Harder (Stark Ink Book 1) (6 page)

Adam was vaguely aware that Ava had run past him and into her room down the hall. Even the sound of her slamming her door seemed muted, miles away from where he stood watching his old man.
Old man
. He wasn’t quite seventy, not just yet, and though Adam thought of his father as “the old man” he’d never really viewed him as
old
. He would have assumed the stress of the last few days had triggered some kind of denial, but it had been happening for months? And why hadn’t his mother told them? Why hadn’t she asked for help? Had he really been so disconnected?

“Adam?”

The sound of Calla’s voice drew his gaze away. “Let’s go outside,” she suggested and grasped the doorknob.

Reluctantly, Adam stepped away from the couch—and Pop—and followed her to the front porch. The click of the door was jarring. He fought down a sudden wave of panic. He stepped away and crossed to the window, anxious to keep Pop in his line of sight.

“I’m sorry,” Calla declared. “Ava wasn’t in her last class again this afternoon so I decided to do a home visit. I would have knocked but I heard yelling. I just wanted to make sure she was safe.”

Adam still couldn’t bring himself to look away from his father. “She told me she’d be in class,” he replied. “But she came home instead. I guess she always comes home. To be with him.”

“So…” Calla asked cautiously, “this isn’t related to your mother? His difficulty handling it all? He’s… not taking any medication… or…?”

Adam finally turned away from the window to stare at Calla. “Medication? No, Ms. Winslow, he’s not on any medication. And he doesn’t do drugs, either.”

She looked surprised.

He glared at her. “What?! You see this house, this neighborhood, the tattoos, the bikes out front and you just write us off as white trash? Well, we’re
not
trash. We’re just poor. That’s not an actual crime, Ms. Winslow.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she countered. “I’m not judging you, Adam. Or your father. I’m just trying to look out for Ava.”

“
I
look out for Ava.” But that was a lie. He hadn’t up until now. He was going to, though. He’d already decided—
days ago
—before all this. Adam would take care of Ava. And Dalton. And Jonah. And… Pop.

“How long has his mental state been… shaky?”

Adam fought the urge to snort at her question. Shaky? Shaky didn’t seem to quite cover it. Not by a long shot. Pop was alternating between thinking Mom was just out running errands to thinking that Ava
was
Mom. They had both had blond hair, but Adam couldn’t pretend that it was merely a slip of the tongue. Adam could no longer avoid looking at what was right in front of him.

“Adam?’

“Months. A few months, she said.”

“And you didn’t know?”

Adam clenched his fists, ready to rail at her again. Of course he hadn’t known. Hadn’t he spent over an hour in her office today explaining to her what a shit brother he was? How could she possibly be surprised that he was a shit son, too? But had he known? Had he seen but ignored signs? His belly clenched as a memory floated to the surface. “Once, this spring,” he told Calla, “I was working on his bike with him. He called me Dalton. All afternoon.” Adam rubbed his face and frowned. “But that happened so much when we were kids. Mostly when he was pissed off. I—I didn’t even think anything of it.”

He racked his brain, trying to recall other hints, but remembered none. Why hadn’t Mom said anything? But the answer was obvious. The shop. He’d been too goddamn busy. And Dalton? Jesus, Dalton was apparently a fucking drunk and Mom turned to Ava. Little Ava who was a junior in high school and had no business being responsible for all this.

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.”

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,” she 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.