Harder (Stark Ink Book 1) (2 page)

Jonah had agreed to drive Ava and Dad back to Mom and Dad’s place from the funeral home—Adam would probably always think of the house that way. Adam stayed behind to deal with Dalton. His younger brother appeared to be sleeping beside him in the passenger seat as Adam drove him home. It was probably just as well because Adam wanted to give him hell for showing up shitfaced to Mom’s funeral.
Mom’s funeral
. What the hell had Dalton been thinking?

Adam hit the brakes on the Charger especially hard as he pulled up alongside the curb. Dalton’s hunched form lurched forward and the seatbelt cinched. Probably tightly. Adam hoped it was tightly. Dalton jerked awake and looked around. He fumbled with the seatbelt, stumbled out of the car door, and mumbled a “Thanks, bro” to Adam. Before Adam could reply, Dalton slammed the door and shuffled to his front door. Adam stayed in the car while Dalton struggled with his keys. He dropped them twice before finally opening the front door to his apartment. He disappeared inside and Adam shook his head.

Dalton liked a good time, had always been the life of anyone’s party. He didn’t wallow in anything too serious or too bothersome. In fact, Dalton had spent his entire life ignoring anything that interfered with his ability to have fun. Adam supposed that it really wasn’t all that surprising that Dalton would toss a few back so he could deal with the current circumstances. Dalton’s glass was perpetually half full. Today it just happened to be half full of whiskey and grief.

Adam revved the engine and pulled away from the curb. It was understandable, but he’d still kick Dalton’s ass later, just on principle. He left the modest apartment complex and nosed the Charger downtown. Traffic was picking up in the financial district and Adam weaved through it past the city center and toward the warehouse district just over the tracks. He circled behind a two-story brick building with a large sign out front that simply said “Tattoo.” He’d bought the place a little over a year ago, cleaned it up with Dalton’s help, and opened the doors just six months ago. Until just a few weeks ago, Adam had expected to sail through the year with no problems. Business was good; he had his own shop. One part of his life had finally ordered itself and then the other had fallen apart spectacularly.

He parked the Charger behind the building, in his usual spot, got out and set the alarm. He passed up the back door that led to the stairs leading up to his apartment on the second floor. Instead, he took a detour through the alleyway, turned the corner to reach the front of the building. The large picture window was a bit more artistic than the basic black and white sign that hung on the side of the building.
Stark Ink
was spelled out in large, formidable script. Underneath it was a decal made from a freehand drawing Adam had done of a black dragon coiled around a snow-topped mountain.

He opened the mailbox just inside the vestibule and pulled out ten days’ worth of coupons, advertising flyers, and bills and shoved them under his arm. He’d given Jeannie, the receptionist, the last week off since there was no way to run the shop and be with Mom. He forgot to tell her to retrieve the mail, though. Instead of walking back around the building, he took out his keys and opened the front door of the shop. He locked it behind him as he stepped inside and didn’t bother to turn on the lights. He knew the place like the back of his hand now, even in the dark. His boots clicked on the black and white tiled floor as he headed toward the receptionist desk at the back of the lobby. He tossed the mail onto the counter.

Framed drawings Adam had created over the years adorned the deep red walls. There was no mass-produced flash anywhere to be seen. Adam didn’t believe in it. Let the sorority girls get their tramp stamps from scratchers on the other side of town. Adam only did custom work. He had fewer clients that way, but he charged more for the work. Turning a profit had taken a bit longer, but Adam couldn’t compromise himself just for a few extra dollars. Tattoos should have a meaning, tell a story about either the past, the present, or the future of a person. Poorly translated Kanji and dolphins didn’t quite cut it with him.

He opened the door to the back hallway and started up the stairs to his place. The apartment had been basically used for storage by the previous owner, but Adam had Dalton knock down a wall and put in a bathroom so that the space was habitable. It was small, only one room plus the bathroom, but it was all he needed. He preferred living over the shop, able to come and go from it with minimal effort. It was small, but he didn’t mind. What he needed was a thriving business, and maximizing the time he spent in the shop was the best strategy for accomplishing that goal.

He stripped off the monkey suit and tossed it on the bed. It felt good to finally be out of it. He didn’t know whether to throw it away or hang on to it, but in the end practicality won out and he shoved the shirt, jacket, and trousers into the back of his closet where at least he wouldn’t have to see it. He pulled on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and his boots again. He didn’t mind the apartment, but he needed some space right now. He hadn’t left his parents’ house in the last ten days and four walls that seemed like they were closing in weren’t doing much for his mood. He pocketed his keys and headed back down the stairs. This time he did go out the back door and re-locked it, but this time he passed up the Charger. Instead he moved around the car to the large, black Harley that was parked beside it.

It had been his first ride, bought just after he turned eighteen. Not the most expensive model, but still far cheaper than a car. A few years later he’d bought a beat-up pickup for the winter months. It had been all he could afford. Now that business was taking off, he’d ditched the truck for the shiny black Charger, the only splurge he’d allowed himself with the new income. He couldn’t seem to trade-in the Harley, though. He loved it, preferred it to both the truck and the car that followed it. Adam wasn’t certain he’d ever give it up and with a group of kickass mechanics just a few blocks away, he hoped he’d never have to. Living above the shop also meant he didn’t need to go out much when the weather turned bad. Getting to work was never going to be a problem. In fact, not much was a problem, Adam had learned, when you were your own boss. You could come and go as you pleased, ditch work when your mom died.

He glared up at the sun. If it wasn’t going to rain, he could at least take advantage of it, he supposed. He straddled his ride and kick-started it. The engine roared loudly in the otherwise empty lot. He backed out of the space, headed for the alley, and turned onto the cross street. He wove even more easily through midday traffic on the bike and soon downtown had given way to the beginning of suburban sprawl. He took the first ramp, merged onto the lighter highway traffic, and opened up the Harley. It rumbled as it came it to life underneath him, his own personal black dragon, he supposed. He headed north away from the shop, away from town, and away from his mother being lowered into the damp South Dakota ground. It was over an hour before he’d even recognized where he’d ended up. He stopped the bike and took in the view of a small, forested lake in front of him.

The lake. The place where the Stark family gathered every summer, even now. Who knew how long the pier had been there? Built and repaired year after year by no one Adam knew. From the time they could swim, he and Dalton had raced each other to the end and leaped off into the water. Every year, every visit. When Ava had come along, the little blonde, determined pixie would follow them, afraid of nothing as she jumped off the edge and into what must have seemed like the abyss to a five-year-old. Ava had always been like that, fearless and exuberant and ready to meet any challenge head on. Though Dalton and Adam had been much older, they’d been old enough not to mind her presence.

If Ava was attached to them at the hip, Jonah had put as much distance between them, between himself and
all
of them, as humanly possible. He barely spoke, barely acknowledged any of them. Even as a little kid he’d wander off, away from the family, as though he had no use or interest in them. He’d take the long way around the lake and swim by himself to the floating dock in the middle, not appearing again until it was time to leave. Jonah had remained distant even as the years passed. He still swam to the dock alone and stayed there until dusk. Adam supposed some men really were islands. God knew Adam himself had been. For the last year he’d been so wrapped up in the shop that everything else turned to shit when he wasn’t looking.

He got off the bike and walked toward the tiny bank of sand. The bright noon sun glittered on the surface of the water. It was summer, but it was a weekday afternoon and no one was there. Alone, Adam sat on trunk of a tree that had fallen sometime since their last visit. All he could hear were the birds and the rustle of leaves whenever the wind kicked up. He was quiet, too quiet, and chastised himself for possibly thinking he’d hear her voice. She wasn’t here; she was gone. He did have her words, though. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the folded letter. He supposed he could ignore it forever, like a coward or a bad son. But he was no coward and he was done being a bad son. He slid his finger under the unsealed flap and lifted it. Sunlight glinted on something inside and Adam plucked out a small gold cross on a gold chain. It spun as it dangled from his fingers. He’d bought it for her on Mother’s Day years ago.

He clenched it in his fist and unfolded the note.

Dear Adam,

So here we find ourselves and I’m so, so sorry. I feel like I had so much time and then so little. I have so much to tell you, so much to apologize for. I didn’t tell you often enough how proud I am of you.

Daddy and I couldn’t give you the opportunities you deserved, so you created them for yourself. I know you’ll be successful, but don’t forget your family needs you—now more than ever. Jonah, Ava, and even Dalton are going to need your strength. And Daddy, too. Perhaps him most of all.

I’m sorry I won’t be there to help you through the hard times, but I have faith in you. You’ll keep the family together and your star will shine, Adam. I know it will and when it does, hang it in the sky next to mine. I’ll be looking for it.

Adam read it, re-read it, and then carefully folded the paper. It was unsigned. His was the last to be written and she hadn’t been able to finish it. Maybe that was a good thing. She had more faith in him than he deserved. Leaving things up to Pop seemed like a much better choice, but then he thought back to the old man sitting in the town car, unable to even approach the grave.

Adam blew out a harsh breath and rubbed the back of his neck. Keep the family together. The Starks were reeling in the wake of her loss, basically set adrift. Dad and Jonah refused to even discuss it. Dalton was drinking his pain away. Adam looked up at the sky. It was hours from sunset, no stars in the sky. He didn’t know what was out there, but if she was right, if she was looking down, then he owed it to her.

Adam headed back into the city, passed up his own apartment, and headed for his parent’s house. He parked out front, jogged up the front steps, and walked through the front door. He found his old man in the living room, sprawled on the couch with the television on. On the screen, Lucy was stuffing bonbons down her shirt while Adam’s dad was surrounded by piles of his own shirts and other unfolded laundry. There was nowhere to sit on the couch, so Adam took the recliner. He glanced at the kitchen beyond, but didn’t see Ava or Jonah anywhere.

“Hey, Pop,” he said cautiously. The old man didn’t answer. Adam supposed it was just as well. It seemed jarring to jump right into a discussion about Mom, what to do with her things, what items Pop might want to keep. She hadn’t been gone long enough, yet. Adam sighed as he looked around the room. The last few days had been especially difficult. The house looked like a twister had hit it. Dishes were piled in the sink and Adam wondered if the old man had gone grocery shopping yet. If the laundry was any indication, Pop hadn’t even left the house yet.

“Need some help around the house, Pop?” Adam asked, indicating a pile of towels on the end of the couch.

His father grunted something that might have been, “She’ll do it.” Adam frowned. It seemed like a lot of work for just Ava. School was still in session; surely she had homework.

“I can pitch in,” Adam offered. Still no response. The canned laughter coming from the television made the house seem somehow hollower, empty even though they were still in it.

If Adam couldn’t get the old man to talk about laundry, what hope was there of having a real conversation about Mom? Had Pop read his letter? Did it contain special instructions? Did he need help with whatever that was? Adam wanted to leave the man to his mourning but didn’t want him to wallow in it, either. They’d all lost Mom. They could all mourn together.

Adam, deciding to settle in for the long haul this evening, stood up and headed toward the kitchen for a beer. He pulled a cold one from the fridge and leaned against the counter. To his right, a pile of unopened mail lay scattered on the counter. He recognized the logo of the funeral home and plucked it from the pile. When he opened it, he realized it was the final bill for services. Not astronomical. They’d opted for an inexpensive casket, after all. Mom would’ve railed against wasting money on such a thing. But even after they’d cut a few corners, Adam knew the bill was still more than Pop could probably pay. He carefully folded it and stuffed it into his jeans pocket. He sorted through the rest of the stack that was large enough to rival the one he had himself back at the shop. Underneath sales fliers and Mom’s church newsletter, Adam spied an envelope from Ava’s school. He frowned as he picked it up off the pile. He slid a fingernail underneath the flap and tore it open.

The school letterhead was embossed on the top of the notice informing him that Ava had too many unexcused absences. It was the
second
notice, apparently. Adam glanced around the kitchen, where his mother posted everything important. No such identical letter hung on either the fridge or the cabinet behind him. Perhaps Pop had misplaced it during the turmoil. Ava had been home for the last week, missing school, though they made exceptions for that, surely, Adam thought. Ava’s mother had passed away, for God’s sake. Clearly the absences should be excused. He pinched the letter between two fingers and headed toward the living room.

“Pop? You get a notice about Ava missing classes?” When he didn’t get an answer, Adam walked around the end of the couch. Pop could ignore laundry and dishes, but he couldn’t ignore Ava. “Pop?” Adam tried again, before realizing that the old man’s eyes were closed and he was softly snoring.

Adam frowned down at the letter then at his dad. He sighed heavily, folded this one as well, and stuffed it into his pocket along with the funeral bill. He left the old man to his nap and headed down the hall to Ava’s bedroom, where he was sure she was. He knocked lightly, though, in case she was sleeping, too. They were all exhausted, after all. He heard sniffling from the other side of the door and his heart sank. Losing Mom was probably hardest on Ava. They’d been close. If Pop wouldn’t talk about it, Ava certainly would. And she probably needed it. Adam grasped the knob and pushed in the door.

Dalton’s old room was only recognizable because of the dark blue walls. Gone were the football posters and MVP trophies. Mom and Pop had stripped it all down when they’d gotten the official word of Ava’s adoption. Apparently, Ava had never seen fit to change the color. White, billowy curtains covered the windows.

“Ava?”

But it wasn’t Ava who was crying. Ava was sitting on the bed with Sienna, who was wiping away tears. Sienna seemed like a nice girl, though Adam didn’t know her very well. She lived in the house behind theirs and was the same age as his sister. Sienna and Mom had always gotten along well. Adam got the impression that Sienna’s mom wasn’t particularly available to her daughter most of the time. Sienna spent more time at the Stark house than she did her own. Adam supposed that losing Mom was going to be hard on a lot of people. So many people loved her, depended on her. He stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“What?” Ava asked a bit sharply.

Adam blew out a harsh breath. It seemed like a bad time to bring up school, but Ava had to start back up tomorrow anyway and so they needed to take care of it. Reluctantly, he raised the letter. Ava frowned at it and he knew immediately that she recognized it. “We need to take care of this,” he informed her.

Ava shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay, so I just call the school? That’s what it says.” Adam had skipped plenty of classes of his own in his day, but his day had been more than fifteen years ago. He wasn’t certain how things worked now, especially not on the semi-responsible side of the aisle.

Ava shrugged again. “It’s no big deal,” she repeated. “I can talk to them.”

She turned back to Sienna, clearly finished with the conversation, but Adam wasn’t done. “The laundry is piling up.”

“Well, Jonah can do it!” Ava snapped.

Adam didn’t disagree. He knew Jonah worked part time at a hardware store, but surely he could chip in at home. Especially now. Adam nodded at his younger sister. She definitely had a point. “Sure. Yeah. When he comes home, he and I can—” The sound of the front door opening and closing cut him off. “Okay, so he’s home now. We’ll get on it.”

Jonah appeared in the hallway, blocked by Adam standing in front of Ava’s door. The younger Stark male glanced into Ava’s room and scowled.

“You need to help out around here!” Ava told him.

“I will,” Jonah mumbled and looked away.

Ava got up off the bed and moved toward him. “No, I mean it. You can’t keep showing up just to eat and sleep. You need—”

But Jonah obviously didn’t care about what he needed to do. He maneuvered past Adam, careful not to touch him as he brushed by. He stalked toward his own closed bedroom door.

Ava got up to pursue him down the hallway. “You live here, too!” she reminded him.

Jonah opened his bedroom door, entered, and slammed it shut practically in Ava’s face. She threw up her hands and gave a frustrated grunt before turning to Adam. “I can’t do everything. He’s never here. Like ever,” she cried then stomped back to her own bedroom door and slammed it.

Adam stood looking between the two closed doors, wondering how to bridge the gap between his two siblings. Tensions were high. That seemed normal given the circumstances, though. As he chewed his lower lip and considered his options, Jonah’s door opened again. He’d changed out of his hardware store polo and into a T-shirt. He shut his bedroom door again behind himself and slung a backpack over his shoulder. As he moved past Adam, Adam asked, “Where are you going?”

Jonah didn’t meet his eyes. “Out.”

“Wait a minute,” Adam said as he followed his younger brother down the hall. “Things are falling apart here.” Adam didn’t just mean the laundry and he assumed Jonah knew that.

Jonah ducked his head and made a beeline for the front door. Adam stayed on his heels. “I know,” Jonah declared. “I’ll help. I promise.”

“When?” Adam demanded.

“Later.”

“But we should—”

Jonah flung open the front door and closed it shut firmly behind him, rattling the glass. Adam stood staring at his brother’s retreating form through the leaded glass. Behind him, Pop stirred. Adam turned as the old man struggled to his feet, glared at his surroundings, and then zeroed in on Adam.

“Too damn loud in here,” he declared. He shuffled off down the hall to the master bedroom and slammed his own door shut.

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming on. He made his way to the couch and flopped down onto the spot Pop had just vacated. He picked up a shirt off the top of the pile. As he folded the mountain of clothes, he watched Lucy stomping the grapes, his mother’s favorite.

Her letter hadn’t offered much in the way of advice. How in the hell was he going to bring his family together? He couldn’t even get them in the same room.