by Emery Rose
With a little smile, Ava turned and walked away while I stood by the SUV, dumbfounded.
I climbed into the passenger seat and fastened my seatbelt, watching Ava’s house through the window as Killian pulled away from the curb, her words echoing in my head. You are loved.
Killian didn’t say a word until we’d gotten back to the apartment. “You should have put some ice on it earlier,” he said, emptying an ice tray into a kitchen towel.
“Thanks,” I said, collapsing on the sofa, pressing the ice against my cheekbone.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, even though my head was throbbing and every breath I took made my ribs scream in protest.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “If you want to keep living with me, you need to be more responsible.”
“I know. I will. We fell asleep,” I said, leaving out the part that came before it. “Her mom called Seamus. She thinks I still live there.”
Killian let out a weary sigh. “Fuck. And Ava saw him hit you.”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t be here to watch over you. I’m not home enough—”
“I don’t need a babysitter. It’s cool. I’m good.”
“You’re on your own too much,” he said, and I could hear the guilt in his voice. “I’ll try and be home more.”
Killian spent six hours a day training and nights bartending to chase his dreams and keep a roof over our heads, and I was so damned grateful to have him in my corner that I would have walked over hot coals for him. The last thing I wanted was to jeopardize his dreams. “You don’t need to worry about me. You need to go for your dreams. It’s going to happen for you. The UFC…the money… all of it. You’ll get everything you’re working for and it’ll be worth it. You’re going to be a champion of the Octagon. Someday they’ll be chanting your name.”
He opened his mouth as if to say something then he shut it and rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the praise I was heaping on him. “You’re so full of shit.” He shook his head and chuckled.
“I’m speaking the truth.” I wasn’t bullshitting him. Killian had the discipline, the talent, and the drive to become a champion. Not to mention that MMA was his passion. I had no doubt he’d go all the way. I dumped the ice in the sink and returned to the living room. Killian was sorting through a stack of utility bills on the coffee table. We were strapped for cash and the memory of the money I’d blown today made me wince. Not to mention that I’d bought myself a new sketchbook and pencils a few days ago.
“I’ll ask for some extra hours…help you out with the bills.”
Killian shook his head. “You need to save your money for the future. When you’re a famous artist, you can pay me back.” I laughed at that one. “You need to cool it with Ava.”
“She loves me,” I said, still marveling at those words. I’d never heard them before. Not from anyone.
“Yeah, I heard,” Killian said. I waited for him to say more but he pointed the remote at the TV and flicked through the channels. Most likely, he’d fall asleep on the sofa to the white noise of the TV like he did most nights.
I shut the bedroom door behind me, stripped down to my boxer briefs and lay on my bed, the scent of Ava lingering on my pillow. I buried my nose in it and inhaled deeply. It smelled like flowers and rain and the sea. It smelled like heaven.
6
Ava
I jogged down the stairs of my fourth-floor walk-up and emerged from my building into a crisp fall morning and a cloudless blue sky. Perfect Brooklyn weather. As I strolled down Bedford Avenue, I pushed all thoughts of Connor out of my head. By the time I’d reached Brickwood Coffee, I’d almost convinced myself that letting him go was the best thing I’d ever done.
The bell above the door chimed as I entered the rustic wood coffee shop and inhaled the nutty aroma of freshly brewed coffee. I loved the smell of coffee but had never acquired a taste for it. I scanned the shop for Eden—since it was small, it only took a few seconds to realize she wasn’t here yet. My gaze settled on the guy at the counter and my heart stuttered as his eyes locked on mine, his steps carrying him closer. Turning to go, I gripped the door handle. His hand wrapped around my upper arm to stop me.
“Wait. Don’t go,” he said in his husky voice. Raspy. Sexy. The kind of voice you wanted to listen to in the dark. My knees still went weak at the sound of it.
He released my arm as I stepped away from the door to let a customer out. “Connor—”
“I ordered you a chai latte.”
“Eden’s not coming, is she?”
“No.”
Even though it wasn’t funny, I laughed. I’d done the same thing to Eden over a year ago, attempting to get her and Killian together. It had worked, but they didn’t have a complicated history.
“Hey, I’m Connor Vincent,” he said.
I turned and lifted my eyes to his, my brow furrowed. “What?”
“Let’s pretend this is the first time we met.”
I shook my head. “Life doesn’t work that way.”
“I know. But we can try. Get to know each other with no past … no bad memories.”
Memories couldn’t be erased, not the bad or the good. Unfortunately, I remembered them all. Did Connor? I doubted it. He was too busy chasing his next high. “How does that work?”
“We’ll start over. I do it every day. One minute, one hour, one day at a time. Baby steps, Ava.”
His tone was deceptively light. I knew it couldn’t be easy, not for him, and not for us. “I hate you, remember?” But even as I said it, I could hear that my voice lacked conviction.
“We just met, and you already hate me?” he teased.
I rolled my eyes. He gave me a smile that melted the ice around my heart. I loved that dimple in his right cheek and the twinkle in his blue eyes. “Hey, I’m Ava Christensen.” And I’m a fool for going along with this plan.
His smile grew wider. “Nice to meet you, Ava. Can I buy you a drink?”
I laughed under my breath. This was ridiculous. “I’ll have a chai latte.”
“I’ll bring it to the table.”
I nodded, and somehow my feet carried me to a table. I sat with my back to the window and watched Connor walk toward me with two cardboard cups in his hands. Clean-shaven, wearing a blue T-shirt, faded jeans slung low on his narrow hips, and black biker boots, he looked so good he was almost edible.
How could this possibly work? Over the past ten years, he had been so many different things to me—best friend, worst enemy, love of my life, heartbreaker, asshole with a capital A. We’d soared to the greatest heights and crashed to the lowest depths together.
Starting over wasn’t possible.
He set my tea in front of me and I thanked him, sounding so prim and proper that I barely recognized myself. Connor flipped his chair around and straddled it. Inwardly, I groaned. I hated when he sat like that. I loved when he sat like that. I was not thinking about straddling him on a chair.
“When are you going to learn how to sit in a chair?” I asked, white-knuckling my cardboard cup.
He gave me a slow, easy grin, and drummed his fingers on the back of the chair, tapping out a beat to whatever song was in his head. I wanted to know which song it was, what the soundtrack of our life sounded like to him now, but I didn’t ask.
We sipped our drinks and snuck glances at each other like we really were on a first date. Curious, attracted to each other, but not sure how to proceed. With caution, Ava, that’s how you should proceed.
A black leather braided cord around his neck disappeared inside his T-shirt collar, the silver St. Jude medal he always wore hidden from sight. The patron saint of lost causes—perfect for Connor.
My gaze lowered to the tattoos on Connor’s arms. I was well-acquainted with the blue and black inked fish and birds that fit together like a puzzle on his left arm. But his right sleeve was still a mystery. He’d had it inked over the past year, and I took the opportunity to study
it now. All the designs were intricate and interwoven and although there wasn’t one central theme, they fit together seamlessly. The bare branches of a tree with a skull buried in the trunk, vines wrapped around it like they’d choked the life out of the tree. Stars. Bird’s wings. Was that Odysseus? Oh Connor. The closer I looked, the more I saw. The word FREE written in script on his forearm…
Connor caught me staring. Under the guise of scratching his back, he exposed the underside of his bicep. A gray eye framed by long, dark lashes stared back at me. One perfect teardrop fell from the corner.
Oh God. I lifted my eyes to his.
His eyes closed briefly, and that simple gesture nearly killed me. Just like the eye tattooed on his arm—my eye. I averted my gaze and tried to steady my breathing.
The silence stretched out between us as his eyes flitted over my face, trying to figure out how I felt about the tattoo. I wasn’t sure what I thought about it. I wasn’t sure about anything right now.
We used to be able to communicate without words. Now I had no idea what he was thinking. What’s going on in that twisted, beautiful mind of yours, Connor?
Eden had told me he’d gotten a new tattoo on his chest to cover the scars, but if we were playing this we-just-met game, I wasn’t supposed to know that. I cleared my throat. “Do you have more tattoos, besides your arms?”
He gave me a little smile. “I have a falcon on my back. Falcons represent hope and freedom. And a Japanese dragon on my chest.”
I nodded, neither of us commenting on the symbolism of the dragon. I was dying to see it though. Connor’s designs were always amazing. Special. Unique. Artistic. He was so talented, and it had always amazed me that his big, strong hands could create such detailed, intricate artwork. “Tattoos are cool.”
“Glad you think so. I’m a tattoo artist.” He took a sip of his coffee and eyed me over the rim. “Actually, I’m buying the shop where I work.”
My eyes widened. “You’re buying it?”
“The current owner is moving to California.”
Whoa. That was kind of huge. Connor would be taking on a big responsibility. Maybe he really was done running. “I always wanted to live in California.”
“What stopped you?”
I shrugged. I didn’t care where I lived if you were there. “Brooklyn’s not so bad. I have good friends and a cool job.”
“What do you do?”
“I work at a bar just a few blocks from here. I do the social media, book the entertainment, paperwork…”
“I bet you’re good at what you do. Irreplaceable.”
“I’d like to think so.”
“I’m sure it’s true,” Connor said.
I thought maybe he was talking about something other than my job. Am I irreplaceable in your life, Connor? If that was true, why had you thrown it all away? Why had drugs given you something I couldn’t? Why had you given drugs so much power over your life? They’d ruined you, us, and everything that was good and real.
“Connor, this isn’t going to—” Work.
“Ava. Have you ever gotten the feeling that you’re on the brink of something really good … and you’re excited and hopeful, but you’re nervous because you don’t want to fuck it up?”
“Is that how you feel now?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel. Like I’m on a roller coaster and it’s climbing, and I know that soon I’ll be at the top, and then it’ll pick up speed and I’ll be flying. But in the back of my head, I’m thinking … what if this thing jumps the tracks? It’s like that.”
I knew that feeling so well, the way your stomach flips with anticipation, fear, and excitement. The giddy high as you plunge over the edge and plummet at breakneck speed. “I love riding roller coasters.”
Connor smiled. “I know you do. What else do you love doing?”
“I love dancing in my living room until I get all hot and sweaty and collapse on the floor.” He laughed, and I knew he could picture it. “I love belting out an Adele song or singing along with Lana Del Rey. I love her lyrics and her sultry voice. She’s my girl crush. And I love rummaging through all the crap at the flea markets and vintage shops. Because I know, just know, that I’m going to find something unique and weird and wonderful. It’s like a treasure hunt, you know?” He nodded, and his smile grew wider, like hearing everything he already knew about me was unique and weird and wonderful. I left out my newfound joy, the aerial silks class I’d started taking eight months ago. That was my thing, and I didn’t share it with anyone. “What do you love doing?”
“Sketching and drawing. Graffiti. Tattooing. Riding my Harley to the mountains or the beach or anywhere, really. I love reading books that make me see the world differently. Or just make me wonder what the hell was going through that person’s head when they wrote that. I’ve been reading Bukowski. His stories are raw and gritty and dirty. The other day I read one of his poems that reminded me of…”
“Reminded you of what?” I prompted.
He shook his head. “Just a girl I used to know.”
“Was she raw and gritty and dirty?”
“Our relationship was.”
“Not always.” Once the words were out, I wished I could reel them back in.
“True. For a while it was amazing. The best thing I’d ever known. She was the best thing I’d ever known.”
My eyes darted around the shop, seeking refuge. I couldn’t do this with him. “I need to go.”
He let out a breath. “Yeah. Okay.”
We stood, and he ushered me out of the coffee shop. He was so close that I smelled the faint scent of cigarette smoke mingled with his own scent—pheromones and masculinity. I hated the way cigarettes smelled. It should have been a huge turn-off. Somehow, it wasn’t. When it came to Connor, I’d always bent the rules.
By the time we exited the coffee shop, I felt like I’d been sucked back into Connor’s world, a dangerous, intoxicating, heady place to live. Sometimes, I felt so tiny next to him, probably because he was a foot taller than me. But other times, he made me feel like I was ten feet tall. Like I was … amazing. He had the ability to make me feel like I was his whole world. Until that world had crashed and burned all around us.
“You need a ride?”
I shook my head. I needed to walk so I could clear my head. Riding on the back of his Harley, my arms wrapped around him, wouldn’t help me do that.
“Can I take you to dinner?”
“No. I—”
“Lunch then. Lunch is safe.”
Nothing is safe with you. How many times could I let him break my heart? At nineteen, he destroyed me. At twenty-four, I was still picking up the pieces. I made the mistake of looking at his face. In the sunlight, his eyes were almost translucent, framed by a tangle of thick, dark lashes. My gaze dipped to his mouth, his full, sensuous lips. I knew what that mouth was capable of, what his lips and his tongue could do to my body. He could make my body sing, make me writhe in pleasure and pain. Nobody gave such good pain like Connor did.
Stay strong, Ava. It’s one thing to get tricked into seeing him, but only a fool would go into it knowingly. “I can’t have lunch with you. Or dinner. Or anything else.”
“All I’m asking for is another chance to make things right.”
“You’re asking too much.”
“My tragic flaw. But I’m asking anyway. One more chance to get it right.” He moved closer and dipped his head, his warm breath on my neck sending shivers down my spine as he whispered in my ear. “’Wild Horses.’ That was the song playing in my head.”
I took a few steps back to put distance between us and shook my head, trying to clear it, but he’d put the song in my head. Now it would be stuck there, playing on repeat. Why was I still standing on the sidewalk in front of him? A sane girl would have left as soon as she’d entered the coffee shop.
“Lunch,” he said. “You, me, food, conversation. Perfectly harmless. I’ll text you.”
Without giving me a c
hance to respond, he strode away. It had been so much easier when he’d honored my wishes and hadn’t texted, called, or tried to see me. Maybe he’d be too busy running the shop to make time for me. Maybe he’d forget to text like he used to before everything fell apart. But no, he wanted to show me that he’d changed. He wanted to show me the possibility of us. I just needed to decide if I was emotionally prepared to go along for the ride.
Little did I know at sixteen that the roller coaster was going to be our life together.
“You’re evil,” I told Eden after she unlocked the door of the boutique to let me in. Even covered in paint splatters with her blonde hair in a messy topknot, Eden was gorgeous. The wicked witch cackle she emitted was not so pretty.
“Payback is a bitch,” she said, returning to her painting. She was painting a mural on the wall of a boutique on Bedford Avenue that would be selling funky clothes and jewelry and was set to open next month. Normally, I’d gush over Eden’s artwork, but my brain was too scrambled to appreciate it. I wrung my hands and paced up and down the shop floor.
“So … how did it go?” she asked.
“Terrible. You can’t meddle in our lives because … it’s not the same as you and Killian. We’re … Connor and I…” Good Lord, I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence. I planted my hands on my hips and glared at her back. A complete waste of energy. “Was this your idea?”
“It was Connor’s idea. But I thought it was the perfect way to get you two together.”
“Congratulations. Mission accomplished.” I flopped down on the drop cloth protecting the hardwood floor and lay there, staring at the funky crystal chandelier above me, and the midnight blue ceiling with metallic gold stars. “Did you paint the ceiling?”
“Yep.”
“It’s cool,” I said grudgingly.
“This shop is going to be cool. You’ll love it.” I turned my head to look at the wall she was painting. A celestial scene. It was cool. I loved it.