Kingdom (Avenues Ink Series Book 2)

by A. M. Johnson

  Eventually we traded the window for the front door after she’d graduated. And after my father died, and I moved out, she basically lived at my apartment. But everything had gone from storybook to fucked up, and for the past three years, I’d been haunted by how I’d let it all crumble down around me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face… the fear in her eyes on the night she’d finally left. Kelly walked out of my life, not because she wanted to be a model, not even because she was tired of this town, she fucking left me because I was no longer her prince. I’d become the villain. I’d held her captive, and she’d finally found the strength to leave.

  Once Upon a Present

  Funerals are nothing like how they are portrayed in movies. If they were, the sun would be hidden by dark clouds, and I’d be standing under a black umbrella as my heels sank in the wet mud. But today, as I watched them lower the plain wooden casket into the ground, the sun was shining bright. The cherry blossoms and apricot trees were in full bloom. It was as if the world had lost a bit of its darkness as the earth swallowed my father. Normally, I’d been told, the funeral workers were supposed to wait until the family left to lower the casket, but I had lingered too long.

  Tracey, Erin, and my mom had left twenty minutes ago, headed for dad’s favorite pub. It’d been my mother’s idea to have a few shots in his honor, or as Tracey had said, “In celebration of his passing.” I’d planned on following right behind them, but it didn’t sit right for me, paying homage to the affliction that had ruined our family, and my legs hadn’t moved. They were planted to the ground, waiting for some sort of solace. He died seven days ago, seven days of feeling a little less shadowed by the burden of his heartbeats, his words, his eyes. I hadn’t seen him in three years, but he’d haunted me, nevertheless. There were black spots, rotted through to the bone, in the places he’d always own, always reminding me of what I’d gone through, always holding back the full golden light of the sun.

  The engine of the backhoe startled me. The large mound of dirt that had been covered earlier with green AstroTurf was now exposed as the loud machine scooped and pushed—filling the grave. My hands began to shake and my legs finally found the will to move. This was real. He was dead. It hit me, and the tears fell down my face as my chest filled with a suffocating pressure. Weight, like the earth that spilled, covered my father and poured over me, as well. His death was bitter-sweet, just like his love, and I was sick for needing it, for feeling lost without the man who’d destroyed me.

  My entire body ached from standing still for as long as I had. It was a relief to sit as I started the engine of the car. It wasn’t a long drive to the pub, and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to pull my shit together before I went in. My mother was a lot like me, sad and wandering, but Tracey, it was the happiest I’d ever seen her. I envied her ability to move on, but she hadn’t been there for the worst of him either.

  The parking lot was filled with more cars than I expected for an early afternoon. Who was I to judge? I was about to day drink just like everyone inside. I took a deep breath and pulled the rearview mirror down so I could see my reflection. My waterproof mascara hadn’t budged and as I stared into my brown eyes, I wondered if I’d ever truly be free of him. I took a deep breath and let the memory wash over me.

  His smile stretched across his tan skin and he laughed. His hand gripped my arm and he pulled me closer. It was my daddy, and I wished I wasn’t afraid, but his breath smelled sour and he was disappointed. I should’ve done better. His fingers pressed deeply into my skin, and it hurt, but I knew I shouldn’t cry. It only ever made things worse. Just like mom had always said, “Tears will only ever get you pity, not love. You gotta work for love.”

  His eyes were cloudy as he leaned down, almost kneeling to look me in the eyes. “Use your beauty, girl, because it’s all you’ll ever have,” he said and then stood taking a long sip from the brown bottle in his other hand.

  My eyes filled with tears as I rubbed my arm. Bruises were already forming where his fingers had been. He looked at me again and frowned as he ran his free hand through his hair. He set the bottle down on the counter, grabbed the plate I’d washed, and said, “Try again.”

  I’d been a burden to my father since the day I was born. Tracey was the first, and I was a mistake. He hated her for the life she earned and me for the life he thought I’d ruined. I swallowed and shut off the car. I grabbed my bag before I opened the door letting the sweet spring air fill my chest. I felt a little less claustrophobic as I ran my hand down the soft material of my dress to calm my shaking fingers.

  As I navigated the gravel parking lot, I chuckled under my breath. I was about to have drinks in a dive bar celebrating my fucked-up father’s death, wearing thousand dollar, black stilettos, and a designer dress. Maybe it was the emotion of the day, but I couldn’t stop myself from giggling. One minute I wanted to cry and the next, I’m laughing. I was the definition of a hot mess. My smile faded when I saw a motorcycle parked right in front of the pub. It looked exactly like the Harley Liam had bought before I left, down to the black paint and red detail. I let out a long exhale as I moved past the bike. I was letting the day get the best of me. Liam’s Harley wasn’t custom, this could be anyone’s motorcycle. I shook my head and opened the front door of the pub.

  The place smelled like bad pick-up lines, old cigarettes, and stale beer. Loud laughter roared just around the corner from where Tracey and Erin were sitting at the bar. There must be a party in the back room, because the front of the place was empty.

  “Where’s Mom?” I asked as I slid onto the barstool next to Tracey and placed my bag on the bar top.

  “She went home. Guess she got sick of me talking shit about Dad.” Tracey rolled her eyes. “It’s always been kind of funny to me, how after someone dies, people place them on this grand pedestal they don’t deserve because we’re supposed to respect the dead.” She met my gaze as she sipped from her drink. “What took you so long?” she asked.

  “I got lost.”

  Tracey smirked. She could always smell my bullshit. “You’re the worst liar in the world.” She raised her hand and the bartender, a man who looked old enough to be well into retirement, lifted his chin in response. “Pour this girl a glass of your best bourbon.”

  The bartender gave me a warm smile, his skin crinkling around the edges of his mouth like an old piece of paper, and nodded. “You got it.”

  “You leave tonight?” I asked.

  “Yup, Erin has to get back to work, and I have rehearsals.” She took Erin’s hand in hers and kissed her on the cheek. “Plus, I’m ready to get the fuck out of this town.”

  Erin and I laughed as the bartender set the glass in front of me.

  Tracey taught drama at the University of Connecticut and directed most of the plays for a small community theatre group in Hartford. I’d learned this week that she and Erin met at one of those very plays. Erin was a lawyer who enjoyed supporting the arts and, after she’d seen Tracey’s adaptation of The Seagull, she’d demanded to meet the director. It was love at first sight.

  Watching them together, soft kisses and tender gazes, it was hard not to be jealous. I lifted the glass to my lips, and the smell turned my stomach.

  “It’s now or never, girl.” Erin joked, and my smile faltered, but not enough that she noticed.

  Girl.

  She couldn’t have known the effect the word would have on me. I downed the bourbon. The overly sweet taste branded my throat and my mouth filled with saliva.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I muttered and pushed back from the bar onto my feet.

  Tracey’s brows furrowed as she pointed over her shoulder. “It’s that way.”

  I made it down the narrow hallway just in time. I pushed open the bathroom door. The low light made it easier to ignore the filthy floor as I fell to my knees in the stall. I dry heaved, my empty stomach refusing to settle. I hadn’t eaten today. The bourbon and bile mixed inside the toilet bowl, making me even more nauseous
. I leaned over the toilet and flushed it. My legs wobbled as I stood and turned toward the sink. The cold water soothed my lips and throat as I sipped from my palms. I swished and sipped, repeating the cycle at least ten times before I was satisfied. I dried my mouth and hands with a rough paper towel and pulled my fingers through my hair. I sucked in a long ragged breath. This day was almost over, and as I stared at my reflection, I hoped tomorrow would be a fresh start.

  The music from the party in the back played through the hallway as I opened the bathroom door. My head was down, my hands smoothing my dress as I stepped from the doorway right into a hard wall of leather and wood smoke. His scent circled around me along with his arms.

  “Fuck, I didn’t—”

  Liam’s face paled as his pupils dilated. The soft creases around his eyes grew tight and his hands dropped from my waist like he’d been electrocuted. My heart fell into my sick stomach, but the pressure in my chest spread through my veins like a vine and up my throat, strangling me, as I looked into his eyes. Liam’s eyes.

  Each breath was a shard of glass; his smell, it was a vicious weapon.

  He took a step away from me, his own chest heaving. His eyes, as always, trapped me. The silence between us was an impenetrable fog, and the Liam I’d once known faded into the gray distance we’d both built three years ago.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” It was more of an accusation than a question. When I didn’t immediately answer he took a step forward, fists clenched and jaw tight as he said, “Slumming it as always? What, that pretty boy didn’t meet your needs?”

  He hadn’t even touched me, but I felt the pain of his words as if he’d slapped me. He took another step forward, closing the space between us. I tried to retreat, but my back hit the wall.

  “Liam…” He winced when I said his name, but he schooled his features and placed his hands against the wall on either side of my head caging me in.

  “Don’t fucking say my name like you know me.” His breath was warm and smelled like beer, bringing up the old ghosts of the night I left. My lips began to tremble, and Liam’s eyes fell to my mouth.

  “I know you, Liam. I always have.” I infused as much strength into my voice as I could. His scent, his eyes, the heat from his body, they were all slowly draining me.

  His lips thinned. “You don’t know shit. Not anymore.”

  He pushed away from the wall and I was spared a moment to breathe.

  “I hate the way everything ended. I hate the way you’re looking at me right now, like it’s all my fault.” I stood taller, his self-righteous posture fueled the small spark I’d been harboring all these years.

  “Is that why you call me? Hoping I’ll answer … share some of the blame you love to throw at me? That I’ll make your choice, your choice to leave, sit better on your perfect, fucking shoulders?” Liam’s voice raised above the music.

  His anger lit the small ember inside me and my eyes filled with furious tears. He had everything so twisted. “Every time, Liam, every damn time, with your fucking assumptions. I wanted to leave, I wanted a different life, but—”

  “I know!” His brown eyes turned dark as he stepped closer.

  “You don’t know!” Hot tears trailed down my face as he placed his hands against the wall, trapping me again.

  He leaned in and inhaled. His eyes closed as he spoke in a growled whisper, “I fucking hate that every time I close my eyes all I see is your face…” My heart stopped as his eyes opened. “It’s a nightmare I’ll never wake up from.”

  A sob wracked through my body as he backed away. “Don’t fucking call me anymore. It ended three years ago, and yeah, maybe I assumed some shit, but I always knew you’d eventually leave. And you proved me fucking right.”

  He twisted the dagger he’d placed years ago. His words did more than wound me, they’d delivered the final death blow.

  “Liam?” A small female voice grabbed his attention and he turned away from me.

  “Fuck, Tana, I’ll be right there.”

  I didn’t dare look at her. I was barely holding on to all of my broken pieces as it was, and if I allowed myself to see her, to see his new happily ever after, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself from falling apart completely. Liam’s hand scrubbed down his face, and his eyes never met mine again.

  “I hope he gives you everything I couldn’t,” he said with a tight jaw and walked away leaving me for dead.

  The weight of his body calmed her breathing and eased the pain between her legs. His warm hands framed her face as he connected their bodies, treating her like glass, filling her with more than himself, with a sense of safety she’d never felt before. His forehead rested against her brow and she whispered his name, “Liam.”

  Like a wish or a dare, his eyes opened and locked on hers. His voice was rough and parched as he said, “Happy Birthday.”

  He moved slowly above her, and the ache inside her changed to fire as his lips claimed hers. His body, his hands marked her as his own, her first. His breathing was sharp as she nipped at his lips, and her fingers fought to find purchase along his shoulders, his back, his hips. He braced himself, his palms resting on either side of her head, and his eyes began to close as they both moved together, in waves, in rhythm, in feeling.

  She moaned into his mouth as he brought his right hand to her breast. His tongue tasted the seam of her lips once, then her jaw, and then her neck with wet kisses. The heat of him hitched her breathing and coiled every muscle in her stomach. He pulled away, a smile growing across his face, as his dark eyes burned a path along her cheeks, her chest, her tummy, and then lingered where they were linked as he moved inside her. His fingers fell between them, moving in skillful circles against her needy skin, and she gasped as the pressure untied her thoughts.

  She didn’t think about her family and how they’d forgotten another birthday. She didn’t worry about the future or what privileges turning eighteen could grant her. She was lost in the moment of him, in the present. As the air left her lungs, and a growl slipped from his lips, she let the world fall away. As she crashed and split into a thousand shattered pieces, Liam’s body stilled. She held her breath as she watched him break as well. When his body hovered over her again and his damp, painted skin, brushed along her stomach and breasts, as his kisses enveloped her, one word stirred inside her beating heart. Love… Love… Love...

  His palms cradled her face, and his thumbs moved softly against her cheeks as she traced his bottom lip with her finger.

  “How do you feel?” he asked as he dipped his lips and pressed them between her brows.

  “Free.”

  Once Upon a Time

  The club was packed and the loud music was giving me a headache as I sipped my warm beer. The heavy flavor reminded me of skunks and made my stomach flop.

  Liam’s lips touched my ear as he leaned in. “Happy Birthday, Princess.”

  I rolled my eyes. This was not my idea of a happy birthday. “Thanks.”

  Liam pulled away and searched my eyes for a few moments before finishing his beer. He placed the bottle on the bar and motioned to the bartender for another. I didn’t usually count, but that was beer number seven.

  “Bad day?” I asked setting my drink down.

  His full lips parted and split into a sexy grin. “Not anymore.” My irritation waned as he gripped my jean-clad thighs, pulling them apart enough so that he could stand between them. He kissed me, his taste masked with bitter hops.

  My lips tingled as he pulled away, his five o’clock shadow felt more like a day old sunset and the burn of it felt off.

  “I thought we were going to dinner?” I asked as the bartender set his new beer down in front of him and popped the cap.

  Liam drank deeply from the bottle and my pulse quickened. We both drank. I was more of a wine lover, and he had a thing for dark beers, but it was never a problem. We both had lost too much to addiction to allow it to be one. Both of our fathers’ love of alcohol had destroyed so many
good things. Liam had lost his dad to cirrhosis three years ago, and my dad… I figured, was well on that same path.

  “Colossus closes at nine.” He gave me a sad smile. “I should’ve grabbed us two burgers. It doesn’t feel like your birthday without them, does it?”

  Liam had started the tradition on my eighteenth birthday of taking me to Colossus. We’d been together about three months, and he’d proclaimed that my eighteenth birthday would be about rites of passage since it had been the “rite of passage tattoo” that had brought us together in the first place. I’d skipped school so he could feed me a “real” burger, and he let me drive his Harley an impressive five blocks. After lunch, he’d surprised me with a trip all the way to Wyoming. In Utah you had to be nineteen to buy smokes, and there was no gambling allowed. He’d made sure I bought a pack of cigarettes, and a lotto ticket. When we’d made our way back into town a little after seven, he’d brought me home. My parents hadn’t been there, another birthday forgotten, and I’d cried harder than I think a guy like Liam was used to seeing. He’d carried me inside and told me they didn’t deserve a daughter like me. He’d made me feel special, and he made my beauty something I could embrace instead of fear. I’d offered him my own rite of passage that night. It was more than sex, he’d taught me the definition of love, even if it had taken us another nine months to utter the word to each other.