcasm, amused. “Then why don’t you go in and get one?”

  “Can’t.” She scoops up more. “Locked out.”

  I sigh. “I told you that you need a new door. Here, give me your keys and I’ll open it.”

  “Can’t do that, either. I don’t have them.”

  “You left them at work or something?”

  “No,” she shrugs. “I tossed them out the window in a tantrum. But I’m not letting karma win this time. I will eat this damn ice cream regardless of what it will do to the size of my ass.”

  I look from her to the window between our apartments, then back at her. “Out that window?”

  “Yep.”

  She hasn’t even looked up at me yet. Just keeps scooping that ice cream like it’s going out of fashion. There’s obviously something wrong. Huffing out a breath, I leave her there, heading down the stairs. I curse her all the way down, and then myself for walking to the back of the building and retrieving them. I stare at them in my hands, annoyed at the sight of them. Why do I keep doing shit for her?

  Layton is exactly where I left her when I get back up the stairs, still scooping at her ice cream. I ignore her sitting there and jam her keys into the door. It takes a few pushes, a couple of kicks and all of my damn patience. But, eventually, it opens.
I damn near smile.

  Hearing her sniff behind me, I turn and find she’s knocked her ice cream over and her bag of nachos are also spilling over the floor. Her knees are now bent against her chest and her shoulders are bouncing as her head rests between her legs.

  I think she’s crying.

  Shit.

  I clear my throat to get her attention. “Your door is open.”

  She nods her head but doesn’t make any move to get up. Instead, she raises her big blue eyes to mine. The misery in them hits me in the gut, but I hide it. I don’t want to feel her pain, don’t even want to hear about it. I have my own, have my own shit to deal with. Despite how much everything inside me is urging me to take her in my arms and protect her from whatever has got her so down, I can’t. I can’t even risk showing any morsel of anything but contempt for her because that’s how people get hurt. That’s how they get caught up in my dark web of shit, and a girl like Layton won’t make it out the other end.

  I growl low in the back of my throat and grab at the plant pot by the door. I prop her door open with it, drop her keys on the floor by her feet and take the stairs down to the car lot two at a time. Ignoring the echoes of her tears I get into my truck, wasting no time in starting the engine and getting the hell out of there.

  I keep my focus on the road to Ma’s and tell myself over and over again that I’m not thinking about Layton Parks. Of course, I’m a lying sack of shit.

  My mood isn’t much better when I get there. In all my selfish brooding, I’d forgotten that Ma was now dating Colin. And though I’m happy for them both, I could really do without him being sat at her kitchen table in my dad’s seat. It’s not that I wish my dad was there instead, I couldn’t be happier that his spineless ass isn’t around anymore, it’s just weird seeing someone else in it. I grunt a greeting at him and drop onto my chair at the table.

  It’s been the longest fucking day.

  Layton