Harder (Stark Ink Book 1)

by Dahlia West

  Another thought struck him and he looked at Calla. “Don’t take her away.”

  Calla’s face softened again in sympathy. “Adam, I can’t take Ava—”

  “Don’t bullshit me. Jonah was a foster kid, remember? I know how it works. A kid has problems at school, you look for problems at home, then CPS steps in and that’s it.”

  In truth, Adam only had a basic idea of how the system worked. He knew Jonah had needed to be taken out of his home, but Ava didn’t. Of course Ava had kept Pop’s condition a secret. She had too much to lose. This is the only family I have!

  But that wasn’t exactly true. Ava had another family, one that hadn’t wanted her; and while Mom and Pop glossed over all the particulars, they’d chosen to be honest with her about being adopted. Ava had always known not where she’d come from, precisely, but how she’d become a Stark. He couldn’t blame her for feeling like families were fragile, tenuous things.

  “She’s just scared,” Adam told Calla. “She’s just scared to lose Pop, too,” he quickly corrected himself, lest Calla think some bullshit about Ava being afraid of Pop.

  “Adam, no one’s trying to take Ava,” Calla assured him.

  Adam eyed her warily but could detect no deception in her soft, brown eyes. “CPS would want to keep your family together, as long as that’s possible and safe for Ava.”

  Adam looked back through the window. “I’ve been a shit brother,” he admitted quietly. “I know it, but Calla, please, I meant what I said. I’ll do anything for my family. Jonah was only in the system for a few years, shuffled around from home to home before he came here and my folks adopted him.” Adam’s voice caught in his throat as he pictured his brooding, mostly silent youngest brother. Adam could not recall having ever hugged him. How much of foster care life was responsible for the way Jonah was now? Adam knew it had to have had some (negative) effect. “It’s no place for Ava.”

  “No one is taking Ava,” Calla insisted.

  Adam looked at her and felt himself both desperate and pleading, which was new for him and so very goddamn terrifying. “Don’t tell anyone,” he begged.

  Unfortunately, Calla shook her head. “That I can’t do.” She stepped forward. For a moment he thought she was reaching for the door, but instead she gently took hold of his upper arm and squeezed.

  “I’m not asking for special treatment,” Adam told her. He swallowed hard, the cold pit in his stomach warring with the feel of Calla’s small, warm hand on his arm. He opened his mouth again and for the first time in thirty-five years, he said, “I’m asking for help.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Adam rapped sharply on Dalton’s front door. He waited, giving him a few extra minutes due to the extreme hour. If Dalton didn’t answer within the next five minutes, though, Adam would get out his keys. Four and a half minutes and counting, he heard the snick of the deadbolt.

  Dalton, red-eyed and unshaven, glared at him from the entryway. “What. The. Fuck?”

  Adam handed him a black coffee from the gas station on the corner and pushed past, into the apartment. Dalton closed the door and shuffled along behind him. He wasn’t yet dressed, clad only in a pair of boxers. Adam felt damn lucky he’d at least put those on to answer the door.

  Dalton looked at his wrist, realized he wasn’t wearing his watch, and then stared at the clock on the microwave. “It’s not even six a.m.,” he growled.

  Adam shrugged. He didn’t want to say that he dropped by so early in the hopes of catching his brother sober for once. Adam glanced around the apartment and frowned. In just a few days, Dalton had managed to fuck up his place again. Adam didn’t think Zoey had cleaned that much while she and Dalton had been together. And he’d obviously kept up the place before they’d ever met. “Are you going to work today?” Adam asked him pointedly.

  Dalton ripped the plastic lid off the coffee and drank deeply for a moment. The moment stretched out between them, aggravating Adam, which he was certain was most of the point. Dalton finally lowered the cup. “Yeah, Pop. Thanks for the concern.”

  “This is about Pop.”

  Dalton paused. “What about him?”

  Adam debated how to start. If Dalton had picked up on anything odd about Pop, he’d never thought enough of it to mention it to Adam. It was likely that, like Adam, anything out of the ordinary had been ignored, if it had been noticed at all. “Have you seen him acting differently?”

  Dalton’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

  Adam sighed. There would be no way to ease his brother into the situation. He might as well just lay it all out so they could come up with a plan. “Last night Pop thought Ava was Mom.”

  Dalton’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “He called her Miriam. And then he got even more confused and thought Mom wasn’t home because she was at the store.”

  “Mom?” Dalton asked as he rubbed his unshaved face.

  “Yes, Mom,” Adam snapped.

  “Sorry! I’m just—I don’t… understand,” spluttered Dalton, looking about as confused as Pop had the night before.

  “Ava had been skipping her last hour of school to help Mom with him. Did you read your letter? Did she say anything to you about Pop?”

  Dalton shook his head slowly, as if it hurt. It probably did. Adam was certain he wasn’t drunk but it was impossible to ignore the fact that he was hungover. Adam tamped down the rising irritation.

  “She didn’t say anything about it.”

  “And you haven’t been over there lately,” Adam grumbled.

  Dalton bristled. “You haven’t exactly been around, either!”

  Adam frowned. Nothing would be resolved by making it about the two of them. “Okay. I know. Look, I’m sorry. I wasn’t pointing fingers,” he said, even though he had been. “Listen, I’ve got an appointment for him this afternoon. I need you to come.”

  Dalton grimaced. “I can’t. I just… I missed a few days of work and I need to make it up.”

  They both knew this was a lie. It had been a hell of a lot more than a few days as evidenced by the messages on Dalton’s phone, but Adam had enough to deal with right now. He could figure out what to do about all this once they knew exactly what was going on with Pop.

  “I was going to work some overtime the next few days,” Dalton explained.

  Adam wondered if the overtime was voluntary or contingent upon Dalton keeping his job. Chances were it was the latter. As much as Adam wanted his brother there with him, he couldn’t let Dalton lose his job either. “Okay,” he replied.

  Dalton sighed. “Maybe I can make it. Maybe I can work it out.”

  “No, D, it’s okay. I’ll call you after.”

  “Sorry,” Dalton muttered.

  “Yeah,” Adam replied, as there didn’t seem to be anything to do but accept it. He turned and headed toward the front door, stifling the urge to clean the place again. At some point Dalton was going to have to get his shit together. Maybe this thing with Pop would knock some sense back into him. Adam got in the car and headed to his second stop, the house. He needed to catch Jonah before he left for work himself. As he pulled up to the house, it seemed quiet inside, nothing like the barely controlled chaos of Dalton and Adam rushing around, always running late, getting ready for school. Mom and Pop had had it a bit easier with Ava and Jonah, Adam suspected. He killed the engine and headed toward the door.

  He used his keys this time and didn’t bother knocking. The living room was empty, as was the kitchen. Down the hall, water was running in the bathroom. Adam quietly eased open Pop’s bedroom door and found the man still asleep. He realized he wasn’t sure what time Pop usually woke these days. Usually the old man was up with the sunrise, but that had been years ago when Adam still lived here. Maybe it wasn’t unusual for him to sleep this late.

  Ava careened out of the bathroom and nearly plowed into him. “God!” she gasped, obviously startled.

  “Sorry. Just came to check in.”

  “Well, he’s asleep,” s
he said quietly.

  “Yeah, does he always sleep this late?”

  “Mostly, yeah.”

  “Even… before?”

  She nodded and Adam felt relief wash through him. At least not everything was out of whack. Jonah came out of his own room but stopped when he saw Adam standing in the hall. He was ready for work, minus the black apron.

  “Look who finally showed up,” Ava snapped as she glared at Jonah. She turned and stalked back to her bedroom leaving them alone.

  “Can we talk?” Adam asked, keeping his voice down.

  Jonah nodded and they headed to the kitchen. Jonah grabbed a soda out of the fridge and popped the top. He looked past Adam, out the sliding glass door and toward Sienna’s house across the backyard. “Guess last night didn’t go so well. So they’re going to school today?”

  “Yeah, she promised. No more skipping.” Adam tapped the counter with his knuckles. “Listen, we have to talk.”

  “So you said. I’ll mow the lawn when I get off work.”

  Adam shook his head. “It’s not that. I need you to call in sick to work this afternoon.”

  Jonah frowned. “Why?”

  “To stay with Pop,” Adam explained. “I have a client appointment. I can’t be here until late this afternoon.”

  Jonah set the soda down. “So why do I need to stay home? Is Pop sick?”

  Adam sighed, already feeling tired and it wasn’t even eight a.m. yet. Having to talk about this over and over was wearing on him. “Sit down.”

  Jonah looked surprised but took a seat at the kitchen table. For the second time that morning, Adam explained about Pop and the pickles. Jonah listened quietly with his palms spread out across the flat surface of the table. “Jesus,” he muttered. He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I mean… Jesus.”

  “Jonah, I know you agreed to help out more, but things are more serious than that. I think- I’m going to need you quit your job.”

  Jonah’s jaw dropped. “Adam, I can’t—”

  Adam raised a hand. “Hear me out. I’ll pay you whatever you’re making now.”

  Adam had wanted to hire another artist now that his loans were paid off, but it wasn’t going to happen now. It looked like he’d have to put off expanding the shop. Indefinitely. He thought of his mom who cleaned houses as well as the church for years to pay for Dalton’s football registration fees and summer camps. God knew she’d made enough sacrifices for them.

  “Ava can’t do it alone and I have to work. I’ll pay you whatever you need, but someone has to be with him.”

  Adam tried not to let on how difficult this was. By himself, he’d make just enough to keep the doors of Stark Ink open. Just barely. And who knew what Pop would need in the way of doctor’s appointments and prescriptions? Probably all the money Adam had managed to save to start with. As Jonah briefly considered it then nodded, Adam felt his family coming together but his dreams slipping out of his grasp.

  Chapter Twelve

  Adam pulled up to the front of the house, on time thankfully. The client appointment had gone quickly and traffic had been good. He still had splattered ink on his jeans and some underneath his fingernails from his slapdash and piss-poor attempt to clean up his workroom before running out the door. As he entered the living room, he saw Jonah sitting with Pop who was surfing through the TV channels. Adam didn’t know if Jonah had said anything about where they were going.

  He cleared his throat loudly. “Pop, we’ve got somewhere to be today.”

  The old man didn’t look away from the television. “Where’s that?”

  “Doctor.”

  Pop grunted. “Ain’t going.”

  “We need to go,” Adam told Pop. “Your blood pressure meds need to be worked out. Mom did all that stuff, now we’ve got to figure it out ourselves.”

  He felt like shit about lying, but Pop might not agree to go if he suspected the truth. Or maybe he already had an inkling but didn’t want to talk about it. How much did Pop remember about the night before? It was impossible to tell.

  Jonah was eyeing the old man like he might do something crazy at any given moment.

  “So, we’ve got to be there on time,” Adam prompted as he walked toward the door.

  Pop seemed to realize he was outnumbered. He turned off the television and grumbled all the way toward the front door.

  Adam figured he could handle the attitude as long as they got where they were going. He ushered Pop into the backseat where he had the most room, and walked around to the driver’s side. He could feel Jonah trying to eyeball him, get his attention, but Adam ignored him. He knew the kid had questions but Adam didn’t have any answers right now. He couldn’t think about what was going to happen when they got there. Right now he just had to get the old man from the house to the doctor’s office. They’d worry about everything else later.

  He slammed the door and cranked the engine hard, harder than he’d meant to. Jonah seemed to get the hint that now wasn’t the time to talk. Adam pulled away from the house and headed across town. Traffic was light and it only took ten minutes to get there. As Adam reached for the back door, he suddenly remembered the funeral and Pop’s refusal to get out of the car. He groaned inwardly, pulled the door handle, prayed. To his relief, the old man shuffled out of the back, though he glared at Adam as he stood up. Adam shut the door behind him and ushered him inside, quickly, before he changed his mind about cooperating.

  Adam didn’t know if Pop having an episode right now would be a bad thing or a good thing. He just put his head down and led their small group to the sliding doors. Pop took a chair in the lobby and snatched a magazine off the table. He wasn’t reading so much as pointedly ignoring his sons. Jonah, having taken the hint that Adam didn’t want to talk either, picked up a second magazine and flipped through it. Adam didn’t even want to sit down. He stood instead at the window that offered a view of the parking lot and the office park beyond. Hundreds of people were going about their day out there, a plain, ordinary day that would end with a nice home-cooked meal and maybe a few TV shows. Adam had rarely had an evening like that as an adult but he’d give almost anything now to have one.

  The nurse called them a few minutes later and they trudged, like a second funeral procession, to the small exam room.

  “Not taking off my skivvies,” Pop declared to the nurse, who merely smiled at him.

  “It’s not that kind of visit, Pop,” Adam assured the old man.

  Pop grumbled something that sounded like they didn’t need to be here. They didn’t want to be here and that wasn’t the same thing.

  The doctor entered the room and introduced himself. He had a spot of ink on his white lab coat. Adam thought it was a dumb thing to notice and an even dumber thing to comment on, so he kept his mouth shut.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Stark,” the doc said to Pop.

  Pop only nodded.

  “So you’ve had some trouble lately?”

  Pop stiffened and looked at Adam. Deep down, Adam was certain the old man knew exactly why they were here, he just didn’t want to admit it.

  “We’re just going to try a few cognitive exercises,” the doctor assured them. “Nothing too drastic. I’m going to give you three words and a bit later, I’ll ask you to tell me what they were. Ready?”

  Pop didn’t reply and Adam groaned inwardly. The doctor, however, seemed unperturbed. “Dog, car, barn. I’ll remind you about them in a few minutes. So, tell me about yourself. Are you retired? What kind of work did you do before?”

  Pop sat a little straighter in his chair, the way he always did when he talked about serving. “Marines. Thirty years. And yeah, I’m retired now.”

  The doctor nodded and scribbled in his notebook. “And your wife recently passed away?”

  Pop returned to the silent treatment, shoulders slumping a little.

  “Having trouble sleeping lately?”

  Pop scowled. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “It’s…”


  “Go on.”

  The old man sighed heavily. “Thirty years sharing a bed together, now she’s not there.”

  “I understand.”

  “Doubt it,” Pop grumbled.

  Adam opened his mouth to rebuke him but changed his mind and kept silent.

  “And you have episodes of confusion?” the doctor prompted.

  Pop bristled. “I just get tired. I get confused when I’m tired. That’s all.”

  “I understand.”

  “Can you stop saying that?” Pop snapped.

  “Pop,” Adam said quietly.

  “It’s alright,” said the doctor. “Yes. I’ll stop saying it.” He picked up a small hand-held puzzle off his desk and handed it to Pop. “Can you take that apart and put it back together again for me?”

  Pop grunted but took the puzzle.

  To Adam, the doctor said, “When do the episodes usually occur? The same time of day or more random? Every day? Some days? Most days?”

  Adam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Late afternoon and evenings, I guess. Not every day, though. My sister, she…” He hesitated to say ‘takes care of him.’ “She’s with him during that time. He’s only confused once in a while.”

  The doctor nodded again and scribbled in his notebook. “Any problems with language?” he asked without looking up. “Searching for the right word? Using the wrong word?”

  Adam shook his head. “No. Not that I know of.”

  “Any difficulty understanding basic tasks? Milk goes in the bowl, socks go on before the shoes?”

  Pop’s eyes narrowed. “I know how to dress myself Goddammit!”

  “Pop,” Adam replied sharply.

  “It’s alright,” the doctor said calmly. The pen never stopped moving and so he didn’t appear to be offended. “It’s frustrating.”

  “Say you understand again,” Pop growled.