Palmer: A 2nd Generation Marked Heart Novel

by M. Sembera

  Palmer

  A 2nd Generation Marked Heart Novel

  M. Sembera

  Contents

  Palmer

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Roe

  2nd Generation Marked Heart

  Marked Heart Series

  About the Author

  Copyright 2017 © M. Sembera

  Kindle Edition

  Edited by Lucii Grubb

  Cover Design Copyright 2017

  Cover Improvisor/katyaulitina

  Images/Depositphoto

  Published by

  Broken Bird Media

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  For more information contact:

  M.Sembera@brokenbirdmedia.com

  Palmer is a work of fiction. All names, Characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Place name and any resemblance to events or actual persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental. The Wren and Celtic Heart logo is an original piece of art created specifically for M. Sembera.

  All Rights reserved by Broken Bird Media.

  Created with Vellum

  Palmer

  Palmer Hagan Caffrey

  Theme Song

  Trouble

  Cage The Elephant

  Let's get the formalities out of the way. No idea where mom and dad came up with the name Palmer. I inherited my middle name from my dad, and hell yea I'm a Caffrey through and through, even got the red hair to prove it. Anyways, I work at my mom and Aunt Penny's tattoo shop, Legacy Ink, and have since I was fifteen. I started off sweeping the floor and setting up for my aunt. Now, I have my own chair, steady clients and plans of becoming the next family marker once my apprenticeship with Aunt Penny is done.

  I'm a pretty honest mix of my parents. At least, that's the impression I got growing up. My dad swore I was just like mom, and my mom swore I was just like dad. Unless they're both pissed at me, then I'm just like my Uncle Auggie; which isn't even close to an insult if ya ask me. He owns The Dog House, our family's bar, has a smokin' hot wife and doesn't take any shit from anyone. A guy could do worse, know what I mean? Like I was sayin', I'm a lot like both my parents. Mom inspired my love of tattoos. She has full sleeves on both arms and they're beautiful. Dad started teaching me how to play guitar as soon as I was old enough to wrap my hand around the neck. He was in a band for a while with my Uncle Ailin, and Joie's dad, Brooks. I'm sort of following in his footsteps with that; it's not a forever thing though. When I was a teenager, it was a good way to hook up with girls, but the older I get, the less that kind of thing appeals to me. Don't get me wrong, I still get an itch that needs to be scratched and there's always a sweetheart in the crowd willing to help me out after a show; sometimes in between sets. But lately, I can't stop thinking about my drummer.

  I've known her my whole life. Okay, not really, I was three when she was born but who remembers being that young? Joie's like my little sister, at least, that's how I've treated her. She needed someone to look out for her. Her family's a mess. It doesn't seem to bother her but it bothers me. Just like when her first boyfriend broke up with her because she wouldn't put-out. Joie didn't care but I did. That punk still runs the other way when he sees me. Most of my high school career was spent keeping her away from knuckleheads who only wanted to have fun with her, boys that thought she was hot because she was good on drums, and pretty much any guy that looked her way. She was too good for them, still is. She's too good for me; I know this. Here's the thing though, I want her. I can't stop thinking about her. And what makes it worse is I know she wants me. It would be easy. I don't exactly have a history of being the good boyfriend or any kind of boyfriend. I'm not into that. Easy come, easy go. But this is Joie and that makes things complicated. I don't do complicated. Easy is my thing, always has been. There's only so much a man can take though. Each day, I can feel my self-control slipping. One more accidental touch and I'm gonna break. One more goofy smile and I won't be able to hold back any more. One more drum beat and I'm done.

  Chapter One

  Headphones on, world out; at least, that was the plan.

  "Palmer!" Mom shouted as she flung my bedroom door open.

  Jerking my head up, I watched her stroll into my room.

  "Somethin' wrong with you?"

  "No," I griped, slowly sliding my headphones off as I sat up.

  Mom blew out a loud breath to let me know she didn’t believe me before she fussed, "Joie said you cancelled tonight."

  I shrugged a shoulder at her. "I wasn't feelin' it."

  "Since when?"

  "What? I can't take a night off?"

  "Palmer."

  "Mom."

  Her eyes narrowed while mine widened before our brief standoff ended.

  "Clean up your room."

  I had to hold back a laugh as she turned and walked out.

  Chores were my mom's go to thing whenever she couldn't get a handle on what was going on with me. Why aren't you turning in your homework? Go mow the yard. You gave yourself a tattoo? You're fifteen! Go clean out the shed. When did I say your curfew was? Go do the dishes. And the one time I smoked weed, she found out and beat my ass, then made me paint the house.

  Reaching down, I grabbed my socks off the floor next to my bed and slid them back onto my feet. I ran my hand down the front of my beard before pushing off from the edge of my bed as I stood up. Standing in the center of my room, I glanced at the picture taped to the mirror hanging on my wall by the door. It was a side shot of my band on stage last summer. All four of us were in it but every time I looked, I only saw her. My little drummer girl with her head flung back, sticks in hand and thanks to the action shot, her platinum blonde hair was wild in the air almost like it was alive on its own. I’d left the picture there because she left it there. The closer I got to my door, and the picture, the more my palms seemed to vibrate just thinking about being on stage. Playing live is all sweat and electricity. It hums in your body, pumping adrenaline and melodic current through your veins. My body craved the rush almost as much as it did the only other thing I was abstaining from.

  As I made my way from my room to the kitchen, I heard my mom talking. At first I thought she was talking to my dad but as I rounded the corner, I saw Joie sitting at the table with her. Well, hell.

  Eating cookies with a pouty expression, Joie complained, “I really needed tonight.”

  “You needed it or wanted it?” I cut in as my mom turned and glared at me.

  Standing up, mom fussed, “Don’t talk to her like that,” before smacking me on the back of my head.

  I bit the side of my tongue so I didn’t curse and get smacked again.

  “We’ll be back later,” she informed me before offering Joie, “Have as many cookies as you w
ant and don’t let Palmer boss you around.”

  “Where’s dad?”

  “He’s already in the car.”

  Smiling wide at her, I asked, “Y’all goin’ to dinner? Bring me back somethin’?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, I’m hungry,” I pressed, doing my best at giving her a pitiful expression.

  In a matter of fact manner, mom assured, “That didn’t work when you were three and it’s not gonna work now that you’re twenty-three.”

  With a fake sigh, I hung my head, rubbed my stomach and walked to the refrigerator.

  When the front door slammed shut, I started to laugh.

  “Why do you do that to her?” Joie questioned as I grabbed the milk out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter.

  “What? Mom likes when I give her a hard time.”

  “Sure she does,” she mocked, stuffing a cookie into her mouth.

  “Easy, cookie monster,” I teased as I poured a glass of milk and carried it to the table with me.

  "I got fired today."

  "Damn, Joie. Again?"

  I pulled out the chair next to her and set the glass of milk in between us as I sat down.

  “You’ve lost more jobs this year than most people have in their entire life.”

  Rolling her eyes at me as I laughed at her, she smarted, "I'm glad you think it's funny."

  “Nah, it ain’t funny.”

  Scarfing down another cookie, she let out a deep sigh.

  Folding my arms across my chest, I leaned back in my chair. I could feel myself starting to scowl as I watched her. I’d started to notice little things about her lately, like the way her bottom lip poked out slightly further than her top one when she was upset. Seeing that soft little pout of hers made me just want to bite it. Not hard, just a nibble, ya know, to see what she tastes like. I wouldn’t. I’m too controlled for that but that doesn’t mean I hadn’t thought about it. How could I not? Joie’s sexy as hell. No, she’s beyond sexy, like beautiful sexy; inside and out. It makes sense that at some point I’d find her attractive but my attraction to her was getting out of hand. It was irrational. She was both elbows on the table, crumbs everywhere, intent on eating her weight in butter pecan cookies like it was her damn job and I was so stiff a damn hiccup could have set me off. How in the hell was this turning me on?

  I leaned forward and stole the cookie she was about to eat out of her hand.

  “Umm… What are you doing?”

  A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “You’re not gonna share?”

  Joie glanced down at the platter of cookies in front of her as I dunked the stolen one in my glass of milk.

  “Seventy-thirty?” she proposed, wrinkling her nose up as she smiled.

  “Depends, who’s on top?”

  I almost choked on my cookie as she replied, “Do you want to be on top?”

  Hell, yeah! No. Damn her.

  “I think I’ll have a beer instead.”

  Shrugging me off with a slight smile, she slid the glass of milk closer and returned her focus back to devouring cookies.

  It used to flatter me when she flirted with me. It was cute. Now, it dug into every fiber of my body.

  “Why’d you stop by?”

  Chewing her mouthful first, she held up a finger before sharing, “I got Wren to drop me here so I could yell at you for cancelling tonight.”

  “Are we passed that now or just on pause until you finish your cookie bender?”

  Joie rolled her eyes and shot me the finger.

  “That’s not nice.”

  “Ya know what’s not nice? Acting like you’re the only one that has a say so.” She huffed at me before fisting the glass of milk and gulping it down.

  I kind of wanted to laugh because she was trying to be stern with me but as I stared at her, a tiny dribble of milk escape the corner of her mouth.

  You don’t even wanna know the visual that popped in my head.

  Shooting up out of my chair like my pants were on fire, I headed toward the refrigerator, griping, “It’s my band, if someone doesn’t like the decisions I make, they don’t have to be a member.”

  As I reached into the fridge to grab a beer, I heard her chair scoot across the floor but by the time I turned around she was gone.

  The beer was refreshing but not enough to take the edge off. I was thirsty for something only she could give me so I waited until I finished my beer, grabbed another and finished that one too, before heading out of the kitchen to look for her. There wasn’t much looking before I found her. I knew where she was without giving it a second thought. My dad had added a room onto the back of our house years ago for us to practice in. It was kind of like her refuge. Whenever things got hard, she’d bang out the best beats you ever heard on that drum kit of hers, instead of admitting she was struggling or had a problem.

  When I walked in Joie was sitting on the stool behind her old drum kit.

  Running her finger against the curve of the cymbal, she asked, “What if I never get it together?”

  “What’s your rush?”

  Without answering me she slid her sticks from the pouch attached to her stool and began to twirl them in her fingers.

  “If you’re tight on money, I can give it to you,” I offered, since I wasn’t thinking of the financial aspect of it when I cancelled tonight’s gig.

  Stopping mid-twirl, she shot me an aggravated look. “Why would you do that?”

  “I’ve got it. You need it.”

  She just sat there staring at me.

  I flashed a smile at her. “It could be a gift, ya know. I never got you anything for graduation.”

  Okay, that was a lie. I did get her a graduation gift, I just never got around to giving it to her.

  “All I need from you, Palmer, is for you to pick up your guitar and try to keep up.”

  “Are you sassin’ me?” I teased in pretend shock.

  The bridge of Joie’s nose wrinkled with her smile as she slowly began to tap out our rhythm.

  Chapter Two

  Tripping through my room before I reached the door, I swung it open and hollered for my mom, hoping she hadn’t left for work yet.

  “She’s at the shop!” dad shouted from the other side of the house.

  Damn it. Turning back into my room I closed my door.

  I meant to get up early. I even set my alarm but when it went off, I was in the middle of a dream where Joie was sitting on my lap, wearing hot pink underwear while feeding me cookies that tasted like beer and whispering obscenities to me. Interrupting her by waking up just didn’t seem all that important at the time. Priorities, ya know. Now, I was going to be late for my first appointment of the day, I’d have to hear mom gripe at me for being late and thanks to the sexy Joie cookie dream I was going to be…uncomfortable all day.

  Thankfully, mom didn’t answer when I called the shop.

  “Hey, Aunt Penny, I’m running late. Is my eleven-thirty already there?”

  With a hint of a giggle in her voice, she replied, “I figured and yea but I don’t think he minds waiting.”

  “Yea?”

  Lowering her voice, she shared, “He’s seems a bit smitten with your mom.”

  “Ah, hell, I’m on my way.”

  I ended the call and slid my cell into my back pocket before heading into the living room.

  “Dad, can you run me to work?” I asked, seeing my cousin Roe standing by the front door.

  I greeted him with a quick head nod before dad’s voice came from behind me out of the kitchen. “Where’s your car?”

  “I lent it to Joie so she could go look for a job.”

  Roe frowned as he questioned, “She lost her job?”

  As I nodded, dad met us in the living room, saying, “That girl’s had more jobs than anyone I know.”

  “Right?” I laughed before adding, “And I don’t get how she’s always broke. All she talks about is saving money but she never has any.”

  In a low a
gitated tone, Roe informed, “Every time she gets ahead, she has to start over.”

  “Why?” Dad and I asked at the same time.

  “Her dad missed some mortgage payments… again.”

  Heat built inside my gut causing me to break a sweat as I glared at my dad.

  “I’ll go talk to Brooks and see what’s going on,” dad assured as he shook his head.

  I was raised to respect my elders so there’s a line I’d never cross. For the record, though, I’d been wanting to kick her dad’s ass since I was thirteen.

  I’m not gonna lie, it irritated the hell out of me that Roe knew something about Joie that I didn’t. They were friends and I had always been cool with that. I’d rather her hang with him than some knuckle head punk that was trying to get into her underwear. Roe’s my Aunt Penny’s son and even though we grew up together, our friendship was pretty new. I spent a lot of years resenting him after his brother William and my Grandma Sarah died. It was a fluke thing that happened when we were kids. They were riding in the car and our grandma had a stroke. Roe was the only survivor. Will and I hung out all the time before he died. Losing him and my grandma and at the same time was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. It seemed like no one even had time to grieve because Roe was all screwed up from what happened. I can admit I was wrong for holding something like that against him. This past summer, when my cousin First came down from college, things changed, I recognized that we were men now and I decided to put all the kiddy bullshit aside because you gotta grow as a person, ya know.

  An hour into the sleeve I was working on, I decided to give Daryl, the guy I was tattooing, a break. He was looking a little green anyways. Some guys come in trying to be tough, they won’t ask for breaks because they don’t want to admit that it hurts. Pain is just part of it and the sooner a client realizes that, the better. Some areas hurt more than others but the trick is to relax and breathe. This one time, I had a guy pass out from holding his breath; it happens. Regardless of what kind of pain tolerance someone has, an hour under the needle can get a bit agonizing.