by Emery Rose
“I know the feeling.”
Yeah, I guess she did. If what she said was true, she’d been left in the dark her whole life. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to find out you had brothers you knew nothing about. “Why didn’t your mom tell you? Why did she need to keep Connor and Killian a secret?”
“You’d have to meet my parents to understand. Even then, you probably wouldn’t. My dad thinks he owns us. He doesn’t like to share.”
“And your mom?”
“Is a bird in a gilded cage.”
“Are you close?”
“I love my parents. But sometimes I hate the things they do.”
That was something I understood so I took her on a guided tour of Brooklyn. We drove around Park Slope and I pointed out the apartment where Connor and Killian had lived. Prospect Park. The Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. We passed the gallery in Bed-Stuy where Connor and Eden’s exhibition would be held in two weeks. Then headed over to Bushwick for a graffiti tour. Whenever we passed a wall that Connor had bombed, I pointed it out and she’d pull over and snap photos before moving on. We ended up at the diner and I ordered for both of us—empanadas, chicken and rice and beans.
“I went with him once… to watch him do his graffiti,” Keira said after we’d eaten and were waiting for the check. “Actually, I followed him. He didn’t know I was watching. He’d disappeared, shut down his cell phone, and I wanted to track him down. We’d talked about graffiti over lunch that day and I’d told him the best place to do it. So, I kind of stalked him and hit it lucky one night.”
“What did he paint?” I asked, curious to know what his state of mind had been. I tried to picture him in Miami but since I’d never been there, I couldn’t.
“The ocean. With a hand coming out of the water. Just a hand,” she said.
A wave of sadness washed over me. Connor had been drowning. But somehow, he’d pulled himself out of it and he hadn’t let the water suck him under. Once again, my heart ached for Connor. No matter what he’d done, I still loved him. For better or worse. In sickness and health. But a relationship couldn’t be built on lies.
“I need to unload the Porsche,” she said when we were back in the car. “Do you know anyone who could help me?”
At this point, nothing she said should surprise me. Of course, she needed to unload the car. I only knew of one person who might be able to help. Twenty minutes later, we were outside Atlas Motors, already closed for the night. I pounded the side of my fist against the door, on the off-chance that Tate might still be inside. After a few more knocks, I turned to go, ready to tell Keira that we’d have to try again tomorrow.
The door swung open and I turned around to look at Tate. He looked at me then at the Porsche and back to me. “We need your help,” I said. “She wants to sell her car.”
If Tate was surprised, his face gave nothing away. He gestured for me to come inside then unlocked and opened the roller door high enough to accommodate the Porsche. Keira pulled in and hopped out of the car.
“I’m guessing the license and registration won’t match,” he muttered, sliding the door shut and locking it again.
Keira and I exchanged a look.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
Tate disappeared into the back somewhere and Keira wandered over to a vintage Mustang. “She’s a beauty,” she said when I joined her. I peered in the side window, at the black leather seats and the wood-grain console. My car knowledge was minimal, and I’d never been particularly interested in them beyond getting me where I needed to go, but I had to agree with her. This car was gorgeous. I could see myself behind the wheel, driving along Route 66. Connor was with me, the music blasting, a summer breeze blowing through our open windows. Sunshine and open roads for as far as the eye could see. We were golden. Wild and free. Invincible.
If only my real life could be like my glorious dreams and visions.
My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts and I checked the screen, expecting it to be Connor. He’d already called me twice, but I’d let it go to voicemail both times. I hadn’t been ready to talk to him. But it was my mom, not Connor. We hadn’t spoken since Thanksgiving and as much as I didn’t want to talk to her, I felt like I should.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Keira who was under the hood of Tate’s Mustang. I wasn’t sure how happy Tate would be about that, but I figured she was capable of dealing with him on her own.
I answered the call as I walked up Richardson Street and stopped in front of an apartment building two doors down from the garage. “Hey Mom,” I said.
“Don’t you ‘hey Mom’ me,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for a call. I deserve an apology.”
Normally, I’d cave and apologize just to keep the peace. But I couldn’t bring myself to do that this time. I was angry with Connor and hurt that he’d kept this from me, but my mother didn’t deserve an apology. “I’m not going to apologize.”
She was silent for a few seconds. “You’re choosing that boy over your own family?”
“I shouldn’t have to choose.”
“I don’t understand where I went wrong. All your life, I made sacrifices to give you the things I never had. Was I such a horrible mother that you feel the need to punish me for loving you?”
This was what she did. She laid a guilt trip on me. Used her passive-aggressive approach to get me to admit that I’d been wrong. To tell her that she wasn’t a horrible mother.
“You ruined Thanksgiving,” she said. “After I worked so hard to make everything perfect. The least you could have done was be thankful for all the good things in your life. It’s a time to enjoy family, not to argue and stress out your poor father. He almost died. Did you think about that? No, you didn’t. You were being selfish, thinking only of yourself.”
I took deep breaths of cold air, biting back all the bitter words that threatened to break loose.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I have nothing to say for myself.”
She sniffed. “I’m disappointed in you, Ava.”
And I’m disappointed in you. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed in me. Goodbye, Mom.” I cut the call, took a shaky breath and played back the voicemails Connor had left, his raspy, sexy voice filling my ear.
“Hey, babe. I fucked up. By now, you should be used to it. I was trying to outrun my past. But it always has a way of catching up. I had my reasons for not telling the truth. If you’re willing to listen, I’ll tell you everything. It’s not a pretty story, but my stories never are.”
I listened to the next one.
“I just listened to ‘Rocket Man.’ I get why it makes you feel sad.” I heard him take a drag on a cigarette and pictured him standing behind the shop, blowing smoke into the air. “Yeah, I’m smoking. Sorry about that. I’m an addict, babe. No matter how long I go without touching drugs, I’ll always be an addict. And I’ve done so many things in my life that I regret. So many fucked-up things. I’d give anything to rewind time and undo them. But I can’t. I just need to find a way to live with my mistakes. I never wanted to drag you into this mess. And I’m so fucking sorry.”
I pocketed my phone, wondering what kind of mess he was talking about.
26
Ava
Connor pulled into the lot in front of Atlas Motors and cut the engine. Removing his helmet, he climbed off the bike and entered the garage. I stayed where I was, waiting for him to come to me which I knew he would. Even though he hadn’t glanced my way, he had seen me. Minutes later, he walked out of the garage without his helmet and headed my way. He stopped in front of me, his eyes flitting over my face, trying to gauge my mood. Good luck with that. I had no idea how I was feeling. Confused. Hurt. Sad. Angry. My moods had run the gamut today. He was chewing his gum like his life depended on it, the scent of cigarettes mingling with leather and soap and cinnamon. For a few seconds, we just stood there looking at each other, a police siren cutting through ou
r silence.
He looked over my shoulder, his eyes squinted, his upper lip gripped between his teeth. “I’ll walk you home.”
“What about Keira?” I asked, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my down jacket.
“She’s talking cars with Tate. I’ll come back and get her.”
I didn’t question why we were walking instead of riding on his Harley. Connor was better at talking about important things when he was on the move. Always running. We crossed under the BQE, the cars trundling over our heads, the air scented with motor oil and exhaust fumes, my mind racing with so many questions I wasn’t sure where to begin.
“You went to Miami to find your mother.”
“Yeah.”
“Why would you keep that to yourself?”
“It sounds stupid now, but I wanted to do something good for Killian. Didn’t go to plan.”
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to punch him or kiss it better. “How did you know where to find her?”
“Seamus told me. I went to see him after I got out of rehab. I wanted to confront him. I was tired of pretending none of that had ever happened,” he said, sounding like he was almost talking to himself. “When I got there, he was drinking. But he didn’t get nasty or violent. It was like he was lonely or something. I saw another side of him. I didn’t hate him any less, but it made him seem more human. He told me he loved her and when she left, it had destroyed him.”
Seamus Vincent had loved a woman. To the point where her leaving him had destroyed him. It was hard to reconcile the man I’d known with the one who could love a woman like that.
“He told me she’d been having an affair,” Connor said. “Gave me the man’s name and said they live in Miami. I don’t know why he told me, after all those years of keeping it to himself. He didn’t even remember having told me.”
Maybe Seamus hadn’t remembered a lot of what he’d done when he was drunk. The same way Connor hadn’t remembered things he’d done when he was high. But Connor had never gotten violent or abusive. I’d never been scared of him, only scared for him.
“What’s your mom like?” I asked as we stopped at the corner and waited for a car to pass before we crossed over.
“Beautiful. Cold. Distant. At least, that’s the impression I got. I only had five minutes alone with her.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but I knew better. “I always thought she’d stayed away because of Seamus. And I couldn’t blame her for that. But now … yeah, she made it clear that she’s not interested in being part of our lives.”
Connor had never blamed his mother for leaving them. He had a greater capacity for forgiveness than Killian did. Than I did, if I had to be completely honest. Sometimes I thought I was more like my mother than I’d care to admit. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Connor.”
“I should have known better.”
“So you weren’t running away. You were trying to find something.” Somehow that made everything better, knowing that he had a reason for leaving, although I still didn’t understand the need for secrecy. “But why… I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me,” I said, unable to hide the hurt in my voice.
“I was going to tell you. So many times, I wanted to. It’s just a lot of heavy to lay on someone.”
“I’m not just someone.”
“I know. And I would have told you eventually. But we were trying to find our way back to something better. I didn’t want to saddle you with more of the past.”
I wasn’t sure what that said about our relationship. Was it so fragile we couldn’t trust each other with the truth? “So, when you were in Miami, you were upset… and you went out and bought drugs?” I asked, trying to make sense of this and fill in the gaps.
“I didn’t buy those drugs. Keira’s father told me to stay out of his business and stay away from my mother and Keira, but I didn’t listen. He set me up. Two undercover cops busted me for drugs I never bought and forced me to play the role of informant, so I spent a few months getting cozy with a drug dealer.” He let out a breath. “He just thought I was a tattoo artist, looking for a fresh start in Miami. I had a fake ID. My name was Dylan and I grew up in Vegas.”
“Dylan from Vegas. You were someone else.”
“Still me, unfortunately. Only my name and hometown were different.”
“What happened to the drug dealer?”
“He’s dead,” he said, his voice flat. He rubbed his chest with his right hand. He’d always done that, like it would somehow ease the pain in his heart.
“How did he die?”
Connor shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s dead.”
It probably mattered a lot and most likely Connor had been in danger, but I let it go. Once again, I was grateful he’d come out of that alive. Although I was still trying to make sense of this story. “Why would Keira’s dad do that to you? None of this makes sense.”
He studied my face, noting the skepticism and narrowed his eyes. “What I just told you is the God’s honest truth.”
“Yeah, well, excuse me for having a hard time wrapping my head around this story. Your sister… Keira… is running around town with a fake ID. Selling jewelry at a pawn shop because cash is king and doesn’t leave a trail. Not to mention that she needed to unload the Porsche with license plates she got from God knows where.” I threw my hands up in the air. “Explain this to me.”
“If I could, I would. Some things in life are just fucked up… I have no explanation. All I know is that it fucking happened,” he said, his voice hard.
“Why didn’t you tell Killian?”
“Our mother wants no part in our lives. And when I got back from Miami, he was with Eden. He was finally happy, and I didn’t want to mess that up for him. If I’d told him the truth about what happened, he would have gone down there and tried to fix it. But he would have set himself up for a shitload of trouble.”
Connor was right. Killian wouldn’t have let it go. “You were trying to protect Killian.”
“I thought it would make a nice change.”
Connor had gone down to Miami because he’d wanted to play the hero, but he’d failed. I thought about a conversation we’d had when we were sixteen, a few weeks after the night Seamus had punched Connor.
“Do you think that’s why your mom left? Because of your dad?”
He shrugged. “That’s what I always thought.”
“Do you still think about her?”
“Sometimes. Not as much as I used to. When I was a kid, I had this fantasy that I’d rescue her. Sword fight to the death to keep her safe. Like she was the queen and I was her loyal knight.” He laughed, but it was only to cover up his hurt. “Stupid kid.”
“None of this was your fault, Connor. You were a victim—”
“I wasn’t a victim,” he said, his voice angry. Victim was the wrong word choice. Such a weak word. “It didn’t matter how or why it happened. I’m still the guy responsible for bringing those men to our house. I’m still the guy who took off for Miami without telling anyone where I was going. The details…they don’t change any of that.”
But the details changed something for me. He hadn’t been running away and he hadn’t bought those drugs. Why hadn’t he stood up for himself? Why hadn’t he told me that none of it had been his fault? I thought about those engagement rings. Vows and promises. That stupid Tammy Wynette song. Maybe he’d wanted me to stand by him no matter what he’d done. Love him for better or worse. Because his mother hadn’t. And God knew his father hadn’t. I used to believe that I’d have the strength to stand by him, to be there for him, even when he was at his lowest, but maybe I’d failed him as much as he’d failed me.
“This story makes more sense to me though,” I said. “You’d go to jail before you’d snitch.” Connor had very little respect for authority figures, so it would have taken a lot of persuading to get him to cooperate with cops, dirty or otherwise. I side-eyed him, wondering what they’d done to coerce him into acting as an informant. If
they’d tried to bribe him with money, he would have told them to go to hell. “What did they do to you?”
“Babe … you don’t need those details. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
I sighed loudly. “Which details do I need? Because it feels like you’re leaving out a lot. Stop trying to protect me from the truth. I can handle it a whole lot better than empty promises and lies. I’m just … don’t sugar-coat the truth, okay?”
He worked his jaw then nodded as if he’d made up his mind to tell me the important parts. “I didn’t come straight back to Brooklyn. After I left Miami, I traveled for a few weeks.”
“Where did you go?”
“Everywhere and nowhere. I hitched rides.”
God, he really was like Kerouac. It sounded reckless and dangerous, but maybe he hadn’t cared about the risks after everything that had gone down in Miami. “Who picked you up?”
“Mostly long-haul truckers. Guess it gets lonely driving all those hours. I don’t know. Some talked. Some didn’t. Sometimes I slept for the whole drive. For the last leg of it, I hopped a Greyhound to Port Authority. And I got out at the station, thinking it was time to go home but I wasn’t ready. My head was in such a bad place. So, I took the Jitney out to Montauk. I spent a lot of time thinking about those four days we spent out there.”
“Our first vacation.” And our last. It was the summer we were nineteen and we’d stayed at a campsite. I’d still been in denial about the extent of his addiction. We were supposed to be there for a week, but Connor had only made it through four days before he’d needed a fix. He made up some bullshit excuse for needing to return early, and as soon we’d gotten back to Brooklyn, Danny hooked him up and he’d disappeared for two days, tarnishing my beautiful memories of Montauk with the ugly reality of addiction. What had stuck in my mind was that our four days in Montauk had been idyllic. Amazing. Yet it hadn’t been enough to keep the demons at bay.
“I hated myself for what I did to you,” he said, his voice cracking on the words. Instead of rushing in to tell him it was okay, I stayed silent and listened, knowing he wasn’t finished yet. “Remember that beach we went to? Right in front of that house on the cliff? It was quiet and we felt like we had it to ourselves?”