Poet (Avenues Ink Series Book 3)

by A. M. Johnson

  “My friend who gave me the job at the women’s shelter, it’s her brother-in-law.”

  I grabbed a white rag from the bucket on the floor. The place was trashed. At least a hundred people had passed through for the quinceañera. I’d always thought the tradition was a waste of money. A wedding-sized celebration was too much for a girl turning fifteen. My mother still had mine and Maria’s dresses in vacuum-sealed bags stuffed away in the attic.

  “Does he have a name?” he asked. His tone too even, and his posture too stiff.

  “Kieran.”

  “What kind of name is Kieran?”

  I smiled as he tried to roll the R.

  “It’s Irish,” Maria answered for me, and I threw my wet rag at her. She squealed and threw it back.

  My father sighed and ran his hand threw his thinning hair. “You girls act like you’re little kids.”

  “Why are you in such a mood?” my mother asked as she came into the front of the restaurant.

  “Mel has a date.” Maria chimed in again, and this time I was contemplating pouring my bucket of bleach water over her head. Grown woman or not, I wasn’t above being immature if it got her to shut her damn mouth.

  “With who?” Mom set the tub of silverware she was carrying on a clean table and sat down. “Manny, hand me that stack of napkins in the bus station.”

  “A guy I was introduced to. He’s—”

  “Related to that girl who gave her the job at the shelter.” My dad finished my sentence for me as usual, and I bit the side of my cheek so I wouldn’t utter some bitchy remark that would only end up giving me another ton of bricks to carry around.

  “Good family?” my mother asked with raised brows.

  My shoulders sagged. “Yes.”

  “He goes to St. Ann’s,” Maria offered and I shot her a death glare.

  Her eyes widened as if to say “what did I say?” but her smirk wasn’t as innocent.

  My father’s mouth broke into a smile. “He does? What’s his last name?”

  “O’Connell, but he attends regular Mass, Papa, you wouldn’t know him.”

  “But I could… know him. I’ll ask around.”

  I groaned. “Are you kidding? Please don’t. I’m capable of making a good choice. I mean, I know what you’re thinking. And I promise you, five years sober will be six and then seven. Nothing, not even a man can derail me…” My parents shared a look and it cut me deep, spilled my guts onto the freshly mopped floor. “I’m not her anymore, I’m not.”

  The ache in my throat extended down throughout my chest as the room went silent. Maria avoided my eyes as I walked past her toward the kitchen.

  “Querida.” My father’s whisper stilled my legs. “Your choices are yours to make, and we do not doubt you…” I watched as the tears filled my mother’s eyes as he spoke. “We hope for you.”

  They hoped I wouldn’t relapse, that I wouldn’t fall for another asshole who’d turn me into a monster.

  “It’s one date…” The words were strained as I spoke around the lump in my throat. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  My father rested his palm against my cheek, transforming me into that little girl I’d always tried to remember. The girl before the bad choices, the drugs, the sins. “Cuidado mija.”

  “I’ll be careful.” I leaned into his touch and closed my eyes.

  His aftershave was still the same after all these years, and if I kept my eyes shut, I could pretend I was still his baby girl. He lowered his hand, and my eyes opened to a smile blooming across his face. That hope he’d spoken of earlier highlighted his dark brown eyes in flecks of gold.

  “Irish…” His smile turned into a grin. “Gorda, isn’t your great grandmother Irish?”

  My mother nodded as she rolled a set of silverware into a napkin. Her voice remained tight as she answered, “Yes, I believe her maiden name was Foley.”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll look up his entire family tree before Thursday,” Maria mumbled under her breath as she passed me her dirty rag to throw into the bucket.

  I laughed and my father gave us both a reproachful glare, but said anyway, “O’Connell… what does he do for a living?”

  I placed Maria’s rag into the bucket and wrapped my fingers around the handle. I lifted the uneven weight, the water splashing a few drops onto the floor, as I said, “I may go on this date and hate every minute, and this entire conversation would’ve been pointless...” I met my father’s eyes. “I promise, if it goes well I’ll answer any questions you have.”

  “It’s a deal.” The way he said it almost had me rolling my eyes.

  “I’m sure you’ll have a great time.” My mother looked up from her stack of rolled silverware, her face relaxed. She smiled all the way to the wrinkles that surrounded her eyes.

  She had her hopes up, and as my lips pulled up at the corners, my smile matching hers, I admitted it to myself. I had my hopes up, too.

  “And on the shoulders of autumn, you cracked the sky.”

  Hayley Stumbo~

  My hair was still damp from my shower and the crisp temperature saturated the strands that hung over my forehead, pricking against my skin like ice. I regretted leaving my jacket downstairs inside the shop, and not just because I was freezing my ass off, but mostly because I’d have to deal with the guys before I left. I’d kept quiet most of the day, fighting off that small seed of panic that had made its home inside my stomach. Nervous. It wasn’t a sufficient word for how I was feeling. Right about now, that seed was in full bloom, and the last thing I needed tonight was Liam’s bullshit. I was going on a date, and yes, I hadn’t gone on a real date since… it didn’t matter that I couldn’t remember, the point was that Liam and Kemper had kept quiet alongside me all day, biding their time like lions circling their prey. As soon as I walked back into Avenues, I was theirs to slaughter. I was freaked-the-hell-out enough without these chuckleheads running me down.

  The rear door to the shop chimed, and I cringed as I unsuccessfully snuck through it. My jacket was on the back of my chair at the front desk so there was no real escape anyway. I took a deep breath and rolled my shoulders back. There was no use in hiding. My confidence manifested in two ways: sarcasm or silence. When it came to the guys in the shop, quiet only got me questions. My mask fell into place, and I pushed through the shop like I didn’t have any fucks to give.

  Avenues had been busy today, and leaving early to take Melissa out had proven to be more difficult than I’d originally thought. I felt like shit asking Declan to stay late to man the desk, but he was happy to do it. I lifted my chin to Asher as I passed his station. He nodded back, his hands covered with purple gloves, blood, and ink. His customer looked like he was sleeping, earbuds in—eyes closed. He wasn’t a regular, but he’d given over his body, his trust, to Asher and even appeared to be relaxed about it. I should be so lucky.

  I ignored Ronnie as I walked past her station, not in the mood for her usual intrusive arrogance. I focused on the loud music playing overhead as Kemper and both of my brothers came into view. All three of them were hovered over the front desk.

  Shit.

  “Don’t you look fancy.” Kemper’s smirk was asinine. I was only wearing jeans and a black sweater. “Is that gel in your hair?”

  Declan’s smile was starting to peek around the corners of his mouth, but Liam just looked pissed as always.

  “No, jackass, my hair’s still wet.” I grabbed my jacket from the chair and pulled it on.

  “Where are you taking her?” Declan asked, his eyes light and full of humor.

  “I’m meeting her at Across the Page, and then taking her to dinner.”

  “Tris wasn’t good enough for dinner?” Kemper asked with a grin.

  He’d razzed me for a week about Tana’s sister. Now it was just a stupid joke he wouldn’t let go.

  “You saw Melissa, and if you had a choice…” I shrugged. I wasn’t shallow, but I had to speak Kemper’s language or he’d never shut the hell up.<
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  “Point made.”

  “You’re taking her to a bookstore?” Liam finally chimed in.

  I nodded as my chest tightened. I don’t know why, but I wanted his approval, I always had. In some ways, he was like a father to me. Disappointment creased his brows into a stern line.

  “I like books, and I figured it’s right by—”

  “You’re not taking her to Jade’s.” It wasn’t a question, it was an order, and it pissed me off.

  “Why not?” I asked, trying to hide my aggravation behind a smile.

  “Because it’s a fucking take-out joint, Kieran.”

  “They have tables, I go there all the time.”

  “It’s kind of a shit hole.” Declan gave me a quiet smile.

  “No way, that place has character.”

  My jaw flexed when Kemper laughed, and to my surprise, Liam’s own lips twitched at the corners.

  “First date in God knows how long and he takes her to Jade’s… at this rate you’ll never get laid.”

  My stomach soured, and Liam knew his mistake as he watched my features fall into a blank slate. Declan shot Liam a warning glare and Kemper just looked confused. My virginity was my own damn business, these guys could think what they wanted about me, but they didn’t need to know everything. My truths were mine and mine alone.

  “Thanks for the advice, but I have this handled.” The cold tone of my voice shut down any more attempted jokes at my expense. “Thanks for staying, Declan, tell Paige I owe her.” I nodded my head at Kemp and Liam. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

  I didn’t need to make a show of my anger… that was Liam’s thing. I just bottled mine until I could leak it slowly across the paper later. I wasn’t quite to the door when Liam grabbed my shoulder.

  I stood still and didn’t turn to face him when he said, “I’m sorry.”

  Liam didn’t apologize. He threw grenades and dealt with the damage on his own terms, so when he did, you can bet your ass he really meant it. The tension I’d coiled tightly into my shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

  He squeezed my shoulder before he released his grip and I turned around.

  “Jade’s… it’s your thing, little brother, I was just being a dick.”

  “I’m used to it.” My lips lifted on one side and Liam laughed.

  I headed for the back door and, as I stepped through, I heard him yell, “You better fucking show up tomorrow… on time.”

  And there he was.

  My chuckle was swallowed by the wind as I stepped into the night.

  It was weird that I was watching her through the store window, but I didn’t care. I liked the way her fingers trembled and how she tangled them together and then shoved them into her pockets. She was vulnerable in her skinny jeans and sweater. She stood out in a sea of people as she lingered next to the horror section, her eyes drifting to the door every time someone walked in. Her inky black hair was down, straightened, the shine heightened by the lights of the bookstore. How could people pass her by and not even glance in her direction? Not see what was standing right in front of them? She was stunning. The golden color of her cheeks filled with pink as she watched the front door intently, and I realized I’d tortured her enough.

  I was ten minutes late when I strolled through the doors of Across the Page, and when Melissa’s deep brown eyes met mine, my lips parted and spread into a slow-motion grin. She chewed the corner of her mouth, trying to hide her cards, but she folded, and those full lips, painted in red, broke into a brilliant smile.

  “You’re late,” she said without any real ire.

  “I was watching you,” I admitted and nodded my head in the direction of the window.

  Her eyes widened. “You were?”

  “I was. You look beautiful.” As I said it my stomach tensed. The honesty would either cost me or give me my first win for the night.

  She shifted her gaze to the window and bit her lip. She was lost in her own thoughts, and I wished there was some sort of window I could look through now so I could see what she was thinking.

  “You like horror?” I asked and she flicked her eyes back to mine.

  Her brows dipped as she asked, “Not really, why?”

  I pointed to the aisle behind her. “Horror section, I figured most women preferred romance.”

  She narrowed her eyes, a smirk making its appearance. “I like mysteries…” Her smile turned pensive as she said, “And sad stories.”

  “And poetry,” I offered, pulling her from her thoughts.

  A short laugh escaped her lips as she nodded. “So it seems.” Her gaze wandered around the store. “Why are we in a bookstore?”

  That nervous energy, the same feeling I had no words for, it was back three-fold, but this time it mixed with fear, and I hoped my stupid, sappy-ass plan wasn’t cheesy as hell.

  “I wanted tonight to be about favorites, I guess. And, besides church, this is one of my favorite places.”

  She cocked her left brow. “Church is a favorite place?”

  I chuckled. “Sometimes.”

  Melissa’s laugh was soft, like paper, like the used books that sat on this shelf, and I wanted to feel it against my skin.

  “You laugh,” I said. “But it’s true. Church is routine, the smell, the ceremony. I know what to expect there.” I know I’m safe.

  “And here?” she asked.

  “It’s almost the same.” I took her hand and she laced her fingers through mine.

  She appraised our connected fingers as she asked, “How?”

  “I’ll show you.” I tugged on her hand and she smiled. Her dark eyes lightened as she gazed up at me briefly, mischief and mystery stirring the gold and coffee facets together inside her irises.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  “Lead the way,” she said, reminding me to inhale.

  I sucked in a breath that I’d hoped she hadn’t noticed and guided us through the aisles and the customers until we’d reached the stacks. She took in everything as I led her deeper… all the way to the back of the store. It was where the scent was the strongest. The books back here were old and yellowed and, by far, my favorite. I paused midway through one of the stacks and stared at the small collection of poetry and classics.

  “This place, for me, is like church…” I whispered as if I was in the middle of a cathedral. “Because you stand before gods like Whitman, Poe, Keats, Cummings, Hardy… Frost, and every word they’ve written, they will never change, they’re timeless.” I lifted an old leather-bound book from the shelf and released her hand so I could open it. “The smell, the ceremony, it’s not the same but it is.” I let my eyes roam over the paragraphs as I inhaled. “I come here once a week, I worship these pages, and I go home feeling less…”

  “Burdened.” She offered me another shy smile.

  My mouth tipped into a grin. “Yeah.” My jaw pulsed as I watched her. She dropped her eyes to the open book in my hand and swallowed.

  “You make me incredibly nervous.” The words shivered as she spoke.

  Her eyes remained on the book, and I was grateful for the moment to school my features. “I could say the same of you.”

  She gave me her full attention then. “I make you nervous?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I call bullshit,” she said with a wry smile.

  I choked out a laugh. “Bullshit?”

  Her smile pulled into dimples and she nodded. “You’re smooth.”

  My head fell back with laughter. “I’m anything but.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’re good with words.”

  “I like books… I didn’t bring you here to be smooth.” I pushed a stray piece of her hair behind her ear, and she wet her lips. My eyes were captured by her mouth, the motion pulling me in. The quiet static surrounded us, feeding the dizzying speed of my heartbeat, there was no room to breathe as my chest squeezed and constricted. I held my hand up between us and didn’t attempt to hide how it shook. “See. Nervous as fuck.�
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  She pinched her lip with her teeth and lifted her hand, pressing it against my palm. Her hand was so small, and as she threaded her fingers through mine she said, “I’m out of practice.”

  I lowered our linked hands. “Me, too.” It wasn’t an actual lie. For argument’s sake, I hadn’t technically dated anyone since high school, and never actually having sex could be considered “out of practice.”

  “Maybe we should just kiss now, and make shit less awkward.” She glanced up from under her lashes with a playful grin.

  My pulse hummed. Was she serious? “Now?”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not very romantic.”

  She laughed. “That’s the point, less pressure.”

  She released my hand and took a step toward me. My Adam’s apple bobbed inside my throat when her eyes fell to my lips.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”

  She smiled as she asked, “Am I messing up your date night plans?”

  “Maybe.”

  She stepped so close I could feel the heat of her body through my sweater. My jaw clenched, and the smell of old books and jasmine filled the inch or so between us. She kept her hands at her side, and I almost wondered if she was testing me. But her tongue swept across her bottom lip making the red color shimmer. My blood ripped through my veins, and the loud roar silenced the noise around us. It was me and her, and I had to know what she tasted like.

  I wanted to say something, but I was afraid my voice would betray me, break this moment, and show her just how naïve I really was. I lifted my hand and dusted my thumb across her lips. They parted as her eyelids fluttered closed and her breath warmed my skin. The fear I’d had earlier gave way to searing heat. I let it course through me as I lowered my head, cradled her face with my hand, and pressed my lips to hers.

  She was everything that was supple and soft and real, and after three seconds, her mouth opened for me, and engulfed my tongue with her honeyed taste. I’d become a lost soul. A fallen angel. Her mouth found our rhythm like we’d always known what it was like to kiss each other, like this wasn’t a first kiss, a new beginning. I stopped thinking, wrapped my left arm around her waist, and pulled her against me. My right hand slid down her arm and then back up again. I ran my fingertips past her shoulder to her neck. My thumb circled her pulse line and, as my fingers drifted into her hair, her head fell back. I groaned as she nipped at my lower lip and she pulled away with a breathless gasp.