by Emery Rose
“I’m standing outside the hospital. I needed some air. Where are you?”
“Outside. Behind the shop.”
“Smoking?”
“Painting.”
“Painting? Really?” she asked, excitement in her voice. “That’s great. I can’t wait to see it.”
“You’ll see it in the gallery.” What a terrifying thought. I didn’t want to see any of my work displayed in a gallery. I cast a critical eye on my work. It wasn’t good enough.
“Wait a minute. You’re not going to show it to me?”
“You love surprises.”
“Well, yeah, but … you won’t let me see it?” she asked incredulously.
I chuckled. “Nope.”
“Oh,” she said, somewhat deflated. “I’m staying in Bay Ridge for a few days. Until my dad gets out of the hospital. Hopefully, I’ll survive all that time with my mom and Lana. Joe just got here … Lana treats him the same way my mom treats my dad. But he still loves her.”
“Love makes people do crazy things.”
“Yeah, I guess it does. Well … I’ll let you get back to your painting.” We hung on the line, neither of us making a move to hang up. But I didn’t really have anything to say. The darkness was closing in on me. I felt that old familiar emptiness gnawing at me.
“I’m glad your dad’s okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
She let out a breath. “Okay. Bye.”
I cut the call and lit a cigarette. It would be easier for Ava if we cut our losses and she moved on with someone new. Even if Ava decided she was ready to be in a relationship with me again, her mother would never accept me into the family. What kind of future could we possibly have together?
Fuck. I smoked my cigarette and lit another one. Three cigarettes later, and I couldn’t fill that hole inside me. I ripped the canvas off the plywood and stuffed it in the garbage can.
Grabbing my hoodie, I walked out the front door and locked it behind me. I needed something to take off the edge. Whiskey, maybe. Alcohol had never been my problem. I’d spent a lifetime trying to be everything my father wasn’t. Funny how that didn’t quite turn out. As I walked the streets, I justified it in my head. Whiskey was the lesser of evils. What harm could it do to throw a few back? I was a drug addict, not an alcoholic, I reasoned, even though I knew damn well it was a slippery slope.
I lit another cigarette, hoping it would take away that itch for something stronger. The devil on my shoulder urged me to give in. Just a little taste. Think how good it would feel. The burn of the whiskey when it hit your throat, heat spreading throughout your body, numbing the pain.
The bouncer at the door asked to see some ID. I showed him my license and he peered at my face then back at the license before he collected my cover charge and stamped my hand.
I descended the stairs to the basement club, subconsciously looking for Danny Vargas. I hadn’t been to The Candy Store in two years, but this had always been one of his hangouts. I weaved through the crowd, scoring a spot at the bar next to two women in tiny dresses. The blonde smiled at me, her eyes roving over my face and down my body. “Hey.” She leaned in close and dragged a finger down my chest. “Just when I thought this night was a bust, you walked in…”
“Sorry, babe. I’ve got a girlfriend.”
She pouted. “Why are all the good ones taken?”
I wasn’t good. Far from it. But my line did the trick, and she and her friend disappeared into the crowd in search of something better. “What do ya need?” the bartender asked.
“Jameson. A double.”
He grabbed the bottle from the shelf and poured a double, setting the glass in front of me. I handed him a twenty and stared at the amber liquid before I wrapped my hand around the glass and lifted it to my lips.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I read the text from Ava.
AVA: I don’t care what my mom says. She doesn’t know you like I do. I’m not sure anyone does.
Two seconds later another message came through.
AVA: I love this tattoo. The dragonfly is my new spirit animal. It symbolizes change and transformation.
What in the hell was I doing in this club?
I texted her back.
CONNOR: And beauty and magic and light.
AVA: That, too. I just thought you should know… I believe in you. Goodnight, Connor
CONNOR: Goodnight, Ava Blue
I stepped away from the bar, leaving my drink untouched, and walked down a dimly lit hallway that smelled like jock straps and stale beer. I sidestepped a couple making out against the wall and ducked into the men’s room to take a piss before my walk home.
While I washed my hands, I studied my face in the mirror. You almost fucked up. Alcohol inevitably led me to make stupid decisions. Like trying to find someone in this club who could give me what I really wanted.
I exited the men’s room as a drunk guy stumbled in.
“Jake,” a girl purred. “We should go back to my place.”
I glanced at the couple who’d been making out earlier. The guy’s arms caged a petite blonde who was looking up at him with big doe eyes. He turned his head, and I caught a glimpse of his face in profile.
No fucking way. I froze in my tracks. “Jake Masters.”
He looked at me over his shoulder, his eyes squinted, trying to figure out how he knew me. Recognition dawned on him. “If it isn’t ‘The Kill’s’ little brother.”
“Not so little anymore,” the girl said with a giggle.
“If it isn’t the asshole who messed with my girl,” I widened my stance, my hands curling into fists.
He smirked at me. “Ava was fun.”
“Fun,” I ground out. I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. My fist connected with his face. The girl screamed, her shrill voice in my ear. I ignored it and rammed my fist into his face again.
He spit on the ground and headbutted me, driving me against the opposite wall.
“She was gagging for it. My cock was so deep down her throat—”
I lunged for him, bringing him down to the ground.
“She wouldn’t get anywhere near you.”
“Ask her what happened behind the school.”
I roared and locked his legs under me, my fists pummelling his face and chest. He got me in a chokehold and flipped me over. We wrestled and grappled, rolling on the ground, taking punches at each other. A bottle hit the back of my head. Fuck. I turned my head and looked over my shoulder at the blonde. Jake’s fist slammed into my face and my head snapped back.
“Break it up,” a male voice yelled as my fist smashed into Jake’s face.
Beefy hands fisted my hoodie and hauled me to my feet. Jake scrambled into a sitting position, holding his hands over his face and moaning.
“The cops are on the way. You’re going to pay for this,” the petite blonde said, her eyes narrowed on me.
“You called the cops?” the bouncer asked. “We don’t need to involve them.”
That was for damn sure.
The blonde knelt next to Jake. “Baby, are you okay?”
“He broke my fucking nose.”
I laughed harshly. “That’s nothing compared to what you did to Ava, you fucking douchebag.”
The bouncer shoved me up the stairs and pushed me out the front door on to the sidewalk. He shoved me against the outside wall and held me in place with his arm. It wasn’t necessary. My fight wasn’t with him. Jake and the blonde exited the club, escorted by another bouncer.
“Look what you did to him,” she said, giving me a sucker punch in the arm.
She cradled her injured hand and glared at me through her tears.
“Here’s a tip,” I said. “If you’re gonna punch someone, keep your wrist straight and tuck in your thumb. And here’s another tip.” I looked over at Jake, slumped over, holding a bar towel to his bloody nose. “Dump that douchebag. You can do better.”
“Shut the fuck up, Vincent.” He spits blood on th
e sidewalk. “I’m pressing charges. Daddy isn’t around to rescue you anymore.”
I laughed. He had no idea how funny that was. The blonde hadn’t heeded my warning. She was fussing over him, cooing soft words that agitated him rather than calming him down. I waited for him to turn on her. It didn’t take long. “Get the fuck off me,” he said, pushing her away.
Those big doe eyes of hers filled up with tears again. “Jake… I’m trying to help…”
Seconds later a police car and ambulance arrived. Fucking perfect.
“Do you require medical assistance?” a paramedic asked me.
“No.”
“Let me take a look. You might need stitches—”
I shook my head. “I’m good.”
A female officer questioned me. I remained mute. I knew her. Officer Healey. Early thirties, attractive. She’d questioned me a year ago in the hospital and had made it clear how she felt about Seamus Vincent. She thought the sun rose and set on him. I checked her left hand. The gold wedding band wasn’t there anymore. I was tempted to ask her why her marriage fell apart. If Seamus Vincent had ruined that, too. I wondered if Officer Healey had any idea that she bore an uncanny physical resemblance to the woman who had abandoned us over two decades ago.
Jake was talking shit from the back of the ambulance, telling the police officer he wanted to press charges for assault. “I was minding my own business when that lunatic attacked me.”
If he was still talking, I didn’t do a good enough job.
“I need to take you into the station,” Officer Healey said with a weary sigh when it became clear I’d stonewalled her. “Will the cuffs be necessary?”
I shook my head and ducked into the back seat of the police car. On the ride to the station, I watched the neon lights blur past the window, Jake Masters’ words echoing in my head.
My cock was so deep down her throat…
Ask her what happened behind the school.
All these years and she’d kept that to herself? Did she block it out? Pretend it had never happened?
17
Connor
“Detective Ramsey will be with you in a minute,” Officer Healey said.
“To what do I owe the honor?” I asked.
“He asked to handle this himself.” She shut the door behind her and left me alone in a small room with a metal table and a few chairs.
Handle this. Unfortunately, we had some history and I doubted it would help my case.
Five minutes later, the door opened. Ramsey set a cup of coffee in front of me and took a seat across from me.
“Detective,” I said, eyeing his suit jacket and tie. He loosened the tie and undid the first button of his shirt. If I had to name the coolest guy I’d ever met, it would probably be Deacon Ramsey. The guy was never ruffled, never fazed. Back in high school, Ramsey had been more interested in partying and bending the law than upholding it, so it had always surprised me that he’d become a cop. “Moving up in the world.”
He grinned. “Got the shiny gold badge and everything.”
“Good for you.” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. He eyed me over the rim of the Styrofoam cup as he took a sip of coffee. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“Slow night. You want to tell me what happened?” he asked.
I had nothing to lose by telling the truth. “I was settling an old score. That douchebag bullied Ava.”
“Didn’t Killian already beat him up for that?”
“It was my turn.”
“He probably got what he had coming to him. He’s always been an asshole.”
“Are you booking me for assault or am I free to go?”
“You’re free to go.”
I didn’t leave like I wanted to, sensing there was a catch and he wasn’t finished with me yet. Tonight would make three times that Deacon had saved my ass.
Just over a year and a half ago, he was the first on the scene of my traffic accident. I hadn’t caused the accident and I wasn’t high on drugs when it happened. I was on my way home to get high. A white van jumped a light and hit me, knocking me off my bike, before it took off. Instead of busting me for possession, Ramsey called Killian who had hauled my ass to rehab. Even bigger than that, Ramsey had saved Killian’s life the night those four men came seeking retribution. And now he was letting me off the hook again.
“You owe me a favor,” he said. I should have known he’d want to cash in on his debts, and I couldn’t really blame him. Killian had given him a free gym membership for life, but I’d given him jack shit, except a thank you which he’d brushed off.
“You want a tattoo?” I asked. “I can do that for you.”
“I might take you up on that one of these days. But what I’d really like is the truth. What happened in Miami?”
“I got busted for weed and ecstasy. Cut a deal with the cops. It’s all in the reports.” I looked him in the eye. I was telling the truth. But I’d left out a few details.
“I know what you said in your statement.” Ramsey ran his hand through his dirty-blond hair. “Why did you lie?” I rubbed my chest and his eyes followed my hand. “Has it healed?”
“It’s all good,” I said, pushing back my chair and standing. “If we’re done here, I need my beauty rest.”
He stood and rounded the table, holding out his card to me. “Call me if you feel like talking. You can trust me. I’m not a dirty cop like your father.” It shouldn’t surprise me to hear that Seamus had been a dirty cop, but it still disappointed me, and it also surprised me that Ramsey would voice it.
“Why are you always saving my ass?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me. He had no reason to help me. We’d been acquaintances, but never friends.
His cool façade dropped for a split second, long enough for me to see his vulnerability. “I was one of the lucky ones,” he said. “My foster family adopted me when I was eight and raised me as their own son. Before that, I’d been passed around to different foster homes. Everyone wanted a cute, cuddly baby, not a troublemaker.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“Some kids get a lucky break. You and Killian weren’t so lucky. But Seamus Vincent got what he deserved. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess it is. Thanks. For tonight.”
He nodded, still hoping for more, but I pocketed the card and walked out of the room. I had nothing left to say.
Pulling up my hood, I lowered my head as I strode past the desk and out the front door. Outside, I took deep breaths to clear my head.
“What the fuck happened?”
Killian was leaning against his Range Rover, arms crossed, waiting for an explanation.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I got a call from Officer Healey.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Get in the car. I’ll drive you home.”
I looked down Union Avenue, debating, then climbed into the passenger seat. The night played out in my head as we drove in silence, the bass from Killian’s music thumping in my head. I massaged my temples, hoping it would ease the pain. I felt like my head might crack in two.
When we got upstairs to my apartment, I flicked on the floor lamp and collapsed on the sofa, my head throbbing. Killian disappeared into the kitchen and I heard the ice dispenser spitting out cubes, the sound of water running. He was playing nurse.
Killian sat on the coffee table across from me and inspected my face. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the sofa cushion, weariness settling into my bones even as my mind raced. Ava. Her mother. Jake Masters. Ronan. Marco. Miami. All my shitty memories vied for attention as Killian cleaned off the blood with a damp towel. I grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away. “I’m good.”
He scowled and pressed the ice wrapped in a kitchen towel against my cheekbone. “Keep it iced.” Killian sat across from me in one of the leather chairs. “What happened?”
I told him the story and by the time I finished talking, my fa
ce was numb, and a sick feeling had settled in my stomach. Beating up Jake Masters hadn’t solved anything. It couldn’t undo what he’d done. I dumped the ice in the sink and returned to the sofa.
“Fucking asshole,” Killian said.
I grunted and flexed my hands, looking at the cuts and bruises on my knuckles. They were nothing compared to what he’d done to Ava. I remembered her at fourteen. Tiny and delicate-looking, her eyes almost too big for her face. After the day Killian had beaten up Jake Masters, Ava had chopped off all her hair. She wore baggy clothes to school. Hoodies and oversized sweatpants. Beanies to cover her cut hair. She’d wanted to hide, to disappear, camouflage her body.
“You’ll ruin your delicate artist hands,” Killian teased.
I snorted. “Does NYPD have a hotline to you? Every time shit goes down, you get a call.”
He shifted in his chair, not meeting my eyes. “After everything that went down…”
“Right,” I said, filling in the blanks. If I make one wrong move, Killian will be kept informed.
“Good to know you’ve got my back,” I said sarcastically.
“What were you doing in a club?”
“I wasn’t looking to score.”
He gave me a skeptical look. It was justified. In the back of my head, hadn’t that been what I’d really wanted?
“I went in for a drink. But I changed my mind.”
He exhaled a breath of relief. “Is it hard…not drinking?”
“Staying away from drugs is hard. Not drinking is…” I was going to say easy. But it wasn’t. “Yeah, sometimes it’s hard. It’s a social thing. Gavin and Lee invite me to parties sometimes or ask me to grab a few beers after work to unwind, but I always say no. I’ve never learned my limits.”
“Sucks to be you.”
I laughed under my breath and we were silent for a while, lost in our own thoughts. “Did you ever confide in Deacon Ramsey? About Seamus?” I asked, already knowing the answer before the questions were out of my mouth.
“No. Why?”