by Emery Rose
I snorted laughter and smacked his arm. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“Ava. You were twenty-one when you started working at the bar, fitting it into your college schedule and still getting the work done. You built my UFC career. Because of your social media skills, I got sponsors. I never would have done that on my own.”
That was bullshit. His fans loved him, and he was one of the most popular UFC fighters ever. But he knew why I did that for him. It was my way of saying thank you so I didn’t dispute what he said.
“Think about it,” Killian said, referring to the job.
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night. If you don’t come, Eden will never forgive you.”
I laughed a little. “No pressure then.”
“He wants you there. He needs you.” Killian shook his head. “He’s just being…”
“A bonehead? Runs in the family. You’ve had your moments.”
“Yeah, I know.” Killian chuckled under his breath then his humor faded and his face grew serious. “Give him some time. Me and Connor…we’re trying to learn how to be good men,” he said, looking more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him. He rubbed the back of his neck and I knew it made him uncomfortable to expose himself like that.
“You and Connor don’t need to learn how. You already are good men. Boneheads. But still…good men. The very best kind of men.” I pushed open the door and hopped out of the SUV. “Thanks for the chat,” I said before I closed the door.
He held up his hand and watched through the window. I knew he’d keep watching until I was safely inside. As I climbed my stairs, I thought how lucky I’d been to have the Vincent brothers in my life. They’d both been there for me, in different ways, at different times when I’d needed them. I’d be there tomorrow night. I didn’t want to miss the chance of seeing Connor get all the praise he deserved. I knew how good his art was and I knew that everyone who walked into that gallery would see it too.
Connor
Christmas tree lights shone through the lace curtains of the bay window, the flicker of the TV in the background. I climbed the steps to the porch and took a few deep breaths before I rang the doorbell, smiling as “Joy to The World” signaled my arrival. Through the frosted glass panes, I saw the hallway light come on.
“Who is it?” Lars asked from the other side of the door. It was only eight o’clock which I’d hoped was a civilized time for a visit, but I’d come unannounced.
“Connor Vincent.”
The door opened, and Lars Christensen stood on the other side, his brows going up a notch as he eyed the flowers in my hand. A Christmas bouquet, red and white flowers with sprigs of berries and eucalyptus. I’d deliberated over these flowers for so long the lady at the shop had been concerned for my welfare. “Who are they for, honey?”
“My girlfriend’s parents,” I’d said, not expanding on that.
“Oh well then…you wanna make a good impression. I have a feeling they’re going to love you, with or without the flowers but we’ll make sure they’re beautiful, just to be on the safe side.” She’d winked at me like we were in on this together and I had no doubt that she’d meant well but, unfortunately, she had no idea how wrong she was.
“What does he want?” Marie called out from behind him.
“I’d like to talk to you. Both of you. Is this a good time?”
Lars ran a hand over his hair and let out a sigh as he held the door open wide. “Come on in.”
I walked past him and held out the bouquet to Marie. Powdered sugar or flour dusted the green apron she wore over a sweater and jeans. She planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “What’s this for? Did Ava send you?”
“Ava doesn’t know I’m here.”
She sniffed and stared at the flowers without making a move to take them out of my hand, but still, I held them out to her, waiting for her to accept them. It was pathetic how much I needed her to acknowledge this small token.
“Someone brings you flowers, you accept them with a thank you,” Lars said gruffly, surprising me.
Marie straightened her spine, took the flowers from my hand then turned and walked into the kitchen without saying a word. I followed her, uninvited, into the warmth of her cheerful yellow kitchen, the scent of butter and sugar from freshly baked cookies scenting the air. I watched her snip off the ends of the flower stems with scissors, her back turned to me as I stood awkwardly in the middle of her kitchen, unsure what to do. Lars pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and gestured for me to sit.
“You want a drink?” he asked then cleared his throat. “Water or—”
“No. I’m good. But thank you,” I said, remembering my manners. That had been part of the problem. I’d never gotten off to a good start with them, constantly on the defensive as a teen. I’d talked back, acted surly, and flew off the handle more than once in my dealings with her family. Not Lars so much, but Marie who knew how to push all my buttons with just a glance or a sharp word.
Marie filled a glass vase with water, arranged the flowers in it then carried them to the kitchen table and set them down in the middle. “The flowers are pretty,” she said grudgingly. “Festive.”
“Glad you like them.” I waited for her to sit at the table across from me, worried that she wouldn’t. That she’d leave the room and refuse to speak to me. Finally, she pulled out a chair and took a seat, her back ramrod straight, arms crossed over her chest.
“If Ava didn’t send you, what are you doing here?” she asked.
“We haven’t really met yet. I thought I should introduce myself. I’m Connor Vincent.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “We know perfectly well who you are.” She pressed her lips together in a flat line, but I ignored the judgment on her face and didn’t let it dissuade me from continuing.
“No. I don’t think you do. We didn’t get off to a good start and that was my fault,” I said, willingly accepting all the blame for my past behavior. I’d been through enough counseling and had attended enough meetings to know that the first step in trying to make amends was to accept responsibility for your actions and acknowledge it. “I’m sorry for all the hurt I caused you in the past. For all the times I was disrespectful. I’m sorry for a lot of things and I just wanted you to know that. That’s why I came over here tonight.”
She clasped her hands on the table and for a few long moments, nobody said a word. My apology hung in the air between us, unacknowledged. But she was still sitting at the table so maybe that was a small victory. “I feel like we lost Ava,” she said, and I heard the hurt in her voice. “She picked you over us. And like I told you before, you never deserved her. You caused her nothing but heartache and misery. Our girl…she was the perfect daughter until you came along and filled her head with all kinds of ideas. None of them good, mind you.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. I’d expected this. I’d prepared for it. But that still didn’t make it easier to hear. I tried to choose my words carefully, not wanting to be on the defensive. “I loved her. I still love her. I’ll always love her. Ava is her own person, she makes her own choices, and in my eyes, she’s always been perfect just as she is. I broke up with her just like you asked me to because I felt like I didn’t deserve her. I went back to drugs and I’m so ashamed of that. I’m ashamed of all the bad things I put her through. All the sleepless nights and the empty promises…all of it. All I can do now is try my best not to fall back into my self-destructive ways. And I work hard every single day to make sure I don’t. I’m not asking you to like me. I’m just asking you to give me a chance to prove myself. Not for me but for Ava’s sake. If I’m going to be a part of her life again, which I hope I will be, I don’t want Ava to feel like she has to choose between me and her family.”
“She hasn’t even called me. I haven’t spoken to my own daughter in almost three weeks.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be. You came prancing back into h
er life and turned it upside down again. That’s what you do. You make it so she can’t even think straight. She loses sight of the important things in her life whenever you’re in her life. Family comes first. And now you come here with your flowers and apologies and you expect us to forgive you? After everything you’ve put her through? You’re asking a lot.” She fixed me with a look that would normally send me right out the door. Pissed off. Feeling like shit. But this time I stayed and once again I dug deep and tried to find the right words.
“I know. But I’m asking anyway. I’m trying to be a better man. I have struggled with right and wrong all my life. When I was a kid, I knew the difference. It was all so clear to me. I wanted to be good. I wanted to change the world. Right the wrongs. Fight the injustice. But somewhere along the way, I lost touch with that boy. I escaped into drugs. I kept secrets. Told lies. I never took responsibility for my own actions. And I was delusional enough to believe that the people around me, the people I loved, should just accept me as I was and love me anyway. Because none of it was my fault. It was Seamus’ fault. It was society’s fault. My mother’s fault.” I stopped and took a breath, my gaze swinging from Lars whose face was neutral to Marie who refused to meet my eye. “And not so long ago, I barged back into Ava’s life and I turned it upside down again. But despite everything I have put her through, Ava still loves me. I don’t know how it’s possible or how I got so lucky to have her in my life, but I can promise you that if she’ll have me, I will do everything in my power to make her happy and to give her the kind of life she deserves.” I’d said too much or maybe not enough. Hell, if I knew. Nobody had said a word to interrupt my little speech which had sounded a lot like something I would say at an NA meeting. But it was honest, and I had meant every word of it so that was the best I could give them. I stood to go, grabbed my leather jacket from the back of the chair and placed the art exhibit invitation on the table.
“What’s this?” Marie asked, eying he invitation but not making a move to pick it up.
“An invitation to an art exhibit. If you want to see Ava the way I see her, stop by. All my paintings…they’re all Ava.”
“Will she be there?” Lars asked.
“I don’t know, but I hope so,” I said honestly. “Sorry to interrupt your evening. Place looks good. Festive.”
“Well, it should,” Marie said. “We’ve been decorating for days.”
Lars stood and escorted me to the door, turning the handle and holding it open for me. This visit had not been a success, and I was no closer to gaining acceptance than I had been before I walked in this door tonight.
“Wait a minute,” Marie called after me. “Let me pack up some of these Christmas cookies. I made enough to feed an army.”
“I’m good. I don’t—”
“Accept the damn cookies,” Lars said quietly enough that Marie wouldn’t hear.
Obviously, I hadn’t gotten the hang of this yet. She was extending an olive branch and I was rejecting it. I wandered back into the kitchen. “I’d love some Christmas cookies.”
“Well, who wouldn’t?” She filled up a Christmas tin with an assortment of cookies, separating the layers with sheets of wax paper. I remembered her cookies from years ago when Ava used to bring them into school and share them with me at lunch. “Everyone loves my cookies. I use all butter and all good ingredients. Not like my sister’s cookies. You can’t use margarine and expect them to taste good.” She pulled a face as she fitted the lid on the container and pressed it into my hands.
“Thank you,” I said, taking it from her.
She nodded once. “You’re welcome.”
I turned to go, once again thinking we were done here. “Connor?”
“Yes?”
“Ava told me your father used to hit you and Killian. Is that true?”
I nodded, my back still turned to her. “It’s true.”
“Well… I guess he did get what he deserved, after all. Now make sure you keep the lid on the tin so the cookies don’t get stale. They should last you until Christmas.”
“Thank you.”
She followed me out to the door. “You don’t have a warmer coat?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Well, it’s freezing out there. And you’re still riding that motorcycle,” she said, eying the helmet in my hand. “The wind’s gonna cut right through that thin leather. Where are your gloves?”
“Stop fussing, Marie. The boy’s fine.”
I knew this was the kind of thing that drove Ava nuts, the way her mom was constantly nagging her about little things. But me? I loved it that she cared enough to nag me. I’d take this any day of the week over being ignored or treated like I was dirt under her shoe.
As I drove back to Williamsburg, the cold wind cutting through my leather jacket just like she said it would, I had a smile on my face. Maybe there was hope for us yet. Maybe Ava and I had a shot at something real and something good. I’d learned a lot over the past three weeks. I’d learned that telling the truth was easier than hiding behind secrets and lies. As it turned out, Ronan Shaughnessy had been a person of interest. When I turned over that information, the Feds acted like I’d given them an early Christmas present, and I readily agreed to testify against him. The only person I worried about was Keira, but Killian and I agreed that we’d do whatever it took to support her. We’d be the brothers she never had. We were her family now.
30
Ava
I watched Connor through the art gallery window. Was this how he used to feel when he watched my dance classes? On the outside looking in but seeing so much. There he was in a dark blue button-down shirt cuffed at the elbows, exposing the ink on his forearms and dark wash jeans, talking to Mr. Santos. I smiled, happy that my trip to our old high school had been worth it. I’d braved the metal detectors and security guard at the door, the hallway that still smelled like hormones and bleach, and the dingy beige walls to deliver a message to Connor’s Art teacher.
They shook hands, Connor nodding in agreement, a genuine smile on his face—God, I loved his smile—before Mr. Santos walked toward the door to leave. Connor’s gaze swung to the window and our eyes met through the glass. I lifted my hand, giving him a little wave. For a few moments, we just watched each other, frozen in time, the people milling around the gallery fading away.
I miss you. So much. My stomach swarmed with butterflies and I took deep breaths of menthol-cold air, trying to calm myself. It had only been three weeks. In the past, we’d gone weeks, months, years without being together. This should have been easy, but it wasn’t. Connor strode to the door and then he was outside, standing in front of me.
“Are you planning to come in?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I kind of like the view from out here.”
“I kind of like the view from out here too,” he said, his eyes raking over me, down my fishnet stocking-clad legs to the fuck-me stilettos on my feet. Overdressed for the occasion but underdressed for the weather. “What’s under this coat?” he asked, fingering the lapel of my black wool dress coat, a gift from my mom that had lived in my closet until tonight’s appearance.
“My birthday suit,” I said with a smile.
He blew out a breath and carved his hand through his hair before he guided me inside, into the warmth and chatter of the gallery, his hand on my lower back. I cursed the layers of clothing that prevented me from feeling the warmth of his hand on my skin. He led me through the gallery to a small room in the back.
I unbuttoned my coat and he helped me out of it and draped it over his leather jacket hanging on the back of a chair. His eyes darkened as I smoothed my hands over the red off-the-shoulder dress that hugged every curve of my body, the hemline hitting just above the knee.
“Ava…” He stopped and took a breath and let it out. “Fucking hell. This dress…” He scrubbed a hand over his face and stifled a groan. My lips, painted red, curved into a smile. “Did you wear this for me?”
“Maybe.” Of co
urse, I wore it for him. I gripped my bottom lip between my teeth. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and carved a hand through his hair. Too bad. I wasn’t playing fair and I had no intention of making it easy on him. “Why don’t you show me the art now.”
“Nobody will be looking at the art,” he muttered, casting sideways glances at me as we walked through the gallery space, to the start of the exhibit. Eden and Killian were deep in conversation with what I guessed was a potential buyer.
“Where’s Keira?” I asked, scanning the room but not seeing her.
“You just missed her. She went to hang out at Tate’s garage. Wanted to check out a Charger he just bought at the auction.”
“That’s an interesting way to spend a Saturday night.”
“She’s an interesting girl,” he said with a smile.
“She’s pretty great. But I expected nothing less. After all, she is your sister. That automatically makes her cool.”
“Really.”
“Yup.”
“Almost as cool as you. You invited Mr. Santos. For me.”
“I thought he should see the success you’ve made of your life. He told me you were one of his most gifted students. Teacher’s pet,” I teased.
He huffed out a laugh. “How’ve you been?”
“Great. Busy. How about you?”
“Yeah. Busy. I…yeah, I’ve been busy.” He took a deep breath and let it out. We were acting like acquaintances, overly polite, right back to the way it was that day in the coffee shop. Except that this time I wanted to be with him and he was the one holding back.
Connor guided me through the exhibit and I stopped in front of each painting, marveling at how amazing they looked, the canvases stretched on frames on the white walls with spotlights trained on each one.
“You’re the star of the show,” he said as we stopped in front of one I hadn’t seen before. It was me, a black mask with purple feathers hiding my face, bars of music swirling across the canvas. “That’s the first one I did,” he said. “I tossed it in the trash, but the next day I found it in the break room. Claudia rescued it.”