by Emery Rose
Ava once called me an onion.
“You make people cry. And you have so many different layers … you never know what the next one will reveal.”
An onion. Jesus Christ.
2
Ava
“Zeke, honey, would you like more cake?” my mom called through the screen door.
“No thank you.”
“How about more of the baked ziti and meatballs? Or the wedding soup? You loved that.” My mom comes from a big Italian family, and in her world, food is love. She wouldn’t rest until she stuffed Zeke like a Christmas turkey.
“I loved it all,” he said, flashing her a big white smile. Zeke looked like he stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad, with his blond hair and sun-kissed skin. Not only was he easy on the eyes, he wasn’t an asshole. “But I can’t eat another thing.”
“I’ll pack a doggy bag for later.”
“I won’t say no to that,” he said with an easy smile.
“Suck up,” I teased. Zeke winked at me. He knew how to play the game, a whole lot better than I did. Zeke was raised in Greenwich in a sprawling house with a swimming pool and tennis courts. Yet here he was in the backyard of my parents’ rowhouse, talking to my grandparents, aunts, and uncles who all talked over each other, my sister Lana, and her husband Joe, and winning them over. He could charm the birds out of the tree, and within five minutes of walking in the door, he’d charmed my entire family. Two hours later and he was still doing it.
“Help me in the kitchen,” my mom said, summoning me. I knew what was coming and sighed as I crossed the backyard and yanked open the screen door.
“I like that boy,” she said, donning yellow rubber gloves to protect her manicure. She plunged the dirty dishes into the soapy water. Scrubbed, rinsed, and handed me a plate to dry and stow in the cabinet.
“When are you guys going to get a dishwasher?” I asked, aiming for a diversion.
“I offered to buy her one,” my dad said from his spot at the kitchen table. He flipped the page of his newspaper, which he preferred to hanging out with my mom’s family. Or anyone. Unlike my mom who loved to surround herself with people, my dad liked peace and quiet.
I inherited his cool Nordic looks—white-blonde hair and pale skin—but personality-wise, I was a mix of both parents. I’d taken a quiz once that told me I was an extroverted introvert. Conflicted, like me.
“If I wanted a dishwasher, I’d buy it myself,” my mom said, handing me another plate. “I like washing dishes. It gives me a chance to look out the window.”
“And spy on the neighbors,” I joked, earning a chuckle from my dad.
My mom flapped her hand at me, dousing me with soapy dishwater, her gaze still focused on the window where Zeke was front and center talking to Lana. She looked impeccable, as always, with chestnut-brown hair cut in long layers and expertly applied makeup that didn’t detract from her classic beauty. We looked nothing alike, had very little in common, and we weren’t that close. She lived on Long Island and we only got together for holidays, and then it was polite chit-chat, at best.
Lana always wore heels, no matter the occasion, and shopped at Nordstrom, which guaranteed that her tasteful designer outfits won my mom’s approval. I shopped at vintage stores and flea markets, which never won me any points. My current ensemble was a vintage Ramones T-shirt, shredded jean cut-offs, and black combat boots. Maybe I should have made more of an effort to please my mom. At least my T-shirt covered my tattoo, something guaranteed to put a frown on her face every time she saw it.
When I was eighteen, Connor inked soaring bluebirds on my right bicep. A year later, I had barbed wire inked around the bluebirds. When Connor found out about it, he stormed into the lounge of my residence hall at St. John’s University mid-study session. He threw me over his shoulder, kicking and screaming, and sequestered me in my room, demanding an explanation.
“You’re the barbed wire, Connor. I want out.”
“You’re mine. We belong together.”
“Make a choice. Me or drugs. I refuse to stand by and watch you kill yourself.”
“I’m not going to die, baby. I’ve got it under control.”
As usual, we ended up naked, and he fucked me until I forgot my own name, let alone the reason for my concern.
“Is it serious with you and Zeke?” my mom asked.
I shrugged. “No. We’re just hanging out.”
“You don’t bring a boy to your father’s birthday lunch if you’re just ‘hanging out.’ He’s so handsome,” she said in a dreamy voice that made her sound like a teenager with her first crush. “With such good manners. And he’s so easy to talk to. He’s a keeper. Don’t let that one go.”
My mom didn’t say the words, but she didn’t need to—Zeke was everything that Connor wasn’t. Money and status were important to her, and even though we’d never had either one, she still aspired to it. But I didn’t love Zeke, and he didn’t love me. Whatever we were doing, it had probably reached its expiration date. Bringing him over today had been a mistake.
“I have a feeling he’ll move on to bigger and better things. With his education, he could be working on Wall Street or heading up one of his dad’s companies in no time.”
“Zeke likes running the bar with Louis. Before that, he was a bartender, Mom. He doesn’t have huge ambitions.”
“One day, he will. Mark my words. That boy is going places.”
I sighed. Of course, Zeke would get the benefit of the doubt. My mom had probably Googled his family already and knew their net worth.
“Honey, why don’t you come into the salon and let me do your hair?” my mom said, removing her gloves. She tucked my lavender hair behind my ears and peered at my face, frowning at my signature black eyeliner—thick and winged. “Such a beautiful face. You don’t need all that black eyeliner. Let me fix your hair. I bet Zeke would love—”
“Mom. No. Just … no. We need to go to work.”
I brushed past her, trying not to notice how her face fell in disappointment. It always seemed to end this way with us. “Hey, Zeke. We should go.”
I hugged everyone goodbye, and Zeke and I got out of there as quickly as possible. Which wasn’t quick enough. My mom held us up in the kitchen, taking her sweet time to pack up leftovers for Zeke.
I climbed into Zeke’s Jeep Wrangler and collapsed against the seat, drained. “I’m sorry I subjected you to my family.”
“No worries. They’re cool. Food was good. It was worth the trip.”
“You know that you’re too good to be true, right?”
He smiled. “Funny. That’s what I always thought about you.”
Proving yet again that he was just too perfect. And full of shit.
Zeke and I were laughing as we walked into Trinity Bar. The laughter died on my lips when I saw Connor sitting on a barstool, his folded arms resting on the zinc bar top as he talked to Louis. Just like it always did, my pulse raced at the sight of him. He looked over at the door, his electric-blue eyes searing me with their intensity. And I needed to remind myself how to breathe. How to stand on my own two feet after he’d just pulled the ground out from under me.
How could one person create such a strong reaction in me? Why couldn’t I ever be free of him?
I still remembered the boy who was all elbows and knees, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He wasn’t that boy anymore. At twenty-four, his broad shoulders and six-pack abs threatened to burst the seams of his white T-shirt. His dark hair was cropped short, his face chiseled and harder-looking than it used to be.
But he was still the most beautiful boy I’d ever laid eyes on. And he still made my heart ache.
In the past eleven months, I’d only seen him once. I knew his schedule, knew where he’d be at any given time of the day, and I went out of my way to avoid him.
Sitting in Trinity Bar on a Saturday afternoon was not part of his daily routine.
“What are you doing here?” I hated how cold my voice sounded. I hated how the
heat and the light in his eyes faded. Most of all, I hated that I still cared about his feelings when he obviously didn’t give a damn about mine.
His gaze swung to Zeke, dismissing me. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure,” Zeke said, pulling up a stool next to Connor like this was perfectly normal, even though they’d never been friends.
I breezed past them, dying to know what Connor could possibly want from Zeke, but I forced myself to keep walking, my boots tapping across the hardwood floor. As I passed the open doors leading to the courtyard, I glanced outside. It was almost October but felt more like a summer’s day. Hipsters crowded the picnic tables, talking and laughing over the music, the air scented with roasted pork from Jimmy’s Taco Truck, and the lavender and mint I planted.
When I reached the safety of the office, I sank into the black leather swivel chair and took a few deep breaths, trying to pull myself together. Plenty to keep me busy here. Working at Trinity Bar was the perfect job for me. I made my own hours, excelled at social media, which I used to promote the bar, and loved the organizational aspect of the job. I wore many hats—doing the paperwork, accounting, booking the entertainment, running promotions, tending to my little garden in the courtyard—so I never suffered from boredom. If I wanted to socialize, I could. If I wanted to hole up in the office, that was cool, too. Yep, my life was hunky dory.
A little while later, I was reminding all my virtual friends to come out and see tonight’s indie rock band when Zeke entered the office.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual. I spun my chair around to face him. “So, what was that about? Was it personal? I mean … about us?”
Zeke shook his head and pulled me out of the swivel chair and into his arms. He kissed me, and I kissed him back. He was a good kisser, but his kisses didn’t turn me into a bowl of Jell-O. I still had my wits about me, and I considered that one of the perks of this arrangement. Zeke released me, and I looked over at the doorway, feeling his presence even though he hadn’t made a sound. For such a big guy—six feet, three inches of solid muscle—Connor moved like a ninja, a skill he’d perfected to survive his childhood.
Connor’s eyes narrowed, his jaw working to contain his emotions, but I saw what he tried to hide. Jealousy. Hurt. Sadness. Anger. They flashed across his face before he locked it down and clenched his jaw, the muscle in his cheek jumping as we stared each other down.
You screwed up, asshole. It didn’t have to be like this, I told him with my eyes.
Zeke took my spot in the chair I’d vacated and laced his fingers behind his head, cool as you like. I shot him a look. He shrugged nonchalantly like it couldn’t be helped. Zeke had kissed me on purpose, knowing that Connor would see it. “I’ll stop by on Monday before the shop opens. Does noon work for you?” Zeke asked Connor.
“Forget it,” Connor gritted out. “Bad fucking idea.”
Zeke flashed me a smile as Connor strode away.
“What was that?” I hissed, planting my hands on my hips. It wasn’t like Zeke to be cruel, but he had to know that throwing it in Connor’s face would hurt him.
Zeke grabbed my stress ball, a smiling Buddha face, that I kept on the shelf with my color-coded binders, propped his feet on the desk, and tossed the ball from hand to hand. “Ava, you’re gorgeous. You’re smart. You’re sexy. And you’re totally cool. But I’m not the guy for you because you’re still in love with someone else.”
“I’m not … Connor and I … whatever we had … it’s ancient history,” I spluttered. “We’re over.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Zeke delivered the words with a smile, but I still felt the sting. He tilted his head. “Why are you with me?”
Zeke was changing up the game. This wasn’t what we did. We hung out, had fun, shared a good laugh, and had sex. We didn’t bare our souls or push each other for answers to tough questions. Our deal started out like this: How about we hook up exclusively? In other words, we’d only have sex with each other, and when one of us was ready to move on, we’d call it quits. No harm, no foul. Perfect plan.
“Because it’s easy,” I said, deciding to be honest. “You don’t come with a lot of baggage.” I leaned against the edge of the desk and crossed my arms. “Why are you with me?”
“You needed a diversion. I’m good for that. But I’m starting to think I want more. Something real, you know? Like Eden and Killian have. Like you and Connor had … have.”
I didn’t bother reminding him that Connor and I were over and that we had been for almost five years. Five years and I was still holding on to … what? The ghost of a memory.
“You’re looking for a real relationship?” I asked, surprised. Zeke had always been a player and maintained that he liked it that way.
He laughed. “Nah. I’m just messing with you. I’m not ready to settle for one person anytime soon. But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. I don’t pretend to know Connor … those Vincent brothers don’t make it easy.”
Zeke was right. Nothing had ever been easy with them, but their lives had never been easy either.
“But you know what I think?” I shook my head, curious to hear his thoughts. “When they fall in love, they fall hard, and it’s for life.”
“Love isn’t always enough.”
“Maybe not.” He shrugged. “But that’s for you to decide. All this oversharing is exhausting. Zeke’s office hours are officially over.”
“And I guess we are, too.”
“We can still be friends.” He flashed me a smile.
I groaned. “That’s such a line. But somehow you make it work.”
“What can I say? It’s a gift.”
“Thanks for everything. I don’t regret a single minute of it.”
“This is starting to sound like an after-school special.”
“We’re pathetic,” I said, and then we were laughing and hugging.
I wished that things could be different. Loving Zeke would be so damn easy. But it wasn’t meant to be.
Maybe you couldn’t choose the person you fell in love with. Over the years, I’d tried so many times to steel my heart against Connor, but he always came in like a wrecking ball. He knocked down all the walls, destroyed the foundation, and left me with the rubble. Our brand of love would never make an after-school special. It was ugly and gritty and soul-destroying. Connor and I…there had been so many obstacles in our way.
But for a while, our love had been beautiful, and it had been everything.
How could you hate someone and love them at the same time?
3
Ava
Ten Years Ago
My empty stomach churned as I made my way down the crowded school hallway, the dingy beige walls closing in on me. I swallowed down the fear and popped another piece of gum in my mouth. No matter what I did, I couldn’t rid my mouth of the bad taste. My mom had believed me when I told her I had a stomach bug. I couldn’t keep food down. I barely left my room all day Friday. The same went for Saturday and Sunday. Now it was Monday. Time to face my personal hell. I pulled my beanie lower, hiding my shorn hair that I’d hacked off this morning, my white-blonde locks falling to the tiled bathroom floor. When my mom had seen what I’d done, she’d been rendered speechless. Not an easy feat but I’d managed to do it.
“You’ll do anything for attention,” Lana had hissed.
My footsteps faltered as I got closer to my locker. Would he be there? With that smirk on his face? His voice taunting me. My vision blurred, and the hallway tilted. I took a few deep breaths until the world righted itself again and shoved the memories down deep inside where they couldn’t resurface.
In the sea of bodies, one stood out. Killian Vincent was hard to miss. At eighteen, he looked more like a man than a boy. It wasn’t just that he was built like a young god or his height which was at least a foot taller than me, he could intimidate lesser mortals with just one look. Apparently, he had a notoriously bad temper and was always getting into street fights. Or so
I’d heard from my sister Lana and her friends who were seniors, like him.
Yet Killian had been my savior.
My gaze swung to the guy on his right. Connor. A freshman like me. His dark hair messy and a little too long, his blue eyes so blue they didn’t look real. Connor was the pretty one, I’d always thought, with finer features and long eyelashes that girls would envy. Something that probably would have horrified him if I’d said it aloud. Which I wouldn’t. We’d never spoken.
But watching the Vincent brothers in church every Sunday had been one of my favorite pastimes. Thanks to my mom who got all the gossip at the salon and liked to pass it on over family dinners, I knew their mother had run off ten years ago, leaving Seamus alone to raise the boys. My mom always shook her head and sighed, calling the man a saint, but I’d never trusted Seamus Vincent’s steely blue eyes and hard face. Sometimes Killian would be sporting a black eye, or a split lip and Connor would get dragged to his feet by the scruff of his neck when he failed to stand on cue during Mass. But Seamus Vincent was a pillar of the community, and nobody ever questioned his parenting skills.
As I got closer, I realized they must be waiting for me. Why else would they be standing in front of my locker?
“Hey Ava,” Connor said. “I’m Killian’s brother, Connor.”
I nodded, no words of greeting coming out of my mouth.
“You good?” Killian asked.
I nodded again. His gaze swept over my face, trying to decide if I was lying. I could see that he knew I was, but he crossed his arms over his wide chest and nodded once. He wasn’t going to call me out on it. My gaze swung to Connor. His lips tugged into a soft smile. It was too sweet, and I didn’t know how to handle it, so I studied the intricate blue and black designs on his left forearm that he must have inked with Sharpies. Birds? Did they continue past his elbow where his blue plaid shirt was cuffed?
“If Jake Masters comes anywhere near you again…” Killian said, drawing my attention to him. “If he even looks at you or breathes in your direction, you let me know and I’ll take care of it. Understand?”