Chapter Thirty-Three
Eden
Friday afternoon, I was sitting on a stool in Forever Ink, watching Connor tattoo his brother’s chest. I came to offer my moral support which Killian probably didn’t need anyway. Two hours into his tattooing session, and Killian was unfazed by the needles piercing his skin. He didn’t flinch and barely moved a muscle. He hadn’t been joking about the tough skin but, then, he’d been through worse pain than this, I guess.
It had taken a few days before Killian talked to Connor again. But as I’d come to learn, Killian had a big heart and once he let someone in, he was generous with it. Despite the grief and worry Connor had caused Killian over the years, Killian kept giving him chances to get it right because he wanted Connor in his life.
I watched the concentration on Connor’s face as he tattooed Killian’s skin. Connor didn’t want to mess it up, but I knew he wouldn’t.
“You’ve got your serious artist face on,” Killian joked.
“Eden will beat me up if I make a mistake,” Connor said.
“She’s pretty fierce,” Killian said.
While they joked around, I thought about their mother and wondered what she’d think of the men they’d turned into. Good men, in my book. How could she leave her two boys behind?
My thoughts drifted to Anna Ramirez. A few days ago, I’d taken her number from Killian’s phone and called her when he was at work. I figured nine-thirty would be a good time—not too late, but the baby would be asleep by then.
“Hi, Anna. My name is Eden. You don’t know me, but I’m Killian’s girlfriend and—”
“Killian has a girlfriend?” she asked, unable to conceal her surprise.
“Um, yes. He doesn’t know anything about this phone call.”
She remained silent, so I rushed in, “I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been through, and maybe if I were in your shoes, I’d never be able to forgive the person responsible…but Killian loved Johnny. He feels so incredibly guilty. It was a horrible accident, and I am so, so sorry for your loss. And for your son’s loss. But Killian needs your forgiveness. You have no idea how much it would mean to him if you could just…forgive him.”
Once again, she was silent. I checked my phone to make sure our call was still connected. “Anna?”
“Do you love Killian?”
“Yes. I do. He’s a good man. I mean, sometimes he acts like an asshole, but, you know, for the most part…he’s great.”
She laughed a little. It made me smile and gave me hope, so I forged on.
“I called you because I care about him. So much. And if there’s anything I can do to make his life better, I’ll do it.”
“That’s how I felt about Johnny.”
“Then you know how it feels…” I let my sentence drift off, not sure if I was saying all the right things or all the wrong ones. “Will you at least consider it? It would mean the world to him if you—”
“I need to go,” she said, cutting me off. “I’m glad Killian found someone who cares about him.”
Anna cut the call and I looked at Connor who was standing in the open doorway of Killian’s bedroom. “I didn’t even hear you come home.”
“I move like a ninja,” he joked. He ran his hand over his hair and let out a ragged breath. “What did she say?”
There was no point in pretending. He’d obviously heard my end of the conversation. “I’m not sure she’ll ever forgive him.”
He crossed the room in a few long strides and sat next to me on the bed. “I think he needs to find a way to forgive himself. People don’t always act the way we want. They don’t always say the words we want to hear. Sometimes…you just need to find a way to make your own peace with that.”
Connor’s face was sad, contemplative. He was speaking from experience. These guys had never had it easy. Abandoned by their mother. Abused by their father. Instinctively, I reached for his hand. He pulled me to my feet and into a hug. “You make him happy and you’ve given him something he’s never had,” he said, releasing me. “Don’t underestimate the power of love. He’ll be okay.”
My ringing phone interrupted my thoughts. “Hangover rating on a scale of one to ten,” Hailey said when I answered.
“Mine is on the low spectrum. I’ll go with a three.” Last night, Hailey, Ava, and I had a girls’ night out. It started with barbecue in a converted garage and ended with drinks at a bar that played nineties hip-hop. At two in the morning, Killian met us at the bar and chauffeured us home. No major incidents to report, thankfully. “How’s yours?”
“Not bad,” she said, sounding surprised.
“That’s because we were smart this time. The key is to pig out on ribs and all those sides we ate. It soaked up all the alcohol. We were so sensible. We should be commended, really.”
Killian snorted. I glared at him. “Baby, you were wasted.”
“I was not,” I said indignantly.
“You always come home, singing “Nasty Girl”?” Connor asked.
“Of course. Everyone loves The Notorious B.I.G.”
Hailey laughed at our banter. “Where are you?”
“Forever Ink. Killian needed someone to hold his hand. You know what a big baby he is.”
That earned me more snorts all around.
“Have you heard from Ava yet?” she asked.
“Uh, no.” I eyed Connor who was too busy breaking into a sweat and focusing on his masterpiece to notice. “She’s probably not on the low end of the scale.”
“Yeah, she was pretty wasted,” Hailey said. “Is Connor doing the tattooing?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. Talk to you later. I need to get ready for work.”
After we hung up, I sent a quick text to Ava, asking how she was feeling. Last night, she went from happy drunk to crying drunk in a nanosecond, so maybe I should rethink the part about no major incidents. The reason for her tears was sitting directly across from me, his steady hand holding a tattoo machine.
Two minutes later, my phone rang, and this time it was Ava.
“Hey, Ava. Are you okay?”
She groaned. “Stop talking so loud.”
“Sorry,” I whispered but she probably couldn’t hear it over the buzzing of the tattoo machine and the rock music.
“Where are you?”
“Um, Forever Ink.”
“Oh.” Ava went silent for a few seconds. “In that case, I’ll talk to you later.”
“I can go outside, if you want.”
“Ava,” Connor said. “Stop ignoring me.”
“Did you hear that?” I asked Ava.
She sighed. “Tell him he’s an asshole. He has no idea what he put me and Killian through. I’m never speaking to him again.”
“If she’s saying she’ll never speak to me again, tell her—”
“Enough,” Killian said, cutting him off. “You and Ava sort it out on your own time. Stop putting me and Eden in the middle of your shit.”
“I guess you heard that too,” I said into the phone.
She sighed again. “Loud and clear. Asshole.”
“No, he’s not,” I said, jumping to Killian’s defense.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, and I thought she’d say goodbye but in the next beat she asked, “What’s the tattoo of?”
I was pretty sure she was there last night when Hailey asked, but maybe she hadn’t heard. I looked at Killian’s chest, as if I needed to remind myself. “Well, it’s…wings. With two rows of feathers and there’s a star outline on each side of the wing tips…” It was hard to describe the design. It was dark ink, like dark angel wings spanning his upper chest, which wasn’t my original plan. Initially, I’d drawn one wing for his left side to go above his heart, but Killian said if he was going to do it, he was all in, so I re-did my sketch and now here we were, watching it come to life. “It’s very manly, though. No wimpy angel wings for Killian.”
Killian chuckled.
“It’s awesome,” Connor said, loudly enough for Ava to hear.
“Connor is an awesome tattoo artist,” she said, but not loudly enough for him to hear.
“Yeah, he’s pretty awesome,” I agreed. Killian raised his eyebrows and I smiled. “So, are you,” I told him.
Ava and I said goodbye and I cut the call.
“She said I was awesome?” Connor asked, his voice hopeful.
I repeated what Ava told me and he smiled, feeling like he’d scored a small victory, no doubt. If I repeated everything she said last night, he wouldn’t be too happy, so I vowed to keep that conversation to myself.
“What else did she say?” Connor asked.
Killian clenched his jaw. “Don’t answer that.”
I didn’t answer that. Killian was right—Ava and Connor needed to talk to each other.
Connor lifted the machine and sat back. “Dude, you need to sit still.”
“I am sitting still.”
“You’re flexing your pecs.”
I rubbed my index fingers together. “Naughty boy. Flexing your pecs. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Tell Connor to stop stressing me out.”
“Connor, stop stressing him out.”
“How am I stressing you out?” Connor asked.
Killian held up his hand. “You need to speak through Eden. She’ll relay the message.”
I laughed. Connor shook his head.
“Point taken,” he said, getting back to work.
Killian reached for my hand and held it in his, and over the buzzing of the tattoo machine and Led Zeppelin’s “Rock and Roll”, I could hear my heart slamming against my chest. I’d fallen fast, and I’d fallen hard, and I was literally inked on his skin for life. The tattoo on his chest was my design, my name was on it, and it had been inspired by his calling me a dirty angel. But it was also because I wanted to give his heart wings, instead of stabbing it with a dagger. I didn’t explain the symbolism to him, but maybe he understood it without my having to tell him.
* * *
Sundays had officially become our lazy day, although Killian and I went running this morning and he went to the gym but only for an hour. I was on his living room floor with my surfer girl piece spread out in front of me. Killian had pushed back the furniture and stacked the coffee table on the sofa to accommodate my twelve-foot-long street art piece. When I sketched this piece, it was like my brain was telling me to do one thing, but my hand was doing something entirely different. But I thought my surfer girl riding inside the barrel of the wave was turning out to be a good thing.
From the kitchen, I heard the whirring of the blender. Uh oh. Not again. Please don’t test my gag reflexes with another healthy smoothie. They were godawful. No joke. Yesterday’s delightful concoction was kale and God knew what else. I took one sip and it was one sip too many.
“How is it?” he asked.
I forced myself to swallow, even though I wanted to spit it in the sink. “Terrible. It tastes like…mud…and grass. Ugh.”
I kept my head down, and painted my psychedelic waves, hoping he would drink the whole batch himself.
No such luck.
“You’re gonna love this one,” he claimed, coming into the living room.
“I’ll pass.”
“I made it especially for you.”
Ugh. Why did he have to sound so sweet?
My gaze traveled up his sculpted calves, to his cargo shorts, and up his bare chest, my tattoo inked on his skin, and up to his clean-shaven face. I loved his face with stubble, I loved it smooth, I loved it framed by short hair or longer hair. I especially loved it with that adorable smile. Who could say no to those dimples? Not me, apparently.
He pressed a gigantic glass of something green and frothy into my hand and watched as I took a tiny sip. He frowned at my pathetic attempt to placate him, so I took a bigger sip. At least it didn’t activate my gag reflex. It wasn’t bad. Another sip confirmed it was pretty good.
“Well?” he asked, prompting me to deliver my verdict.
“It’s not as good as…say, cinnamon rolls or brownies…but it’s drinkable. Which is a huge improvement over the last few you tried to force on me.” I softened the blow with a smile.
“Drinkable? Admit it. You love it.”
I took another big gulp. Love was a stretch, but I liked it, and it was drinkable. “Yum. I feel healthier already.”
“It’s good protein,” he said, lowering himself onto a chair at the kitchen table nobody ever ate at. Probably because it was in the living room and covered with Connor’s sketchbooks, a stack of Connor’s paperbacks, a laptop, and a pile of bills Killian was sorting through.
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“Kale, spinach, cucumber, green apple, hemp seeds, mango, coconut oil…” I stared at him as he continued reeling off a list of approximately six-thousand ingredients, and he remembered to name every single one.
“O-kay. You sold me on it.” Because, really, anyone who had gone to so much trouble to get something healthy into my body deserved some respect for their efforts. The least I could do was drink the smoothie, so I leaned my back against the sofa and drank it while I looked out the window at the burnt-out warehouse.
Yesterday, Killian and I had walked the perimeter, casing it out. The lot adjacent to the warehouse is fenced in with chain-link but we found a gap between the two metal bars of the padlocked gate like someone pried it apart.
“It’s meant to be,” I’d said, thrilled we’d found an entry point which didn’t require further law-breaking. But since we’d gone during the day and the sign clearly said No Trespassing, we hadn’t attempted to enter. Yet. Once I finished this piece, we were going in under the cover of darkness. If we pulled it off, it would be an even bigger rush than the first piece had been.
I finished my smoothie, reveling in the heat and sunshine streaming through the windows. The temperatures had hovered in the mid-eighties for the past three days and even though it was fall, it felt like a summer’s day. My phone buzzed with a reminder to attend Zeke’s chill-fest, as he called it. Following swiftly on the heels of that, my dad texted to make sure I was alive and well. Ava texted to ask if Killian and I were going to Zeke’s party and, if so, could she get a ride. Then Hailey texted to ask if we were going to Zeke’s party and, if it wasn’t too much trouble, could she bum a ride.
When I sought out Killian to inform him of our plans, he had his head stuck in the cabinet under the kitchen sink and was doing something that required a toolbox and a lot of muscle flexing. Not a bad view—his bare torso was on display. I hopped onto the counter to watch while I brought him up to speed. “We’ll leave here at two, pick up Ava first, and then Hailey which is a little out of our way but not by much, and we’ll hang out at Zeke and Brody’s party for a couple hours. Zeke’s not working tonight but we can give Brody and Chris a lift to work when we leave.”
“What?” he asked, from inside the cabinet. There was a clanking noise going on down there, so he probably missed every word I said.
I sighed. “At one fifty-five, you need to put on a shirt and shoes. I’ll give you further instructions then.”
“Babe, I heard what you said. I’m a multi-tasker, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. But you weren’t listening because you asked, ‘What?’”
His head popped out, and he stood and turned on the faucet. Apparently, he’d fixed whatever problem I hadn’t noticed existed because he turned off the water and packed up his tools, satisfied with his work. He came to stand between my legs and ran his hands up my thighs. I watched his blue eyes darken as his hands continued their journey, all talk of the party forgotten. I wrapped my arms around his neck and asked him to repeat what I said. He did, and he got it right, but he used fewer words to convey the message.
“So, why did you play dumb?” I asked.
“I didn’t. You never told me about this party. Neither did Zeke or Brody.”
“It’s an impromptu thing. They decided last night. They told me to tell you.”
He raised his brows. “And did you?”
Ooops. “Uh huh. Five minutes ago.”
“Sounds like a communication breakdown.”
“Hmm. How can I make it up to you?”
He nuzzled my neck and murmured, “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He brushed a kiss on my jawbone, and then his lips met mine. My legs cinched around his waist as he deepened the kiss, and my body responded the same way it always did with him. I craved him like a drug I could never get enough of. I was starting to understand addiction because Killian was quickly becoming mine.
“Pretend I’m not here,” Connor said. I pulled away from Killian and looked over his shoulder at Connor who scrubbed his hand over his hair and yawned. Connor slept a lot, I’d noticed, and I wondered if it had something to do with giving up drugs. Like Killian, he was shirtless and wearing nothing but cargo shorts. After being in Florida for five months, his skin was bronzed darker than Killian’s. I had to say the view of Connor’s torso wasn’t bad either.
Connor stuck his head in the fridge, slammed it shut, opened, and closed every cupboard, and returned to the fridge, as if he was expecting something new and different to jump out at him. I could save him the trouble of looking for something quick and easy. Everything in this house was healthy and required cooking or preparation. There was no junk food, no empty carbs, and nothing with refined sugar.
Having reached the same conclusion, Connor grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and guzzled it. “What are you guys up to?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“We’re going to an impromptu chill-fest.” Without thinking it through, I invited Connor to join us.
“Ava gonna be there?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I’m coming.”
Uh oh.
Killian turned around to face Connor and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just so we’re clear, do not drag Eden or me into your drama.” Connor opened his mouth to speak, but Killian held up his hand to stop him. “I work with these guys. So, keep your mouth shut about my personal life.”
Connor adopted the same crossed-arm pose. “I never told anyone outside this room jack shit, and you know it. What happened with Seamus was a long time coming and I apologized to Eden and I apologized to you. But I’m not sorry I said it. He needs to be reminded of what he did. If you want to move on from something, you can’t bury it inside. You need to shine the light on it. You need to work through it before you can let it go.”
That was very true, and I thought Connor was brave and smart for voicing it. I sat still, barely breathing, as they faced off. This could go either way but neither of them backed off or stalked away which was a good sign. Neither of them said a word for a few long moments either. Killian’s shoulders were rigid, and I could feel the tension rolling off him.
“You learn this in your NA meetings?” Killian asked finally.
“Yeah, I did.”
Killian lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay.”
Connor nodded. “Okay.”
And that was the end of it. They’d made their peace, and Connor pulled a frying pan out of the cupboard and eggs out of the refrigerator. He stuck birdseed bread in the toaster and asked us if we wanted any food, which we declined. I went upstairs to get ready, and Killian found a few odd jobs to do around the house. At one fifty-five, Killian joined me in the bedroom, donned a shirt and shoes, packed a duffel with our work clothes, and it was time to go.
No major drama occurred on the drive to the chill-fest or at the chill-fest itself. We hung out on Zeke and Brody’s patio, drinking Zeke’s special watermelon slammers on a sunny September day, with a reggae soundtrack that gave the whole atmosphere a chilled, happy vibe. Zeke’s washed-out orange T-shirt said “Life is Good,” and as I looked around at my friends, laughing and talking, and at Killian whose arm was slung over my shoulder while we talked to Brody about his world travels, I couldn’t agree more.
Life was good.
“What’s your favorite place for a vacation?” Killian asked later, when were behind the bar, chopping fruit.
“The beach.”
“Me too. Ever been to Montauk?”
I shook my head. I’d heard people at the bar talking about it, so I knew it was in the Hamptons, but that was all I knew.
“You’ll love it. I’m taking you there,” he promised, and I knew it would happen because Killian’s promises were never empty.