by Danika Stone
“Shit!” Ava groaned, putting her hands against his chest. “Cole, it’s not how it looks.”
He turned on her, eyes glittering like ice.
“What exactly does it look like, Ava?” he ground out.
For a moment something wavered inside her. It was the control of her temper she’d worked on for years. The balance her father had encouraged; the ability to look at both sides of a situation before reacting.
With Cole’s accusation, it was gone.
“You know what,” Ava barked, her face flushing with alcohol and indignation, “I don’t owe you a fucking explanation. BACK OFF!”
Cole’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her toward the front door. Kip Chambers was trailing four steps behind them, his face concerned.
“I know what I saw, Ava!” Cole snarled.
With a rough yank, Ava pulled her arm out of his grasp, turning the other direction. There was a fire exit at the back of the building, and she was leaving.
“You saw WRONG!” she bellowed, fury burning over common sense. “I can talk to whoever the fuck I want to, so PISS OFF, asshole!”
Somehow Cole got in front of her.
“No, fucking way,” he growled, his body a solid wall. “We are not done talking!”
They were her own words, thrown back at her, and she was not amused. Ava smiled angrily, rage sharpening her words into daggers.
“Well, I WAS talking to Kip but you interrupted us.” She shoved hard against his chest. “Now FUCK OFF and LET ME GO!”
Cole grabbed her elbow again, trying to drag her back, when Chambers stepped in.
“You let go of her,” he snarled, his face darker than Ava’d ever seen.
He didn’t look like a surfer or skateboarder now. He looked like the kind of thin-limbed hustler who you’d see in an alley seconds before he shivved you.
“Shit!” Ava hissed. “Mind your own business, Kip.”
“That’s right, Kip,” Cole taunted. “Mind your own fucking business – ‘cause this ISN’T it!”
Ava spun around.
“You know what?” she shouted, hands on hips. “You guys do whatever the hell you want. I’m outta here!”
With that, Ava banged into the door behind her, storming out into the cold, leaving Kip and Cole scrambling after her. She jogged unsteadily down the alley, listening as the two men snapped and yelled, curses and swearing escalating into taunts and threats, but she refused to stop. As she rounded the corner, she heard the thud of flesh on flesh. She turned back to see Cole and Kip circling each other, fists up. Kip’s lip was bleeding; Cole’s back was turned to her.
She stumbled as another memory – like the night at the gallery – superimposed onto the scene.
Bright daylight, two men standing on green grass. Ava standing a short ways away, sobbing.
“Choose your weapon, you fool.”
“No weapons, Jon. Just my fists…”
“Your fists?” he’d scoffed.
“I’m going to beat you within an inch of your life, you arrogant bastard… and I intend to enjoy every moment of it.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so certain…”
Ava heaved, her mouth burning with alcohol and bile. In the alley behind her, sounds of fighting continued, grunts and hisses punctuated by the thud of fists continued.
“Stop it, please! Both of you just STOP!”
Wiping a trail of saliva away, Ava staggered upward, staring into the darkness.
The alley in front of her was an alley once more.
“Fuck!” she muttered, turning the corner and leaving both men behind. She was so angry right now. The only thing she wanted to do was go start a fight herself... or paint a train... or... or…
Ava lurched to a stop at the front door of The Crown and Sceptre, pushing her way inside and weaving her way to the booth. Suzanne sat atop Chim’s lap, giggling loudly as his fingers worked their way up inside her shirt.
“Need my stuff,” Ava mumbled, grabbing her jacket and bag. Chim glanced up, concerned.
“Hey, where’s Cole? He was looking for you.”
She shook her head in disgust, gesturing outside.
“Well he found me!” she sneered. “Cole and Chambers are in the alley, beatin’ the shit outta each other.”
“Fuck!” Chim cursed, shoving Suzanne roughly onto the bench before scrambling out into the crowd.
“Wait for me!” he yelled, but Ava was already halfway to the door, heading into the night.
It was January 1st, and it was snowing, the world transformed by the sudden reappearance of winter.
Chapter 40: On the Step
Cole’s temper had been exorcised through pain given and received. Hours later, half-dazed, he wandered the empty streets, looking for Ava. The inky black of night in the city had given way to sombre pre-dawn gloom. Cole had no idea where she’d gone, and Chim – furious after breaking up the fight – wouldn’t talk to him at all. Cole headed back to the dorms, knuckles swollen, lip bleeding, his body aching and exhausted.
‘Really fucked it up this time, Thomas…’
Cole spat a line of blood and saliva, breathing through his mouth rather than his blocked nose. He was three blocks from home. It had taken him almost an hour to walk from downtown in the slowly falling snow. The image of the city reborn in white would have been beautiful if he’d had the image to share with someone, but as it was, he could only focus on the cold. His swollen hands were numb in his pockets.
Ava’s apartment appeared, the rectangular structure looming. Cole paused, wavering with indecision before walking up to the front door. He’d called Ava’s cell phone at least ten times since the fight. She wasn’t answering. Either she didn’t have her phone with her, or she didn’t want to talk. Cole was sick and horrified with himself and his reaction to what he’d seen. His anger with Ava had winked out as the first punch reached Kip’s face.
His teeth clenched. Cole rubbed his jaw, wincing at white-hot pain. He wasn’t sure why Kip Chambers threw gasoline onto the flames of his temper, but he did. (He had to give the guy this much, though – Chambers might look like a punk – but the guy knew how to throw a fist.) Unfortunately, there was going to be repercussions to this... There already were. With this thought in mind, he finally rang the buzzer to Ava’s apartment, waiting until he heard the crackle of connection.
“H’lo?”
‘Shit!’ Cole’s mind screamed. In the stunned aftermath of the fistfight, he’d forgotten that Oliver Brooks was at home. Cole turned, ready to jog away, but the intercom snapped again.
“Ava... that you, Kiddo?”
Cole turned back around, heart pounding. He closed his eyes, pushing the button once more.
“Sorry, sir. It’s just Cole... I, uh... I thought maybe Ava’d come home. She must be with Chim, though.”
Cole let go of the button and had just stepped back when the crackle came again.
“Cole, WAIT!” Oliver ordered. “I’m coming downstairs.”
Cole cursed aloud. He sank down onto the single step, putting his head into his hands. He'd been certain this situation couldn’t possibly get any worse.
It just had.
The door opened and Oliver appeared, his grey suit jacket tossed on atop sweatpants and a faded black Grateful Dead t-shirt. Cole struggled to his feet, standing sheepishly before Ava’s father.
“What the hell happened?” Oliver gasped. “Is Ava alright?!” he asked, not waiting for an answer. His voice was sharp and loud, his face anguished. He had his cell phone in one hand, the fingers of his other hand gesturing at the evidence of a fight on Cole’s face.
“Ava’s fine... I think...” Cole answered. “We got in an argument... and I uh... I got in a fight with a friend of hers... a guy... she took off.” He grimaced. “I fucked up.”
“Where is she now?” Oliver interrupted. “I thought she was staying with you tonight.”
Cole was horrified that Ava’s father not only knew this but was okay with
it, but he answered anyhow.
“I thought she was with Chim and Suzanne, but she wasn’t with them when I left... I dunno where she went. That’s why I came here.” Cole stared at the ground. He turned around, intending to head back down the street.
“You just sit down a minute,” Oliver snapped. “We’re not finished talking.”
Cole muttered a curse and sat back down, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. , Oliver lifted his phone and dialled a number. After a moment, he sighed, as if something inside him had just released.
“Yeah, Ava – it’s me, Dad.” Cole glanced up in surprise, catching Oliver’s relieved expression. “No... no reason. Just woke up and felt like calling you, so I did,” he said, then dropped his voice. “You okay there, Kiddo? You sound a little upset.”
There was a pause as Ava answered. Cole could hear her voice on the other end, and though he couldn’t make out the words he caught the tone. Livid. Her father muttered small words of agreement, glancing at Cole now and then.
“Well, yeah...” Oliver mumbled, “I could see how you would.” There was another bout of sharp words and Cole shifted uncomfortably where he sat. “Uh-huh,” Oliver said again, “so you’re staying there tonight then? I could come get you if you want.”
Cole glanced up, frowning. ‘Where is she?’
“Okay then,” her father said with a heavy sigh. “Sounds like a plan then... you do what you need to do.” Cole watched as Oliver smiled sadly, turning away. His voice dropped lower, barely audible. “Well, if you’re not sleeping, how ‘bout I come by tomorrow morning... pick you up for breakfast then. Hmmm?” Another pause. “Love you too, Kiddo… yup… I know… right. Tomorrow morning then…”
There were a few more words and then goodbyes. Cole stood up and winced, his muscles starting to ache, the crack on his lip reopened. He took no more than ten steps away when Oliver called out to him; cell phone closed and back in his pocket.
“C’mon back, Cole,” he said with a half-smile. “No one gets off that easy when they wake me up at four-thirty in the morning.”
Cole’s feet stopped. He could feel something balanced between them. Any other day and he would’ve walked away, but things had changed. Ava wasn’t here and he really wished she was.
“C’mon,” Oliver said with a weary laugh. “You owe me one.”
With a defeated groan, Cole followed Ava’s father back into the building.
Chapter 41: The Fire Escape
They were sitting on the fire escape as the sun hit the horizon, the warm yellow light contrasting against the bright blue shadows of newly fallen snow. The two men were talking, as they’d been doing for hours. Cole had a mug of overly-strong coffee in his hands, an old wool coat smelling of tobacco thrown over his jacket, Oliver chain smoking next to him. Their words wove around the two of them... swirling like snow in the wind.
Some time ago, Cole had stopped thinking about how to answer Ava’s father, and just started responding. It was just too difficult to keep up otherwise. Ollie’s mind worked in ways Cole couldn’t understand. He would quote from the Enlightenment: “Voltaire once said ‘It was no more surprising to be born twice than once; everything in nature is resurrection’...” followed by epithets of Aboriginal wisdom... “while our culture thought of death as the end, there are many – like the Hopi people who say ‘In death I am born’.” It left Cole admiring the man’s ability to balance so many ideas. Not once had Oliver overtly disagreed with him, but time and again, he’d circled the conversation around to make Cole question himself.
Cole wasn’t sure he liked what he was discovering.
In the last hazy hour as the sun crept into day, they’d gotten onto the topic of choices. Oliver was talking circles around him. Cole took another sip of coffee and tried, ineffectively, to keep up. Every one of his alcohol-fogged arguments felt less sound than the last, as if his thoughts were in a tiny boat, the water beneath his logic moving incessantly. The fight, of course, had been an absolutely stupid decision... though Cole had known that within seconds after it had started.
It was everything else that being dredged up now that worried him.
“People’s lives,” Oliver said, lighting a cigarette off the ember of another, “are different based on what they choose... people go around thinking that they have to be what their parents think they are, or some teacher told them, or this idea they had of manhood, womanhood... what have you. But it’s wrong, Cole. That’s all bullshit!”
Cole laughed sadly, watching Oliver as he talked, the ashes of the cigarette swirling like smoke around a magician as he gestured in the air.
“Make your choice,” Oliver said. “Everyone has one. Doesn’t matter who you are or where you come from. You can change the things you hate. Because nothing is ever predestined. I truly believe that.”
Cole laughed again, but this time the sound was bitter. Hard.
“Yeah, but sometimes it’s too late to matter.”
The older man shook his head in wordless disagreement, taking a long drag on his cigarette. The momentary silence felt comfortable, as if they’d sat on this step any number of times before. Cole wasn’t sure he’d ever talked to anyone other than Ava this way. Finally Oliver blew out a line of smoke, angling it to the side as he continued.
“So you fucked up tonight. So what? It’s only one time.”
Cole dropped his gaze.
“Well…”
“Okay, so it’s not the only time,” Oliver corrected, “but it’s a time... a single choice. It’s not all that you are. There’s something underneath… pushing you to do it. So tell me, Cole,” he said, pointing at him again with the burning cigarette. “Where’s this all coming from? What is it that really scares you?”
Again, Cole felt unbalanced, things coming unmoored around him. His boat of thoughts was listing, rudderless. He took a ragged breath, wondering why it sounded so much like a sob, then turned to Ava’s father. Hoping he’d understand.
“I’m scared she’s gonna leave,” Cole gasped, “just like everyone else.”
Oliver smiled, though his eyes – the same bright blue as hers – were sad.
“Ah, now... that’s the heart of it, right there, isn’t it?”
He reached out, squeezing Cole’s shoulder, then dropped his hand back to his lap, fiddling with the nearly empty package of cigarettes. Cole swallowed hard, wondering if he was supposed to answer. He didn’t think he could. His throat was a painful lump, eyes burning. Too many emotions churning inside him to form words.
“Someone else might tell you she won’t leave,” Oliver began, staring out over the snow below them, “but that’d be a lie. I have no idea what Ava will do, and I won’t pretend I do. What I will say is that you can’t control her actions, but you can control your own.” He turned back, catching Cole’s eyes. “So you tell me. What choices that you can make for yourself will make it easier for her to stay?”
Cole took another drink of coffee while he thought. He coughed nervously before he answered.
“I probably, uh... I need to learn to deal with my temper."
He glanced back to Ava’s father, wondering if this was the right answer or if he’d just made things worse by admitting how fucked-up he was.
“And that came from...?” Oliver prompted, an eyebrow rising. There was no judgement in his expression. Just benign interest.
Cole closed his eyes, feeling the press of memories hovering at the edges of who he was. He’d been answering questions without thinking for the last hours, and this one bubbled from his mouth in the same way.
Unbidden.
“It comes from issues I had... issues I have,” he corrected thoughtfully. “Things to do with my dad in particular. There was a lot of anger in the house I grew up in.”
Cole opened his eyes, catching Oliver watching him. There were lines incised on his forehead; the same ones that appeared when he hadn’t known where Ava had been last night. He looked older than he had a moment ago.
&nb
sp; “You told Ava about any of this?”
“Not everything... though she kind of understands it. I… I don’t want to freak her out, you know? My anger kind of... panics her.” Cole responded.
Oliver nodded, lifting the cigarette to his mouth, and breathing deeply. He laughed as he answered, breath making white clouds in the early morning air.
“Yeah,” he said, “that sounds like Ava... but she’s gotten her head together the last few years. She’s been working at that for a long time. You should talk to her about it sometime... it might surprise you how much she’ll understand where you’re coming from.”
There was something about the sorrow folded into his tone of voice that had Cole sitting up in concern. As he listened, Oliver began telling a story, his voice many years away.
“I got the phone call from Child Services when I was touring in Berlin. I remember that when I heard it was a trans-Atlantic call, I just knew somehow that something had happened to my little girl.” He glanced at Cole. “It happens sometimes like that for me. Just knowing... when I left on tour, things had been bad with Ava’s mom. I never considered that if they’d been bad for me, they’d be ten times worse for a five-year-old child.”
For a moment, Oliver stopped, shaking ashes into the coffee can next to him. His hands trembled.
“The abuse,” Cole whispered.
“A teacher saw the finger-marks,” Oliver continued, “and thank god she did! Social Services got involved. Things were just... bad... that first while.”
Cole swallowed hard. It felt like he shouldn’t be hearing this. That he was somehow spying on Ava, and the horrors of her childhood. She’d hinted, but never told him the full story like this.
“I came home, of course,” Oliver resumed, “and the whole thing was just a shit-storm. The divorce, and then the investigation for neglect.” He took the cigarette from his mouth, rubbing his temple. “Questions of whether or not I knew about Shay’s alcoholism.” He frowned, staring down at the step, his words growing rough. “I did, Cole… or I should have. And then later… when Ava started talking to the therapist, there were questions of abuse. I was under the microscope too. There were all these people asking how I could have missed the signs... I should have known... but I didn’t see, or I didn’t care... or was just too goddamn wrapped up in my own career to notice.”
