by Emery Rose
“So … tell me about your coffee date,” Eden said.
“It wasn’t a date,” I snapped. “You and Connor conspired to … destroy me, I think.”
She glanced at me over her shoulder. “You don’t look destroyed.”
“I’m lying on the freaking floor like a ragdoll!” I yelled.
“Your lungs still work.”
I sighed. I was acting like a six-year-old, reduced to throwing a tantrum. It must be a rebellion for all those years of striving for perfection and trying to live up to my mother’s expectations. How horrible for her that I’d derailed all her carefully-laid plans. How horrible that Connor still had this kind of power over me. “You don’t know what he does to me.”
“Tell Dr. Madley. I’ll talk you down from the ledge.”
“You’re on his side.”
“I love you both. I’m not taking sides. In fact, I was hoping you’d be my maid of honor.”
“Really?” I asked, brightening up at the prospect. I loved weddings, and even though I’d never gotten through one dry-eyed, I still loved them. And I loved Eden and Killian, separately, but even more as a couple. They were perfect for each other.
“Will you?” she asked.
“I’d love to. But you’d better not make me wear an ugly dress.”
She scowled at me over her shoulder. “I should be offended by your lack of faith in me.”
“Sorry. I know you wouldn’t do that. You’re not Lana. She made me wear a dress that looked like a hot pink toilet brush. I swear to God, it was the ugliest dress in the history of bridesmaid dresses.”
Eden laughed. “We’ll pick it out together.”
“Will Connor be the best man?” How sad that I even needed to question that.
“I don’t know,” Eden said quietly. “It should be a given, but Killian … well, you know…”
I did know. My heart hurt, just like it did every time I thought about the night those four men came seeking revenge.
Connor’s face … I’d barely recognized him. Those men had beat it to a pulp. Carved letters in his chest with a switchblade. They would have shot him, and maybe Eden too, if Killian and his father hadn’t shown up on a rescue mission. I’d sat by Connor’s bedside in the hospital because Killian couldn’t … or wouldn’t. I’d held his hand and sang to him, because I didn’t know what else to do. I’d sat next to him in the limo on the way to his father’s funeral, hung onto his arm during the service and the burial. I’d shed enough tears to fill an ocean.
All I’d cared about was that Connor was alive. But as the days turned into weeks, and his body began to heal, my anger had taken over. He’d gotten himself into that mess and dragged everyone else into it.
I knew I needed to get him out of my life and eliminate all contact with him. I needed to find a way to forgive him for all the pain and hurt he’d caused. All those years of worrying that he’d end up dead from an overdose, or a drug-fueled accident on his Harley, or any number of crazy things that could happen to a junkie. His five-month disappearing act when he’d taken off for Miami and we didn’t know if he was dead or alive...
And yet, I’d just hung out with him at the coffee shop. You really need to get your head examined, Ava.
“We still have plenty of time to make it work,” Eden said. “We’re not getting married until June. Tell me how the coffee date went.”
“Connor suggested a do-over. We pretend we just met and we get to know each other all over again. I can’t see how that’s going to work.”
“It sounds like the perfect plan. Why not start fresh and give it a fighting chance?”
Why not, indeed. I could think of a million reasons.
“Hey,” Eden said. “Remember that art exhibit we went to last year? Destruction and Renewal?”
“Yeah.” I remembered it perfectly. It had been the day I’d set up Eden and Killian on that coffee date, and afterward, she’d met me at the gallery. I had told Eden that one of the sculptures, a pile of recycled junk all glued together, looked like my life.
“That’s your relationship. The destruction is behind you, and now you can work on the renewal. Pick up the pieces and put them back together. Sometimes you end up with something that’s a lot better and stronger than what you had before.”
“Sometimes you end up with a twisted scrap heap posing as art,” I muttered.
“You might be surprised. In a good way,” she added. “I have faith in Connor. He’s trying so hard to put his past behind him and he’s doing everything he can to make things right. I know I wasn’t there for all the bad stuff but … I don’t know … just have a little faith in him.”
“Why didn’t you ever blame him for what happened to you that night?”
“Because I’m fine. And because he blames himself. He carries so much guilt. That’s more than enough punishment for anyone. I understand why you needed a break from him, and I think it was good for both of you. He’s really gotten his act together. And you’re so strong, Ava. You stood by him when he needed you most … and now…”
“And now?” I asked, hoping she had the magic words to turn this tragedy into a fairy tale.
“You can build a newer and better version of what you had before.”
I valued her friendship and advice, and I wanted to believe her. She was one of those people who built you up instead of tearing you down. I’d learned the hard way how rare that was in female friendships.
But I couldn’t go down that road. I needed to keep him at a safe distance. That was the smart thing to do.
My mind made up, I jumped to my feet, ready to take on the challenge of keeping Connor out of my life. “Thanks for the chat. I’ll see you at work tomorrow. And your mural looks great.”
I arrived at the bar just as a delivery van pulled up in front. A guy hopped out of the driver’s seat, disappeared into the back of the van, and came out with an enormous bouquet of flowers.
“Can you sign for this delivery?” the guy asked as I unlocked the front door.
“Sure.” I scrawled my name on the little screen with the stylus. It always ended up looking like a kindergartener’s scribble on these machines. “Who are they for?”
“Ava Christensen.”
Holy crap. Connor Vincent sent me flowers. Blue delphiniums, blush pink and white roses, white stock. I carried them inside, ignoring Louis’s raised brows as I passed the bar, and set them on the desk. Sitting on the swivel chair, I opened the small envelope with my name on it and read the card inside.
Ava, I love your smile. Hope to see it again. Connor
I fired off a quick text.
AVA: Thank you for the flowers, but you shouldn’t have sent them. I can’t do this. I need to protect my heart. It’s never been safe with you.
Ugh, why had I said that? I should have deleted the last two sentences before hitting send.
7
Connor
“Ava Blue,” I said as she walked out the front door of the warehouse in Bushwick, her backpack slung over her shoulder.
She planted her hands on her hips and glared at me. My texts had gone unanswered, so I’d opted for the surprise element. Judging by the look on her face, it wasn’t a good surprise. “Are you stalking me now?”
“Just offering you a ride home.”
“I’m taking the subway.”
“You can ride on the back of my bike.”
“Hey, Ava. Are you coming?” a guy asked.
“No,” I said. “She’s riding home with me.”
The guy looked from me to Ava. “Just give me a sec,” Ava told the guy.
“You can go,” I said, waving him off. Come on, the dude had a man bun. What did she need him for?
He crossed his arms over his chest. The guy looked squirrelly. I disliked him on sight. “I’ll wait for Ava.”
My eyes narrowed on him. “Who are you?”
“Orlando. I’m training Ava for Cirque de Soleil. We’re running away together,” he said, winking at her. I wan
ted to wrap my hands around his throat and throttle him. Instead, my hands curled into fists and I glared at him.
“I need to talk to Ava,” I said.
“Does Ava need to talk to you?” Orlando asked.
Douchebag. I ignored him and focused on Ava. “I want to show you something. It’s important.” She chewed on her lower lip, and I could tell she was considering it. I still knew her so well. I flashed her a smile and threw in a please for good measure.
“It’s fine,” Ava told Orlando. “See you next week.”
He pulled her into a hug and whispered something in her ear. When he released her, Ava gave him a big smile that lit up her whole goddamn face. I wanted to be the one to put that smile on her face. With a final look at me, Orlando turned and walked away.
I crossed my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes. “Did you sleep with him?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Fuck. Was that a yes? How many guys has she been with since me? I took deep, calming breaths. I needed to control my jealousy. It wouldn’t help my cause. “What kind of class is this?”
“Why are you here?”
“Get on the back of my bike and I’ll show you.” I unhooked the bungee net from the passenger seat and retrieved the spare helmet. Her helmet. I had bought if for her when I’d gotten my first Harley six years ago. No other girl had ever worn it or ridden on the back of my bike. She took a few steps closer. “After that, I’m taking you for empanadas.”
“Great. A blast from the past,” she grumbled.
Back in high school, she used to come with me when I graffitied walls in Bushwick. Afterward, we always stopped at the twenty-four-hour diner for empanadas. She loved them as much as she loved Jimmy’s tacos, and that was saying something.
“How can you turn down an offer like that? You know you’re dying for an empanada. The spicy chorizo one … mmm.” I licked my lips and let out a low moan.
“Stop talking about empanadas,” she said. “How did you know where to find me?”
I tilted my head and studied her face. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her face was makeup-free. Natural. Unadorned. In a hoodie, leggings, and Nikes, she looked younger, unjaded. Ava had always been stunning, with an ethereal beauty that had always felt just out of reach. “Was it a secret?”
“It’s my thing. Something I do just for me. I don’t advertise it. Which means you have been stalking me,” she accused.
Stalking made me sound like a creep. I’d made it my business to know where she was and what she was doing in her free time. But finding out about her Thursday evening class in Bushwick had been purely accidental. “A few weeks ago, I came over to Bushwick to buy art supplies. I saw you coming out of the subway station.”
“And you followed me?”
“I noticed where you were headed,” I said, correcting her. I hadn’t stalked her or waited outside the building until her class was over like I’d wanted to. I’d forced myself to keep driving, honoring her wish to keep me out of her life. But I’d taken note of the Aerial Arts Studio sign on the warehouse and Googled it when I’d gotten home. “So, what do you do? Trapeze?”
“Aerial dance. With silks. You climb the silk ropes and then you do modern dance, acrobatics…” She waved her hand in the air to indicate it was all that and so much more.
That sounded so fucking cool. I’d love to see her do that.
“You can’t just turn up, Connor. Like I said, it’s my thing and if I wanted you to watch… which I don’t … you’d need an invitation. And you’re not getting one.”
That hurt. I rubbed my chest and her gaze dipped down to my hand. “You always did that,” she said softly.
“Did what?”
She shook her head a little and diverted her gaze.
“Come with me. I’ll make it worth your while.”
She looked over my shoulder, debating. Ava had an expressive face and watching it was like reading a story. I could see the moment she conceded. She pulled the elastic out of her hair and shook it loose, lavender hair tumbling down her back. Before she could change her mind, I pulled the helmet over her head and adjusted the strap under her chin, my fingers brushing against her silky soft skin. God, I wanted to touch her everywhere.
It had been a while since she’d ridden on the back of my bike, but she climbed on behind me like an old pro and placed her feet on the foot pegs. I waited for her to wrap her arms around me. When it didn’t happen, I looked over my shoulder. “Ava. Come on. Play nice.”
“I’ll hang onto the seat.”
Like hell she would. I reached behind me, clasped her hands in mine and wrapped her arms around my middle. “Hang on tight,” I said, revving the engine.
I pulled away from the curb with enough speed that she had no choice but to hang on. Too bad. I loved her arms around me, her chest pressed against my back. She was right where I wanted her. Well, not exactly, but I’d settle for it. For now.
The wall I’d bombed late last night was only three blocks away and minutes later, I pulled up in front of it and cut the engine. She unwrapped her arms and dismounted. Removing her helmet, she set it on the seat and moved closer to the wall to inspect my graffiti. I hung my helmet on the handlebar and joined her on the sidewalk, watching her face as she took it in. There was no doubt it was mine. But, if there had been any doubt, I’d signed it with my tag name: TRISTE. We’d come up with the name when we were sixteen and had thought we were so clever. Triste was French for blue, like sad.
She studied my graffiti, and I wondered what she thought of it. It was her face in profile, her long lavender hair blowing behind her like it was being swept up by the wind. In her hands, she held an anatomical heart. My fucking heart.
Ava crossed her arms over her chest for protection. “Why do you do this to me?” She turned her back to the wall and faced me, her eyes flashing with anger. “Why do you do this to me?” she repeated.
“Baby…” I said, taking a step closer.
“No.” She held up her hands to ward me off. “You don’t get to call me baby or babe or Ava Blue. You don’t get to play with my emotions and manipulate my heart…” I took another step closer. She planted her hands on my chest and shoved me. I didn’t budge. It pissed her off. She pounded my chest with the sides of her fists. It was almost comical, like Tweety Bird taking on the Incredible Hulk. I didn’t feel a goddamn thing. I wrapped my hands around her wrists and backed her up against the wall.
“Show me some of your self-defense moves,” I said, pinning her hands to the wall. “Hurt me.”
“Fuck you, Connor.”
I pressed my body against hers, trapping her. “Break free of my hold, Ava.”
She stared at me, her chest heaving, her gray eyes wide.
I dipped my head and found the shell of her ear, “Defend yourself,” I whispered, feeling a tremor go through her body. My mouth moved down to her neck just below her ear, and I pressed my lips against her racing pulse. She smelled like vanilla and something that was just her. Sweet and warm with a touch of spice. She smelled like heaven. She smelled like the only home I’d ever known. “Do. It.”
She rotated her body, breaking my hold with her shoulder. She was fast, and she was strong. An elbow jammed into my ribs followed by a swift kick to my groin.
Fuck. I doubled over, blinded by pain.
“You asked for it.”
I did. But I hadn’t expected her attack to be so brutal.
“I didn’t kick you as hard as I could,” she added, her voice tinged with regret.
Thank fuck for that. I took deep breaths, trying to fight the nausea until it passed, and I could see again. She stroked my back, although I wasn’t sure how that could help my bruised balls.
It was official. We were crazy. A train wreck waiting to happen.
I gritted my teeth and straightened. Fuck, that hurt.
“I’m sorry,” she said, chewing on her lower lip, her brows drawn together.
“As you�
��ve just demonstrated, the power is all yours. You can defend yourself against me.”
“Physically … but that’s not the kind of pain you give.”
True. I’ve never laid a hand on her or any woman, and I never would. At least Ava could trust me with her body. After that little display, I wasn’t so sure I could say the same about her. “My heart needs as much protection from you as yours does from me.”
“I didn’t break your heart,” she whispered.
“Yes. You did. Or maybe I broke my own heart.” After Ava’s ultimatum to choose her or drugs, I’d gotten clean with Killian’s help, a detox clinic, and methadone. I’d been a wreck, my emotions all over the place. Amidst my personal hell, Ava’s mother had paid me a visit. She’d told me if I’d ever loved Ava, I needed to let her go. She’d said I wasn’t good enough for her daughter. I didn’t deserve her, and I never would. She’d been right. After I pushed Ava out of my life, I returned to my mistress—heroin. But I never stopped loving Ava. Not even in my darkest days.
She opened her mouth as if to say something. Then she clamped it shut and strode away, right past my bike. She sped up, jogging down the cracked sidewalk like she couldn’t get away fast enough. I caught up to her and wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her back against my chest. “Don’t go. Don’t run away from me.”
She hung her head. “Why, Connor? Every. Single. Time. You’re like quicksand.”
“I thought I was like an onion,” I joked.
“Don’t you get it? You and I are no good together. We’re toxic.”
I turned her around to face me. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”
Her eyes didn’t reach mine. “Love requires trust. I don’t trust you. My heart has been broken by you so many times … so many times, Connor.”
I pulled her into my arms and held her. She leaned into me, her cheek pressed against my chest. “Baby, please … I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work. Anything.”
“Anything?” she asked, her voice muffled.
“Anything that doesn’t require letting you go. Because I don’t know how to do that. I’ve never found a way.” I closed my eyes and breathed in her scent. I could feel her trembling, her resolve weakening.