“Fuck today,” I mutter, then twist my body so that I can lie on my back. Opening the FaceTime app, I click on his name in my list of contacts, then press call. As expected, he picks up exactly after the third ring has gone through, which immediately makes me smile.
“Little Swan.” The gentle husk in his voice causes goosebumps to prick my skin. He has the phone angled in a way that gives me a clear view of the sweat dripping down the taut column of his neck. His white tank top is stretched out perfectly against the hard plains of his muscled frame, and with the long, uneven smudges of grease staining both the fabric and his skin, he looks too divine to be so far away from me.
Dorran lovesFinesse. After we sold the garage back in Riverside, the first thing he did was buy a property here so that he could rebuild it. Even though he bought the place all by himself, it’s hisandJayce’s names written underneathFinesse’s. He’d once told me that him and Jayce started the garage together as a way of owning something that belonged to them, and them alone. Although Jayce is no longer with us, I know this is Dorran’s way of honoring his best friend and brother, and for that, I love and respect him beyond comprehension.
“I can’t bring myself to film today,” I tell him, then turn to my right and place my chin on a fist.
He ducks under a car’s hood, and a second later, I hear a muffledswishon the other side. “Don’t you have some promotional stuff you need to advertise?” he asks.
“I do. But I also don’t want to. Not right now, at least.”
He’s moved the phone away from himself as he tinkers with something in the car, which makes it impossible for me to see him. But the sound of his silk-smooth chuckle – yeah, that sure does meet my ears.
“Have you tried listening to music? That always helps you.”
“I don’t want to,” I say, and I know I sound childish, but what is one to do when the brain refuses to do its job? In other words: my brain isn’t braining right now, and that’s mildly, if not wholly annoying.
The swishing stops, just before Dorran reemerges from under the hood and faces the screen again.
“Tell me what’s troubling you.” He runs the back of his wrist under his nose and slams the hood shut, then leans against the car as he lifts a brow at me.
Sunlight hits the back of his head, casting a shadow against his sharp features.
I am so lost in him that it takes me a good thirty seconds to realize that he’s waiting for me to speak.
“Why, and how the fuck do you look like you’ve just stepped out of aPlayboymagazine?” I ask absentmindedly.
He glances down at himself, giving me more time to admire him. His curls are damp, and I don’t know if it’s dust or smoke sprinkled over them, but either way, it favors the whole aesthetic he’s got going for him right now.
“I amreekingof sweat and grease,” he tells me, then gives me an incredulous look. “And let me tell you: that isnota nice combo to have on your person.”
“You know I don’t care when it comes to you,” I counter.
“Oh yeah, I do. But I also know that you’re changing the subject, sweetheart.”
I briefly close my eyes as I breathe in, and then out, before opening them back again and looking at Dorran. “You already know what’s troubling me.”
His forehead creases as he assesses me. “But I thought we were past that,” he says with concern.
“I thought so too, but fear and doubt just won’t stop nagging at my conscience.”
His jaw ticks as he nods, more to himself than at me. “You know what my first time going on an official mission was like?” he says, then laughs a little before moving away from the car and settling down on a chair that I know he always keeps close by for holding spare tools and what not.
“I don’t think you’ve ever told me,” I admit, smiling when he laughs again.
“That’s because it was embarrassing asfuck. And since that day, I’ve vowed to never associate myself with that word ever again. It was a once in a lifetime sort of thing.”
I chuckle. “Give me all the details, and don’t youdareleave anything out.” I know he’s telling me this not only to make me feel at ease but also to center himself, because somewhere in his head, he too is anxious about going on this mission tonight. Especially without Jayce there to hold us all in place.
“Alright, let me set the scene for you,” Dorran starts, then pushes back on the chair and leans against it. “I was seventeen. Not even legal enough to drink, let alone kill an actual human. Solo had accompanied Jayce and I to this weird warehouse-like place where the target was. And Cigs, that guy wasinsane. He’d kill people, cut off their pointer fingers, and store them in jars filled to the brim with UW solution. That warehouse was a storage room full of them. Turns out, he was an accountant by day and digit-collector by night.”
“You really thought you were smart by using the term “digit” in there, didn’t you? Since he was an accountant.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Shut your face. So…” he continues. “We walked into the warehouse – allAvengersstyle – and told him he was about to meet his end and shit. Well, Solo is the one who did the talking, not Jayce and I. The guy tried to run, of course, and in his defense, he started dropping those jars in our way to slow us down enough to escape. Now, most jars broke upon facing impact against the concrete floor, but one – oh, thatonejar – it kept rolling, and roll it did until it met my boot. And when it broke, it signaled my fall. I tripped over that motherfucker, landing beautifully over a bed of soaked, pickled fingers. I even kissed one when my face landed on top of it. It was a whole thing on its own. But killing that asshole was just…Woof, it was euphoric.” He swallows, then speaks the next words so softly that I barely catch them. “I miss that feeling.” He smiles and shakes his head. “You can go ahead and laugh now.”
I shift in bed and tuck my fist further under my chin. “It was your first time going on a kill, Dor – at such a young age. Give yourself some grace.”
“I didn’t tell you that story to earn your sympathy,” he muses.
