Accepting His Home

by Ember Davis

  ACCEPTING HIS HOME

  * * *

  EMBER DAVIS

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  EPILOGUE

  EPILOGUE 2

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS BY EMBER

  Copyright © 2020 by Ember Davis

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to action persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental. Contains explicit love scenes and adult language. 18+

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. For permission requests, email Ember.A.Davis@gmail.com

  For everyone who has found love in the arms of their best friends or who have become best friends with the one they love.

  CHAPTER 1

  ZEKE

  Every day when I pull up to Banks Ink., I take a moment and appreciate what I have. Not that it’s all that much, but it’s a shit ton more than what I had when I was at rock bottom. The year I turned 18 and graduated from high school was the worst year of my life. The girl I loved died and it’s my fault. I thought I was going to marry her. No matter how much time passes, it will always be my fault.

  Before Graduation night I thought the world was my oyster and all I saw were possibilities. Fuck, I was such a stupid, sappy kid who really thought the future was mine to have. One night can change everything and mine shattered in less than 12 hours. I can’t relive that pain, I refuse to. I won’t talk about it because if I let people in that far then they’ll see me as the monster I know I am deep down inside.

  I shove the memories down every time my nightmares wake me up and every time they threaten to drown me when I’m awake. I bury them deep because I can’t risk anyone knowing the depth of my pain and regret, especially the people I love. They’d look at me differently and that thought is like a knife to the gut.

  For a while I buried my memories in alcohol and drugs. I know I’m not the only one to do that, far from it. I just didn’t have any other way to cope with the pain and I wasn’t able to face reality. In some ways, I’m still not able to face reality.

  Everyone from my old life probably thought I couldn’t sink any lower after that night. If only they had a crystal ball, they would have seen just how much lower rock bottom was for me. Not that I talk to any of them anymore. When I left, I made a clean break. I’m not even sure my parents know if I’m alive or dead; I don’t know if they are either.

  I ran from the pain. I ran from the memories. Most of all, I ran from the disappointment, sadness and disgust that everyone harbored when it came to that fateful night. I could see it all over their faces. I didn’t care where I ended up, fuck, part of me still doesn’t care.

  The only thing that made sense to me was my art. It was the only thing that quieted my mind, but I sought out drugs and alcohol to shut it off completely. Even my quiet mind was too loud and filled with hopelessness.

  I’m not too proud to admit that I was living on the streets. I had other options, not that they were great options, but I just didn’t care. I didn’t care that it wasn’t safe. I didn’t care that anything could happen. I didn’t care about anything other than shutting off my mind and trying to escape the dark reality my life had become.

  That’s when Beckett Banks found me. He didn’t stumble across me on a park bench, he came looking for me. How wild is that? He saw some of my graffiti and went on a mission to find me. Graffiti was the only medium I had to make art because you can’t be weighed down by art supplies living on the street. I only worked with black paint since I couldn’t afford more colors and I didn’t have the space. I had no idea who Beckett was. I even told him to fuck off the first time he approached me.

  It’s a good thing that Beckett is one persistent bastard. He kept finding me every time I’d move. He kept bringing me food, little bottles of mouth wash and socks, of all things. He never judged me, and he never offered to pull my ass out of rock bottom. I think he knew that it had to be my choice. He just gave me the opportunity to have a friend, something I was sorely lacking since I left my old life behind. The truth is, I’d never had a friend like him before.

  The last time he found me on the street, I had just come off a three-day bender fueled by smack, cheap vodka and the anniversary of my life being torn apart. I’m sure I looked like complete shit, even though I hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror in almost a year. Much to his credit, Beckett didn’t tell me how bad I looked or how much potential I was wasting at 19 years old.

  Nope. Beckett sat down on the park bench I thought I was destined to die on and handed me a burrito and a bottle of water. Then he told me about how getting picked up by the cops for tagging when he was 13 years old changed his life. He told me about that cop hooking him up with a tattoo artist friend of his and how having his art appreciated gave him direction. He told me about doing grunt work until he was old enough to become an apprentice. He told me about moving to Denver and then opening his own shop a few years later. The smile on his face knocked something loose in me as he told me about the guys at his shop; how it’s a family where everyone just clicked as if they’d known each other for lifetimes.

  Then Beckett looked me in the eyes, something most people who came across me avoided, and said, “Zeke, if this is the life you want then I’m not going to stand in your way, but if you want something more, for your art to be appreciated and a place to belong then all you need to do is accept it.”

  Beckett didn’t ask me to reveal all my scars. He didn’t ask me to stop looking for salvation at the bottom of a bottle. Hell, he didn’t even ask me how I ended up on the streets. He just offered me his hand and I shook it. In that moment, for the first time in a long time, I felt hope.

  Beckett gave me a place to stay and gave me an outlet for my art that wasn’t illegal. He mentored me along with the other guys at Banks Ink.. He gave me a family again. In many ways it is even better than the one I was born into because they just accepted me like I was always supposed to be there. Maybe I was.

  My makeshift family at Banks Ink. saved my life and give me purpose every day. I won’t squander it and I won’t take it for granted. That was a little over three years ago now and while the scars and the pain still exist, I don’t feel the need to drown them all the time. Now, I can enjoy having a few beers and smoking some cannabis without it turning into a bender.

  After I apprenticed for a year, Beckett and the guys deemed me worthy of booking my own clients. I still work mainly in black, white and grey and my images tend toward the dark side, but I don’t necessarily have a specific style I work in. Since the guys in the shop have their preferred styles, I got a crash course in all of them.

  The notoriety of the shop and recognition of my work gave me the means to purchase a house in the same neighborhood as the rest of the guys. It needed a lot of work, but we did most of the renovations ourselves since Troy had the knowhow and experience from working construction with his Uncle. I certainly never thought when I wa
s living on the streets that I’d have a house only a few years later.

  I take another moment before I hop out of my car to let all the thoughts of the past fall away and focus on the now. Then I take another moment and get my head and my dick on the same page because Olivia’s working today, and my dick takes very kindly to her.

  Olivia joined the crew and our family right after I was able to take on my own clients. In the last two years, she and I have become good friends. My head says it can’t be more than that, but my dick has other plans. I don’t even have to be in the same room with that gorgeous lilac haired woodland nymph for my dick to take notice. When I am in the same room with her it takes a concerted effort to not be hard the whole time.

  Fuck, Olivia is gorgeous. She’s about 5’6”, which is short compared to my 6’3” height, she’s not super thin and not overly curvy, but she’s all woman with perky tits and an ass I long to smack. Her eyes are big and doe like and the most beautiful blue I’ve ever seen, like the Caribbean Sea. When she first started working here, she’d dye her shoulder length hair different colors depending on her mood, but she’s kept it lilac for the last year and it suits her. She’s looks right at home in the shop, but she’d look just as natural in a glade surrounded by fairies and flora.

  Damn it, now I’m picturing her naked in a meadow frolicking with magical creatures as she calls to me with her siren song. My dick and I really need to have a serious talk about his obsession with her. I will not get myself involved with another girl; I will not give my heart away again. I know how quickly it can all go to shit and I can’t take that risk; especially not with her.

  Then there’s the fact that I can’t risk our friendship either. I haven’t dated, kissed or even held hands with a woman since…well, since I left home. Truth, I’m still a virgin. My girlfriend and I were waiting until Graduation Night to have sex. I even had the engagement ring in my pocket that night. It was going to be perfect, but it never happened.

  I’ve never seen Olivia date anyone either and I haven’t asked about it. I’m a little afraid to. It seems like dating and my past are the two topics we avoid like land mines. It’s probably for the best.

  I check the clock and it jolts me into awareness, I have a client coming in half an hour and I need to get everything pulled together. I did the consultation a week ago, so I have the stencil ready to go already.

  When I walk through the doors of Banks Ink. the first person I see is Olivia, she is sitting at the reception desk doing something on the laptop. Today she’s wearing a black Banks Ink. shirt that she’s doctored up; it has a wide neck and has ties up the arms and sides. She doesn’t show much skin, but it’s enough. She looks up from the computer and graces me with a huge smile. Fuck, it makes my dick twitch.

  That’s just her too; she’s a bright, happy, positive person. She’s almost always smiling and the only time I’ve heard her say a bad word about anyone is if they’ve really deserved it. Her art is much the same, though it can have a dark side to it; she loves zombies, but she doesn’t draw them with rotting flesh. Nope, she’s more likely to draw a Bratz version of a zombie, complete with turquoise hair and a pink gum bubble.

  That’s why she gets the most female clients of everyone in the shop. Her art has a cute vibe to it that girls love. Not that the rest of us don’t get female clients, but she gets the most and everyone’s okay with it because we want all our clients to be happy when they leave.

  “Mornin’ Zeke, have a good day off?”

  I want to give her a wide smile because she makes my day so much fucking brighter, but I can’t. I know that will lead me down a road best left alone. She is my closest friend, but I still keep her at a distance. For her sake and mine.

  “Mornin’ Liv. Yeah, it was good, just did shit around the house and worked on some sketches.” I give her a shrug, “Anything happen while I was out?”

  Her eyes sparkle with mischief and gossip; oh shit, I must have missed something good. She bites her lip and I have to bite back a groan. “Yeah, kind of. Well, maybe.”

  I can’t help the chuckle that escapes; she wants to spill to me so badly. I lean against the desk and nod toward the laptop, “Can you print off the art attached to my first client?” She nods and gives me a little smile. I lean toward her a little more, I guess I love torturing myself with her smell. Honey and cinnamon. I whisper conspiratorially, “I know you want to tell me what happened yesterday.”

  Her eyes snap to mine and the look in her eye takes my breath away. For a split second, before she covered it, there was blatant desire there. Before she can answer, Beckett comes stomping through the doorway from the back of the shop. He mutters something under his breath and looks disappointed to see me.

  Okay, that’s fucking new. I really don’t know what to do with that shit either. Why the fuck would he be disappointed to see me? He’s the one who pulled me off the street, I didn’t fucking ask for it. It’s possible that I might be overly defensive, but damn.

  Beckett heaves a sigh and I glance at Olivia who is giving him a pitying look. Okay, that’s fucking new too. What the hell did I miss? I was out of the shop for one fucking day.

  “Mornin’ Zeke,” he grumbles.

  My eyebrows shoot up and I shoot a confused look at Olivia. She’s looking at me with a little bit of regret in her eyes and I feel lost as hell.

  I figure I’ll address the bear in my path first. “You okay, Banks?”

  “Yeah, I’m…fine.” He lets out an exasperated sigh and mutters, “Fuck, I hate that word.” He turns and pins Olivia with a look that is part annoyance, part frustration. “Did she accept your friend requests too?”

  Olivia gives him an innocent look and a shrug, “Yeah, Banks. She did.”

  I watch Beckett’s face fall and she looks like she wants to wrap him up in a hug. Jesus, seriously, I had one day off. It’s like I’m in an alternate universe. Okay, well, maybe not completely because Beckett’s changed in the last year but not this much. This broody, grumpy thing he has going on is more my style.

  Beckett takes a deep breath and gives his body a little shake. He mumbles, “Right, okay, I haven’t earned it. I get it.” He pins Olivia with another look, “You better do your best to get her to the bar on Friday night.”

  Olivia puts up her hands in surrender, “I’ll do my best, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up. She seemed pretty determined not to give in when she left yesterday.”

  I interject, baffled, “Who is she? What happened yesterday?”

  Beckett pins me with a hard look and it’s a little intimidating, to be honest. “The fantasy pin-up I drew yesterday morning literally walked into the shop and I fucked it all up. I freaked out and treated her like shit and there’s no excuse for what I did, but I’m going to make it right and make her mine.”

  Olivia sighs, “Maybe Amelia isn’t really the girl for you, Banks. You can’t just know like that.”

  Beckett rears back like Olivia slapped him but he recovers quickly. I can feel the anger coming off him and I take a small step closer to him. “I can and I do. She’s mine. I know it like I know my own fucking name.”

  Olivia cocks her head to the side and studies him, “I believe that you believe that, but that might not be enough. Would you have really treated her the way you did then?”

  Beckett heaves a sigh. “I let the shit in my past,” he glances at me pointedly, “get the better of me. I won’t let it stop me though and I’m going to get her because I know she’s the best thing that will ever happen to me.”

  Becket turns and heads to the back of the shop. His footfalls are heavy; remorseful and sad.

  Olivia mutters, “Sometimes knowing that isn’t enough.”

  What the fuck is going on today? Beckett was talking about me as much as he was himself; I just know it. I didn’t sign up for this heavy shit today. Does everyone know how I really feel about Olivia? I feel my palms start sweating. And what’s with Olivia today? What does she know about loving someone?
She’s never mentioned anyone.

  Olivia reaches over and pulls the art I asked her to print and then hands it to me with a little smile. “Amelia really is amazing. I hope they work it out because she would be good for him.” She sighs, “She’d be good for all of us, I think.”

  Okay, that’s intriguing. I arch my brow and rest against the counter. “What do you mean? Did she meet everyone else? Walsh?” I lower my voice, “Troy?”

  Olivia laughs, “Oh yeah, she took Walsh and Troy in stride and even gave shit back to them.” I give her a surprised look and she shrugs, “Like I said, she’s amazing. She’s thoughtful and considerate and, like, even, you know? Steady.” I nod slowly. “She’s gorgeous too,” she gives a little sigh, “I don’t think she knows it though.”

  “You’re gorgeous,” it slips out before I even realize it and both of our eyes widen in surprise. Fuck it; she is. Doesn’t have to mean anything, right?

  Olivia lights up, “Thanks Zeke!” Well, that was worth it. “Anyway, they’d make beautiful babies.” I bark out a laugh and she giggles with a shrug. “It’s true!”

  I furrow my brow, “You think Banks is ready for all that? Girlfriend or wife or whatever? Babies? The forever shit?”

  Olivia looks me right in the eye and I see a sense of resolve there, “I think he is. I think he’s been craving it and not even realizing it. Anyway, if she’s the right girl, the one, then it wouldn’t matter if he’s ready or not. It would just be because it’s right.” She touches her heart, “It would feel like it’s right. Here.”

  The terror that swamps me makes my knees buckle and the only thing that saves me is my client walking through the door at that moment. I know she’s not only talking about Beckett. She’s talking about herself and I’m fairly sure that she’s talking about me.

  CHAPTER 2

  OLIVIA

  It took every ounce of bravery I have in my body to look Zeke in the eye and tell him that I think Beckett is ready for the ‘forever shit’. I’m ready too. I want it. I’ve wanted it since the moment I walked into Banks Ink. and saw Zeke. I’m fucking tired of not having it. Two years and I don’t know if I have the strength anymore to be so close and yet…not close at all.