HUSH little baby, cozy and fair
Daddy sits near, in his rocking chair
the baby sleeps, and Daddy sings
One time, two times, three times, four
Five and then we go once more…
***
RAINE
It's not every day you celebrate your twenty—first birthday. Your first time getting wasted—like, legally and officially wasted, with your brother, and buddies, in your favorite joint in town. Boys' night out.
See, all the other times I got drunk don't matter. Tonight, I'm seeing double with the blessings of the law.
A law that hasn't been on my side, ever—not when my parents didn't give a damn, and when they vanished one day with my brother's hard—earned savings never to be seen again. It almost broke Ocean.
Doesn't fucking matter. Life's pretty good right now, this night, with a bottle of Jack on the table and the golden heat of it sliding down my throat, warming my chest.
Everything's glittery bright and awesome, even if a chick keeps trying to sit in my lap and won't take a hint when I keep pushing her off.
"Come on, Ryan," she whines.
"Raine," I correct her yet again, and chuckle, because everything's outrageously funny when you're three sheets to the wind. "Get off me."
She pouts. "You're cute. Take me home, Raine."
I roll my eyes, and the ceiling fractures into prismatic rainbows. I grin as the bar slowly spins. "Not today, sugar."
"Not ever. Right, junior?" Micah winks at me over the rim of his glass, blond hair cut so short it's like gold dust on his head. Or, I am that drunk… "But wait. Maybe now you're officially an adult, you'd like to give pussy a try, too?"
"Nah." I flip him off and push the girl more firmly off me. "Thanks anyway."
She shoots me a murderous look, then flounces off, a bit unsteadily, on her stilettos, looking for a new target.
"You sure?"
"Fuck you, Micah."
"Heh. Nah." He grins drunkenly at me and leans over to pat my arm. Then he stage—whispers, "I don't swing that way."
Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm the only one with zero interest in tits and pussies in this little group. The only one who likes dick. Also, being the youngest sucks. Getting called junior and kiddo gets old fast.
But I can't really complain. The Inked Brotherhood and the Damage Boyz, they're a damn fine crew. Good people. A family. I can see why my brother likes it here in Madison, working at Damage Control.
They've also sort of became my people over the three years I've spent here. I mean, sure, I don't have the same connection to them as Ocean, but still. I'm always invited to all their get—togethers, and I seem to have suddenly found myself a bunch of older brothers.
Yay.
"Stop thinking so hard," another voice says from my right, and I huff. "I can hear the booze sloshing between your ears.
Said brother shoots me a sharp grin and takes the glass from my hand. Didn't notice picking it up again.
"S'up, Shun?" Shun as in Ocean, a nickname my brother only allows me to use.
Ocean sighs. "You're drunk off your ass."
"I thought it was called adulting. You guys do it all the fucking time."
"Very funny."
But it is, and I'll never admit it, not even under threat of torture, but Ocean being protective and shit… I like it. Despite my bitching, I like him acting like the big brother that he is, my big brother—because for a long time he didn't. He just wasn't there. He sent me away to an aunt who hated my guts, and I didn't get to see him for fucking years.
Which led to me missing him like hell, and simultaneously hating his guts for a long time.
Of course, now I know why he had to do it, but it doesn't stop me from relishing these moments when it's like a throwback to the time we were kids at the trailer park, and he was my brother, and my parent, and my everything.
"We should head home," Ocean says.
Although seriously, right now he's being an ass, so I grab my goddamn glass back from him. "Chill, Shun. I'm not driving. And it's still early."
"Early morning, you mean."
Christ, forget about liking this shit. Changed my mind. "You go, man. Go home to your girl and calm your tits. I'll grab a cab."
"R. Come on. You work tomorrow."
"Or one of the guys will drive me." I nod at Zane who's returning from the bar, carrying two beers. "Zane's cool. He's already said he'd take me, since he doesn't drink."
Ocean shakes his head, stares at something behind me, and sighs. "Why can't you listen to me for once, kid?"
What the hell, right? I glance around at the others. They look as confused by all this as I feel.
"What the fuck, man?" Shane mutters, tucking long dark hair behind his ear where a silver dreamcatcher is dangling. "It's our night out, and it's his goddamn birthday. What just crawled up your ass and died?"
There. Couldn't have phrased it better.
I lean back in my chair and level a glare at my brother. His blue hair is ruffled as if he's been tugging on it. He's been kinda stressed lately, with the wedding coming up and the new baby, but he's happy. I know it. I see it on his face every single day.
He's amazed and thrilled and grateful for his girl and his baby and his friends, and maybe, I hope, even a tiny fucking bit for me—so why does he look like someone pissed in his drink?
He sighs again, puts his glass down on the table and glances again behind me. Okay, what is back there that has him hooked like that?
I turn to look over my shoulder, and I see him. Jason. The sight is a punch to my solar plexus, and I let out an involuntary gasp.
Okay, it's also not every day you see the man you can't stop thinking about in front of you, the man you can't stop dreaming about.
With another man.
That why my brother wanted me gone?
"I won't pick a fight with Jason," I say quietly, "if that's what's worrying you."
"I'm not worried," Ocean lies.
At least, I think he does. There's a faraway look in his eyes I don't recognize.
Jason Vega and me, we've crossed paths a few times. He's friends with my brother and with Jesse Lee, one of the inkers of the shop where I work.
But the last time I actually talked to Jason was years ago, three years in fact, and I insulted him. Pretty damn badly. I hadn't realized at the time, but I was pissed at my brother, pissed at the world, and Jason had happened to be there. An easy target, someone I could shout at instead of my brother, my only real family.
I've thought about this a lot since then. Why I called him out on being a hooker. Making it sound like he chose this life. Like he had a choice.
As if I don't know. I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and that's the understatement of the year.
I watch him now, deaf to the music and the voices of my friends, as he leads this unknown guy by the hand toward the back, weaving through the people standing by the bar.
I've seen him on occasion on the street or in bars over the past three years. He hasn't changed much since I first met him. My height, but slimmer. Wiry. Strong, with dark lines of ink winding down his forearms and snaking under his too short shirt.
He's let his bleached hair grow out, and it's now as dark as mine, dark like his eyes, and the shadows crawling in their depths. In his revealing clothes and gayliner, his nails painted black to match his too—tight top and pants, a touch of silver around his neck, he looks… exotic. Striking.
Hot.
Ocean refills my glass and passes it to me without a word. I take it and sip, choking on the Jack.
I can't look away. Why the fuck can't I look away from Jason leading this unremarkable stranger away? Toward the toilets, to suck him off, or to fuck, and the thought shouldn't get me hard and riled up at the same time. Angry.
Angry at Jason, who's after all only doing his job.
At myself, for giving a damn.
"You were right," I tell my brother, slamming the rest of my drink down and getting up from the uncomfortable chair. "It's getting late. Time to go."
