by Emery Rose
My name is Connor, and I’m an addict. I admitted that I was powerless over my addiction, and my life had become unmanageable.
Fun times.
I hadn’t done drugs in eighteen months. Technically, I’d been clean for that long. But a year ago, my doctor prescribed opioids after the operation to repair my broken jaw with titanium plates and screws. Why he’d given opioids to an addict was anyone’s guess. Ava doled out the Vicodin as per the instructions on the bottle. She kept the pills locked in a drawer at Trinity Bar and counted them every single time to make sure I hadn’t broken in and stolen them. That was what we’d been reduced to. She’d become my keeper, the trust so fractured that she needed to count fucking pills to make sure I didn’t relapse. She couldn’t even look at me without crying. And I couldn’t look at her without remembering all the shit I’d put her through over the years.
Sobriety was a bitch. It forced you to take a moral inventory and look at everything more clearly.
I tried to focus on the meeting, but my thoughts wandered to the memory of Ava kissing Zeke. Son of a bitch. He’d wanted me to see that he’d staked his claim. Why had I gone into the bar Zeke co-owned, the bar where Ava worked, asking for his help? Fucking masochist. Ava and Zeke had come in the door laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world. Which they didn’t. Without me, Ava’s life was better. Easier. Happier. The minute she saw me, she’d stopped laughing. When was the last time I made her happy?
I pictured us at eighteen, the summer Killian and I had moved to Park Slope. We’d rented a brownstone apartment across from Prospect Park, nicer than any place we’d ever lived before. Ava was lying on my bed, naked, her long white-blonde hair falling around her shoulders. Her creamy skin and that tiny, perfect body on full display. She propped her head on her hand and licked her cherry-red lips, her gray eyes heavy-lidded with a desire that matched my own. Muse’s “Hysteria” blasted from my speakers, and the early-evening sunlight filtered through the open windows, making her porcelain skin glow.
Ice on fire, that was Ava.
“You can’t sit around half-naked and expect me not to be tempted,” she said. “I want you now.”
I want you all the time. “Not done yet, Ava Blue,” I said as I sketched her naked body, the curve of her hip, her flat stomach, round breasts with rose-tinted nipples that begged to be worshiped by my mouth, my tongue, my teeth.
She pouted, but I caught the wicked gleam in her eye before her eyelids closed and she slid her hand between her legs. “Guess I’ll have to take care of myself then.”
I tossed my sketchbook on the floor and stalked over to the bed.
“Oh, you want to join me now?” she asked as I pushed down my shorts.
I crawled up the bed, and she spread her legs for me, knowing I’d take care of her first. We’d learned everything together—how to play each other’s bodies, how to prolong the pleasure until we were blinded by our need.
When I was buried deep inside Ava, her body wrapped around mine, I didn’t think about the Oxy hidden in my closet. Or how I’d get more pills when my supply ran low. Ava didn’t know about it. Neither did Killian. Not yet. I was still in denial, telling myself I wasn’t an addict, and I could quit anytime. It was a slippery slope and I lost my grip on it a year later when I smoked heroin for the first time. It didn’t take long before I was hooked and started shooting up. My relationship with Ava ended, and we’d never been able to get back what was lost.
Ava was my true love, but heroin had been my mistress. Tempting, forbidden, and demanding. More. More. More.
But that day, when we were eighteen, the possibility of what we could be seemed infinite.
“I see the way girls look at you. Are you ever tempted?” she asked me later, her head resting on my chest, her leg slung across my waist.
“Never,” I said, running my hand up her calf. “You’re the only girl for me.”
“I want to be your forever girl.”
“You’re my everything girl.”
“When I graduate from college, we’ll get our own place. Just you and me.”
“We can go anywhere. Where do you want to live?”
“California. Or anywhere. It doesn’t matter.” She placed her hand over my heart. “Your heart is racing.”
“Because of you.” It was the truth, but it was also a lie. Oxy made my heart race, too.
“Good answer.”
“Do I win a prize?” I teased.
“You already did. I’m the prize.” Her fingers tap-danced across my chest to the beat of the music. “I’ll miss you when I’m gone.”
“You’re only going to Queens, babe, not the other side of the country.”
“I know. But still. Dorm life, ugh.”
Her parents wanted her to live in the dorms at St. John’s University to get the full college experience. If it had been up to her mother, Ava would have been sent to another country, as far away from me as possible but my girl knew her own mind so Queens it was. “We’ll spend our weekends together and I’ll visit you so often you’ll get sick of me.”
“I’ll never get sick of you,” she said. “Not even when we’re old and gray.”
In that moment, we were whole, and we were perfect.
When the meeting ended, Tate and I escaped the heat of the church basement and exited through the side door into the outside air that was ten degrees cooler. We stood by our parked Harleys, taking deep breaths of fresh air. Or as fresh as it got in Brooklyn.
“You get anything out of that?” Tate asked.
“Does tripping down memory lane count?”
He crossed his arms and tilted his head, his brow furrowed as if he was giving it serious thought. “It counts that you showed up.” Tate scratched his head. “Been thinking about what you told me the other night. About buying the shop. What’s holding you back?”
“I don’t want to fuck it up.”
“Ain’t happening. The business is established so you’re not starting from scratch. You already manage the shop when Jared’s out. You work what … fifty hours a week?”
“About that.” Probably more. I stayed after-hours to clean or do whatever I could to help Jared out. I owed him that, and more. For the past six years, my job had been the only constant in my life, and the only thing I hadn’t screwed up. Jared deserved the credit more than I did. Junkies didn’t make the most reliable employees, but even after disappearing for months, leaving him in the lurch, he’d taken me back, no questions asked. And I was grateful for that.
“You might need to rack up more hours, do the accounting, and keep on top of all the paperwork. Nobody wants to mess with the IRS. But you’ve got it covered. You know what you’re doing.”
“As a tattoo artist, yeah. But the rest of it…” I didn’t have a fucking clue.
“If an old dog like me can learn new tricks, a young pup like you should have no problem.”
With that, he straddled his bike, strapped on his helmet, and took off down the street.
Ten minutes later, I walked into Killian’s gym where his women’s self-defense class was in full swing. Back in January, Eden and Ava had taken Killian’s co-ed Krav Maga classes, and I was told they’d kicked ass. I smiled at the thought of tiny Ava taking down a guy twice her size.
“Can I get a volunteer?” Killian asked the women standing in front of him. Every hand shot into the air. He beckoned with his hand and Mitch, the weekend bouncer at Trinity Bar and one of Killian’s instructors at the gym, trotted over and stood by Killian’s side. The women’s faces fell when they saw they’d be dealing with Mitch and not Killian. Mitch had a face like a bulldog and was built like a tank.
I chuckled to myself on the way to the locker room.
After putting in two hours in the weight room, I hit the shower. It was the first time I’d worked out since I’d gotten the tattoo, and when I stripped off my clothes, I didn’t feel like I needed to hide my chest from any of the guys coming in and out of the locker room. I could sh
ower without shame. Progress.
Showered and dressed, I sat on the bench to put on my boots. My cell phone rang in my backpack and I slid it out, checking the screen before I answered. Jared.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Zeke’s here. Says you’re supposed to meet.”
Fuck no. “Tell him I don’t need his help.”
“You tell him.”
Two seconds later, I heard Zeke’s voice on the line. I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried not to lose my shit. “Forget it. I’ve got this.”
“We can talk while you give me a tattoo.”
“I’m not giving you a tattoo.”
“Yeah, you are. Jared booked me in for twelve-thirty.”
“The shop doesn’t open until one. I’m fully booked today.” Why was I debating this with him? “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I cut the call, slung my bag over my shoulder, and stalked out of the locker room. Killian was filling up his water bottle at the cooler and turned to me, screwing on the cap.
“You okay?” he asked.
It was a loaded question. Define okay. “Zeke wants me to give him a tattoo.”
Killian’s brows rose. “Really?”
I laughed under my breath. “Yeah. Really.”
“Huh. You talked to him?”
“Briefly,” I said, leaving it at that.
While I was working out, I’d made my decision. I was going to buy the shop and I was going to make a success of it. As for Ava, I needed to find a way to let go and move on just like she had. Unfortunately, I had no idea how to do that.
“I don’t do YOLO tattoos,” I informed Zeke as I walked in the door and saw him sitting on the black leather sofa in the waiting area. Jared chuckled, sharing my disdain for YOLO tattoos, and turned on the sound system. Fall Out Boy’s “Sugar, We’re Goin’ Down” blasted from the speakers. Nothing like a little emo to start the workday.
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t want a YOLO tattoo,” Zeke said. “I want a nautical star compass. Right here.” He placed his hand on the middle of his chest.
“I don’t have that kind of time.”
“Yeah, you do,” he said with a big smile. I was tempted to punch his teeth in. Instead, I pinched the bridge of my nose, took deep breaths, and counted to ten, a relaxation trick I’d learned in rehab.
I checked the appointment schedule on the computer for verification—my one o’clock had been deleted. Goddammit.
“I’ll take care of that one,” Jared said. What kind of voodoo had Zeke performed to get his way? In the past, Zeke and I had been casual acquaintances and I’d never had a problem with him. Now I did. And I sure as hell didn’t want to spend up-close and personal time with the guy screwing my ex-girlfriend. “He filled out his paperwork,” Jared said.
“I thought you were taking the day off,” I said.
Jared shrugged. “Change of plan. I told him you were the best.”
“Now you’re blowing smoke up my ass? What’s the world coming to?”
“San Diego here I come.”
I shook my head. Wherever you go, there you are. If he thought new scenery and good weather could change everything, he was setting himself up for disappointment. “You should give this more thought.”
“And you should get the hell out of my face and get to work,” Jared said. “I’ve made my decision. I’m still waiting for yours.”
“Let’s get this over with,” I said, motioning for Zeke to follow me to my station. Zeke laughed like I’d just told him a good joke.
Per my instructions, Zeke stripped off his T-shirt, and I stared at his smooth chest. Fuck, it was perfect, unmarred by scars. I hated him for it. Hated the thought of Ava running her hands over it, resting her head on it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I needed to lock it down and stop thinking.
I snapped photos, took measurements, and prepared the transfer—flash art. Normally, I prided myself on my original designs, but this time I didn’t give a shit.
Jared taught me the art of tattooing when I was eighteen. The summer I graduated from high school, I came in with the portfolio that had gotten me into Pratt Institute. Jared took me on as an apprentice, and I never ended up going to art school. The scholarship they’d offered me wouldn’t even put a dent in the tuition, and I didn’t want to be saddled with student loans or let Killian pay my way like he’d offered. Lack of funds wasn’t the only reason I’d ditched art school though. I loved bringing my art to life on a human canvas. And, for the most part, I enjoyed interacting with the customers. Listening to their stories. Watching their faces when they looked at their new tattoo for the first time. And knowing that my design would be inked on their skin forever.
After I prepped Zeke’s skin and applied the transfer, I warned him that it hurt, and ink was permanent, something I told all my clients. Since homicide wasn’t an option, I opted for a professional approach. The sooner he got in and out, the better. “You still want it?” I asked, hoping he’d change his mind and scurry the hell out the door.
He settled back in the reclined chair. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” Despite his words, his whole body tensed, and I could tell he was holding his breath.
“Take a slow, deep breath and relax.”
I waited until he did as I told him, but he still looked nervous as hell. Why should I care? “The first minute is the worst. You’ll get used to it.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
I started the linework. He winced, but he stayed still so I continued.
I’d hoped we could do this in silence, so I could block out everything and concentrate on the tattoo, not the person sitting in the chair. Or everything this person had come to represent—a fresh start for Ava. She’d been with other guys since me, just like I’d been with other girls, but I’d never met any of the guys she’d hooked up with, and none of them had lasted long. It had been the same for me over the years, and I sometimes wondered why I bothered when I knew that nobody would ever come close to her.
“Ava and I ended it,” Zeke said.
I didn’t react, but I wanted to know if Ava ended it or Zeke ended it. Why should it matter? Just because she wasn’t with Zeke didn’t mean she wanted to be with me.
“She’s still in love with you,” he said.
I finished outlining the design and lifted the tattoo needle from his chest. “Another word about Ava and you’ll need to find a different tattoo artist.”
“Just putting it out there.”
I switched needles and got back to work, shading and coloring. He kept his mouth shut, but the silence didn’t last.
“My older brother Alex taught me how to sail,” he said. “That’s why I went for the compass. It’s symbolic, you know? Trying to find direction in your life … some people have a harder time than others. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just that everyone’s wired differently. Alex had everything. My family is loaded, my parents are good people. We grew up wanting for nothing. He went to Harvard, and maybe the pressure got to him or something. Nobody noticed that he’d developed an opiate addiction. Until he overdosed and ended up in the ER.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Just making conversation.”
Bullshit. “What did Ava tell you?”
“Nothing. She never talked about you.” I believed him. Ava had always kept my dirty secrets to herself. Zeke lowered his voice, so he wasn’t overheard over the buzzing needles and music. “Last year, I found your prescription in the desk drawer. I saw you after you’d been beaten up and I knew that had to hurt like hell. And yet, Ava was keeping your meds under lock and key. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why.”
Anger and shame burned inside me. I hated that Zeke could be so smug, so superior, armed with the knowledge that I needed my ex-girlfriend to monitor my pain medication. “Congratulations. You’re a fucking genius.”
“Hey, I’m not judging you. I get how hard it is. I watched Alex go through hell. He relapsed twice. But he’s in a goo
d place now.”
A good place. That’s what we all strive for, isn’t it?
“So, listen, about the business…” he said a few minutes later. “I talked to Jared earlier…”
“Forget it.”
“I’m on your side. I want to help if I can. Why do you and Killian make it so difficult?”
“Must be the way we’re wired.”
“He came around. Eventually.”
If Zeke had gone for Eden, hell would have frozen over before Killian came around. Of all the girls Zeke could have had, why did he need to go for Ava? Why did she go for him?
I needed to win her back. I would show her that my life was on track and that I’d changed. I wasn’t hell-bent on self-destruction, and I wasn’t running from anything. I was standing my ground and weathering the storm.
This time, I wouldn’t be careless with Ava. Everything could be different. I would find a way to make her fall in love with me all over again.
5
Connor
Eight Years Ago
Ava raised her arms in the air and did a victory dance before she jumped into my arms and cinched her legs around my waist, the arcade lights flashing behind her. “You’re my hero.”
She took my Yankees cap off my head and put it backward on her own head before she cupped my face in her hands and pressed her lips against mine. I ran my tongue along the seam of her lips, tasting the salt from the ocean. Her lips parted, and our tongues swirled together. She tasted like the cherry Italian ice she’d eaten earlier. Her arms circled my neck and my hands cupped her perfect ass in tiny denim cut-offs. Her tits pressed against my chest as her legs tightened around me. Jesus.