Page 49 of Dravin
Her laughter echoes down the hallway as the three men leave with her. Their voices are still loud from the front. Homey. It reminds me that we’re not alone. I’m not alone.
You’ve never been truly alone. Even in your worst moments.
“Dravin.” My hands hover, looking for a place to land that isn’t going to hurt. I distract myself by walking around to check out the damage. Literally.
The ink starts right under Dravin’s hairline and continues all the way down. And down. And down. They tattooed straight over his scars. I see what they meant about him being wrapped up. His whole back is covered in tight plastic. It’s probably some kind of medical bandage thing that they stuck on, but it lookslike Saran wrap. It keeps going, dipping down into his jeans. I wince. He’s probably sitting on it after he’s been carved up. I can’t imagine how much pain would be involved in getting your back, ass, and upper thighs done. I don’t know how far they took it, but obviously far enough.
Now I understand why Crow turned up Dravin’s chin, which was kind of weird, instead of clapping him on the shoulder.
I have zero impulse control. Dravin doesn’t look good, but he’ll be okay. I was cycling through the worst possible scenario over and over in my head.
Imagination is a terrible thing.
He never allowed me to look up any of the stories they ran about Marcus and his club. I have no doubt, there were probably many. He said that the only thing seeing photos or reading shit like that would do was haunt me. I have no doubt he was right. That wasn’t the kind of closure I wanted or needed.
I bend down, grasping Dravin’s knees and kiss his forehead. He jerks back and can’t help a sharp inhale of pain.
“God, Kael. I’m pathetic right now. This is mortifying.”
“Yeah, your body reacting to a giant wound and a fuckton of trauma after getting tattooed by four different people for an entiredayis super embarrassing.”
There’s a bottle of apple juice on a giant tool chest at the back of the room. It’s still cold. I shake it up and take a sip. Several suckers were set out by the bottle. I tear the wrapper off the red one, and groan when the sweetness bursts over my tongue.
“I’m so glad this isn’t strawberry. I hate that flavor. It’s sacrilege to make a red sucker any flavor other than cherry.”
I take the trash from him and set it down then shove the juice in his direction. “So you didn’t like orange. Give this a try.”
“I don’t want anything.”
He’sshaking. It’s getting worse, not better. The table is going to go through the wall if he keeps shivering like that.
“Dray. Come on. You had basic medical training in the military. You know you’ve got to get sugar into you.”
He’s not so far gone that he can’t give me a solid stink eye. “DonotDray me.”
I twirl the sucker between my thumb and index finger before popping it back into my mouth. I swirl my tongue around it, letting him watch everything. “If you keep refusing everything, I’m going to suck this real hard, pry open your mouth, and spit into it.”
He groans. “Why does that sound so hot?”
I pop the sucker into my mouth and unscrew the juice for him. “Please drink something. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I vomit right in front of you.”
“Yeah, well… semantics.”
“That’s not what semantics means.”
I’m torn between joking around like this because I think that’s what he needs and showing him worried I am to guilt him into doing what I want him to do. That sounds terrible inmy head, so I keep working on him before I’m forced to go the slightly manipulative route.
“If you take a few sips of that and eat some noodles, you can eat me when you’re feeling better.”
“Kael!” He hisses, but he uncaps the juice anyway, spilling a good deal onto his jeans because he’s shaking like a small earthquake is wrenching him apart. He does get a few sips in before he tightens the cap.
“Want me to put some music on for you?”
“It’s on already. They asked me. I said punk.”
One of my eyebrows goes a little haywire before I can stop it. “You like punk?”
