Harder (Stark Ink Book 1) (18 page)

“Adam walked into the house and found Ava on the couch, surrounded by homework. She looked up as he entered. “What’s up?”

“I’m about to go pick up Pop. Came to see if you needed me to go to the store while I’m out.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? Don’t need any grocery shopping done?”

“Nah,” she replied. “We’re good until the weekend.”

Adam nodded. “Listen,” he said finally. “We need to talk.”

Ava paled. “Am I in trouble? Because I haven’t even left the house! I haven’t done anything!”

He sighed inwardly. This was precisely why he hadn’t sent Jonah a text to this effect. Being face to face with Ava, she had nowhere to run, but if he’d told her up front that something was up, she’d have done her level best to avoid him. He still hadn’t heard from Jonah. The kid had to eat though, and Sienna wouldn’t be here tonight.

“You’re not in trouble,” he assured her. “It’s not about you.”

He gestured for her to sit at the table. He took a chair and lowered himself into it.

“Dalton got hurt on the job.”

Ava stilled. “Again? Is he okay?”

“No. I mean, shit. No, not again. Before. He got hurt before, you know, his hand. Anyway, he’s not adjusting to it well.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Dalton’s been drinking,” Adam told her. “A lot. Missing a ton of work. In fact I’m not certain he even still has a job.” He paused. “I took him to Daybreak.”

“You mean that rehab place downtown?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean, like Dalton’s… an alcoholic?” She said it slowly like she couldn’t believe such a thing.

Adam could relate, unfortunately. “Yeah.”

Ava’s face crumpled.

“I know this is hard,” Adam told her.

“My mom’s an alcoholic.”

“It’s not like that,” he argued. Ava’s birth mother and Dalton had absolutely nothing in common. Dalton was choosing to get better and he’d be back.

“How’s it different?”

“He’s getting help. Because he loves you. And he’s not going to let this beat him. Dalton’s not going anywhere.”

It wasn’t a precisely accurate narrative of what had gone down, Dalton didn’t choose rehab for himself initially. But if he had been in his right mind even for a minute, it
would
have happened that way. Dalton had just needed a push, but now he was taking the reins. Adam didn’t want to turn Ava against her brother by letting her know that rehab hadn’t been Dalton’s choice in the beginning.

“So, he’s going to be there for a few weeks getting things straightened out. Things are going to be mostly the same when he comes home,” he assured her.

Truthfully, Adam didn’t know what Dalton’s daily life would look like once he got out. But he knew Dalton had rarely had anything to drink around Ava, a few beers maybe from time to time. So it wouldn’t seem that different to
her
, anyway.

“He’s doing the right thing, Ava. He’s our brother.”

“Where’s Zoey?”

Adam grimaced. “Zoey’s gone.”

“She left?”

“Yeah. A thing like that, it’s hard to be around. Hard to watch.”

“Well, is she coming back?”

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully. He remembered Dalton saying she wouldn’t. Their breakup must have been an awful thing. “I don’t think so. But D’s coming home in just a few weeks. So, we need to support him.”

“Can I visit him?”

It was tempting to say no, to preserve her esteem for Dalton and maybe he wouldn’t want her to see him like that anyway. But maybe it was lonely in there.

“I’ll ask,” he hedged.

“Okay. Wow.”

“There’s something else.”

“Oh, God,” she groaned.

“It’s not bad. I need you to make dinner for me—for us—tonight,” he said sheepishly.

Ava gaped at him. “Like I don’t do enough! And it’s Jonah’s turn anyway. Is he even coming home?”

Adam nodded. “I think he is. I sent him a text. I hope he is. But I need you to cook.”

“That’s so—”

“You’re better at it than I am. I’ll help, though. I swear.”

Ava snorted. “Unbelievable.”

Adam shifted nervously in his chair. “I—” He cleared his throat and started again. “I invited someone.”

Ava opened her mouth to reply but quickly closed it again. She remained silent a moment until, finally, the shock wore off. “Who?”

“I need you to be okay with this.”

Her brow furrowed. “What? Why? Who is it?”

He grinned. “I think we covered all the bases there,” he joked.

But Ava refused to be distracted. “Who?!” she demanded.

Adam took a deep breath. “Calla.”

“Calla? Calla… Winslow? Ms. Winslow? My Calla Winslow?”

“
My
Calla Winslow,” Adam replied firmly.

Ava leaned back in her chair. “You don’t date.”

“I do now.”

“And she’s coming to dinner?”

He nodded. “Though I’d prefer it if you made dinner. You had more time in the kitchen with Mom.” He grimaced at the memory of a ruined casserole she’d once tried to teach him to make. It was somehow both soupy
and
burned. Mom had declared it a miracle, though Adam had the sense of a “frogs falling from the sky” kind of a miracle rather than “Hallelujah, I can see again!” miracle.

Ava glared at him. “If you screw her over, she could make my life hell.”

“Calla’s not like that.”

Ava smirked at him. “But you are. Guys are assholes.”

Once again he was tempted to ask her who had put that thought in her head, but he let it go. For both their sake’s.

“I’m changing,” he told his little sister. “I’ve changed.”

Ava crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Uh huh.”

He sighed. “I have, Ava. Mom and Pop, Dalton and Jonah,
you.
Things have changed and I have to change with them.”

Her face softened a bit at his words. She knew exactly how much harder things were without Mom. After all, Ava saw Pop every day. Of course, she could only guess about Dalton and Jonah, but Adam knew she understood even if she didn’t know all the gory details.

“Do you love her?”

“I want to love her.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Adam sighed. “Ava, so much shit has happened within the last few weeks. I’ve barely been able to keep up with it. I haven’t spent nearly as much time with her as I’d like. God knows she’s a saint for even sticking around
this
long. It’s not like she was looking to take on all my problems. But she did. She has.”

Adam held Ava’s gaze as he remembered last night. “She’s supported me in ways I never expected, never asked for. But things are going to get better now. We’re
all
going to get better, starting now. I want Calla with me, with
us
. And I want you to accept it. More than accept it. I want you to be okay with it.”

He held his breath as Ava thought it over. Then she smiled. Adam felt the tension dissolve from his body. Thank God.

“Okay,” she said. “On one condition.”

And just like that, Adam’s spine stiffened again. “Ava, this isn’t a negotiation. We’re family and—”

Ava nodded to the sketchbook on the table. “I want a tat.”

Adam froze, then slowly shook his head.

Ava arched an eyebrow at him.

“It’s illegal, Ava! You’re underage.”

She shrugged. “I could go over the border.”

Adam leaned forward in his chair, narrowing his eyes at her. “If you set foot outside this town, I will catch you at the border and then I’ll—”

“So,
you
do it,” she countered. “We can wait until I’m eighteen. But I want you to draw it now. I want to see it.”

Adam sighed. It wasn’t an entirely unreasonable proposition. Mom wouldn’t have approved, though. But he had a feeling that in the end, Ava was going to do what Ava wanted to do and Mom would probably have insisted that Adam do the ink to make sure she was safe.

“I want a sleeve,” Ava added.

Adam rolled his eyes at her. “Why am I not surprised?”

Ava grinned. “Go big or go home.”

Adam didn’t see the seventeen-year-old in front of him. Instead he saw a six-year-old with pigtails and a missing front tooth barreling down the pier toward murky waters. He knew Ava; there would be no swaying her. He set his jaw and jabbed a finger at her. “A’s,” he demanded. “Straight A’s from now until graduation.”

“A’s and B’s,” she argued. “I’m not that great at math.”

Adam caved. What could he say? Neither was he.

“A’s and B’s… and no sex.”

Ava gasped loudly.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m filling in for Mom
and
Pop here and I mean it, Ava. You get knocked up and ruin your life and I’ll kill you.”

She smirked at him again. “Is this a motivational speech?”

“I mean it, Ava,” he repeated. “It’s too much. Pop and Dalton. Jonah. I can’t worry about one more thing. And besides, I’ve seen your homework, remember? You’re gonna need all your spare time to earn A’s and B’s.”

She kicked him under the table but didn’t argue. Instead, she asked, “What if you knock up Ms. Winslow?”

“Then I’ll marry her,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation.

Ava’s jaw dropped. “You’d really marry her?”

“I would.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Wow. You
have
changed.”

Adam pulled into the parking lot of Shady Oaks and noted that Pop wasn’t sitting on the bench out front. This either boded very well or very badly. After two minutes passed, Adam had his hand on the car door handle ready to do damage control when the old man came out of the front doors. He didn’t look particularly happy, but Adam knew Pop’s Pissed Off face and that wasn’t it. So, it was just a normal day, then. Adam supposed that spending the afternoon with a bunch of people you didn’t know, trying to stave off the worst symptoms of an incurable disease, might not actually be anyone’s idea of a
good
time. This might be as good as it was going to get.

Pop climbed into the front seat and adjusted his marine ball cap. Adam nodded to him, not wanting to risk asking how his day had gone. Maybe not just yet. Adam pulled away from the curb and headed home. They were silent a while before Pop said, “Hey.”

Adam held his breath. Either the doctor was a commie, or one of the nurses was named Ratched, or this week’s tapioca had made an unexpected appearance after lunch.

“Yeah?” Adam asked cautiously.

“Been putting off asking you about that,” Pop said. Adam looked over as Pop gestured to his own face. “Thinking maybe I don’t want to know.”

Adam sighed. “Probably not.”

“Did you win?”

Adam let out a bark of laughter that surprised even himself. “In the end.”

Pop grunted. “Hope you were outnumbered.”

“Oh, I was. Three to one. And they were armed.”

Pop’s grimace turned into a serious scowl. “Don’t like the sound of that.”

“It was a case of mistaken identity.”

The old man looked skeptical.

Adam raised his hand. “Swear to God. They were looking for someone else.”

Over the last few weeks, for better or worse, Adam had become used to skirting the truth with the people he loved. It was a lot to take on, worrying about other people’s feelings. He supposed that he was the best candidate for the job, though. And since the danger was over at this point, there seemed to be no good reason to tell the whole truth and upset the old man. He had enough on his mind these days.

To change the subject, Adam said, “I have something for you, Pop.”

“What’s that?”

Adam reached between the seats and pulled out the sketchbook he’d bought. Pop hadn’t noticed it when he’d gotten into the car. The old man set it in his lap and opened the cover. The first drawing was Mom, copied from their wedding photo. She looked so much younger than Adam thought of her, but Pop would appreciate it. And so would his mother, if she were watching them now. In the bottom corner read “Miriam Kaye Stark—Beloved Wife.” Pop’s thumb ran over the birth and death dates below the inscription. As he flipped the pages, he saw Dalton, Jonah, Ava, and Adam himself with their respective titles under their portraits—Son, Daughter.

“I thought you could use it instead of a photo album,” Adam said. “For your reminiscing exercises.”

Pop quietly closed the book and left it on his lap. Instead of answering, he looked out the passenger window.

“Pop?” Adam prompted, glancing over. “Pop? I know you would have settled for photos. And I know you don’t care much about art but—”

“Don’t do that,” Pop interrupted sharply.

Adam hesitated. “Do what?”

“Don’t say that. Don’t talk like that.”

Adam’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Was Pop having an episode? Should they pull over or go home? His heart thudded in his chest as he scrambled for the best option until the old man said, “I never had a talent for anything like this. But Adam, I never wanted you to think I didn’t support your art.”

“Pop, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” he argued. “I guess I’m not that good at saying things that need to be said. Or maybe I’m not good at realizing they need to be said. To me, it just seems obvious. I respect art, Adam. I do. And I respect your art. It’s just that, it’s hard, damn hard, to make a living off it.” He sighed heavily. “We were happy, all of us, when you and Dalton were growing up.”

“I never said we weren’t.”

“I know, but we were poor, too. Especially in those early years. My commission hadn’t come through yet, your mom was home with you boys and not bringing in a paycheck. It was hard. And all I ever wanted was to make it easier. All you hear about is ‘starving artists.’ Even the ones who make it, well, they start out being dirt poor. And I guess I’d had enough of my family being dirt poor. I didn’t want you to go back to that, not even if you were doing it because you were chasing your dream.”

“Pop,” Adam said quietly.

Pop shook his head. “It’s hard for a man to admit when he’s less than he’d like to be. It’s hard to say, ‘I want you to have a better life than I had,’ ‘cause then I have to admit my failings.”

“You did
not
fail,” Adam argued. “You raised us right.”

“I did what I could with what I had. I loved you, though. All of you. And I’m sorry you ever thought I didn’t believe in you.”

Adam shifted awkwardly in his seat. “It’s… it’s fine. I mean, I don’t think that.” But he had thought that. He’d thought that his whole life, that his father didn’t believe in what he did, didn’t care about it. It made him both relieved and uncomfortable to learn that the old man had viewed Adam’s art through the lens of his own perceived shortcomings. Growing up, Adam had known they were poor, but they were happy so he hadn’t really cared that much. He’d never have wished for more money if it meant he had to have a different family.

“Well, I’m sorry anyway,” Pop said, because, Adam suspected, he knew that he hadn’t made himself clear enough in Adam’s youth.

“I’m inviting someone to dinner,” Adam announced to break the tension.

“Oh yeah?”

“A woman.”

Pop rolled down the window of the Charger and stuck his head out.

“Pop!” Adam shouted. “What the hell? What are you doing?!” He reached out and snagged the old man’s sleeve, yanking him back inside. “Pop!”

The old man looked at Adam and shrugged. “Sorry. I was just checking.”

“For what?!” Adam cried.

“One of the horsemen. Or maybe all of them.”

Adam stared at him. “One of the what?!”

“Well, if you’re bringing a woman home to dinner, then surely the Apocalypse is upon us.”