Kayson

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This story is also set in a southern state; please keep in mind that accents are different all over the world and I like to use them. It isn’t a typo or a lazy way of typing. It’s how it’s spoken.

  Enjoy : )

  Prologue: Conner

  The weather is terrible today; the rain clouds are casting a shadowed gloom over the small block of independently owned businesses that my bookstore sits in the middle of. I have a sweet little lady in the building beside me who sells her homemade, purely organic bath products. She has shampoo’s, conditioners, bath bombs, moisturizers, lotions and a handful of other things that leave a sweet smelling, honeyed aroma throughout our small block. Although it smells amazing, the building to the left of me is a small, family-owned deli that makes the most delicious soups and sandwiches. Between their hot chocolate and “Bett’s Naturals’”, sugary smells; every time I walk through these doors, my brain convinces me I’m just on this side of starving; which is why I’m so distracted today I think.

  Directly across from the deli is an intimate little music store where Jetson Jacks, sells CDs, concert DVDs, vintage vinyl and the walls are even lined with used guitars and all different types of musical instruments that people stop in and jam with from time to time.

  In the spring, I can hear the classic rock music that Jetson of “Jetson Jacks Music” plays for the block. He used to be in a band in his glory days and wants to live out the rest of his life with other people who enjoy the music like he does. I’ve only been in there a handful of times since moving into my building a year a half ago; I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, never mind attempt to play an instrument, but he’s really funny and his store is really neat, even I could admit, it’s a fun place to hang out.

  Directly across from Betts; (whose name is Betsy Valentine-seriously, how adorable is that?), is a small, art gallery, where semi-famous hometown artist, Camden Robert Ross, teaches his art classes. I call him “Cob Ross” and I think he hates me just a little bit for it, but only because he swears he’s actually better than the actual Bob Ross…He isn’t, but he’s almost, just as good. They do pottery, group paintings, sculptures and every few months, he holds a charity function to donate to our children’s home here in town.

  Our whole block is lined with little shops like ours; antiques, eateries, clothing stores, thrift shops, flower shops and even a “Wiccan Spells” shop.” I’ve never been in there, personally, but I’ve heard some really interesting things. The lady who owns it, Wendy, (Yes, her name is Wendy and she’s a witch who was born on Halloween- coincidence? I think not! Talk about a pre-destined calling in life.) She’s incredibly sweet and she’s married to a local computer repairman that I’ve had to hire more than a handful of times since I started renting tablets out by the week or if you had a “Hideout” card, you could check them out for any amount of time up to a week. We’re a nice little community on this side of our small little hick town that’s home to about nine hundred people; and everyone- Wendy included- is just a part of our family over here on our small block.

  Now, what is directly across the narrow, two-lane street of my shop, you may wonder? That would be the recently renovated and newly opened tattoo shop; “Kennedy Brother’s Ink”- owned and operated by Kayson and Kingsley Kennedy. I’ve yet to actually meet either one of them, but that doesn’t stop me from peering into their glass fronted windows from time to time…. Okay, slightly more than from time to time but not in a weird way… Okay, well not in a completely, stalkerish, weird way.

  They usually come in around ten in the morning and stay open until well after ten in the evening; they have a couple others who work there, piercers and whatever other kinds of people who might work in a tattoo parlor. Do they call them parlors anymore? That seems old-fashioned, even to me and I’m the definition of old-fashioned.

  Me? I’m Conner Allen, and I own this book store/makeshift library.

  While it’s true that I inherited it from my grandma who left it to me when she retired; it was basically my refuge growing up. I’d probably be doing the same exact thing, even if she hadn’t left it to me; but I’m forever grateful that she did. I hope I’m making her proud, because I’ve switched things up a bit, since making some renovations myself. We do buy, sell and trade but we also have a monthly membership where you can check out as many books as you’d like as long as they came back or you renewed them at the end of every week. I’ve been turning a pretty decent profit since taking over several years ago. I had to take a few business courses that weren’t much fun, but, someone had to learn the books when Nan got sick and I’m thankful that I did now. I was content with my small little house in my small little neighborhood. I loved it here in Madison, Georgia. It was country living at its finest and before Kennedy Brother’s Ink. opened up their shop right across the street; I’d never in my twenty-six years of living here, ever seen a tattoo shop/parlor. I wondered what made them come to our small town and settle here.

  I didn’t know much about them yet, which was odd because in a town like ours; people liked to talk. I’m sure there are folks around here that know their entire life stories, but none that I had come across yet. It wasn’t really my business and I didn’t like to entertain idle gossip, but I have to admit I was curious as hell about them. All of them, sure, but Kayson Kennedy especially.

  While it’s also true that Madison, isn’t the friendliest of the gay-friendly towns; or even state, I’d lived in this town my whole life; as did my mama, her mama and her mama’s, mama. They used to joke that hiding me in the closet would never work because I’d bust out in all their heels and give myself away. I didn’t get it back then; but I guess looking back, it just was what it was. I never thought to hide it because everyone had known it, before I did, even. It helped that I lived with my Mama and Nanny my whole life. My father was killed in a gas station robbery when I was just a couple of months old; so my Mamma sold our house across town and we moved in with Nanny. Mama still lives in that same ol’ house but I’d moved out years ago. I did still visit a lot because it was just us now; no one else. Mama never remarried or even dated anyone after losing my dad; meaning, she never had any more kids; no matter how much I begged in middle school for a little brother or sister. It never happened and we lost Nanny last summer to pneumonia, so; just us.

  I figured I’d be getting a lot of business over this way the next couple weeks; I was in the business of buying and selling books, so I knew that the kids from the college would be coming over here to get some cash for their useless textbooks now that the semester was over. I did, as I mentioned, buy, sell or trade and whatever books I’d get at the end of a semester, someone would surely buy them at the beginning of the next one. It happened every term. As long as they were in good shape, I wasn’t picky. I had a little bit of everything in here; from textbooks to romances to murder mystery to gossip mags; it didn’t matter; there was a little somethin’ for everybody.

  I also had three employees’; Craig, Denny and Claire, because not only did we have books for just about anyone, we also had a coffee station where people could come in, have some coffee and read or work on their computer’s. It stayed pretty quiet in here/unless it was Tuesday nights, that’s when we had kids’ night, where someone (usually Claire) read for the kids. All of my employees were younger than my twenty-six years old and worked between going to school and hanging out with their friends. I didn’t have many friends, partly because I was uncomfortably shy, but also partly because I was always in here. Craig, Denny and Claire all rotated days of the week
to share a shift with me; and twice during that week I had the day off and they worked together. Mostly, though, I was always here and worked with one of them from open to close. I was only open from 9-5, so it wasn’t like I never got any free time; just when I did, I preferred to go home and read or watch TV, instead of going to one of the bars in town, the pool hall or the one movie theater we have here in small-town, Madison.

  Buying one ticket to see a movie by yourself was embarrassing, especially on a weekend. I’d made that mistake once before; never again. Jade Gentry and his shadow puppets sat behind me and acted like high-school kids, kicking my seat and throwing popcorn and slinging slurs about being the only gay man in town- the whole time.

  I can’t say it didn’t bother me, much, like it did when he’d done it back in high-school but I also can’t say it was as bad. I knew his wife and two kids had left him last year and moved to Stonebrook to get away from his drinking and staying out all night. I’d heard that through the grapevine and I knew that he was miserable without her but instead of fighting to get her back, he just stewed in his misery and tried to make everyone else that way too. Hence, I never stepped foot back in that movie theater and didn’t plan on changing it anytime soon. I was content getting to talk to the people here in town that would come through my store. They were friendly enough and my employees were friendly enough that I’d call them friends. So, I wasn’t lonely; not really. Not until I went home at the end of every night and had no one to talk to but my cat; Pickles. Only then did I feel a little bit of the loneliness creeping in.

  It was a slow day today; Monday’s usually were, until around three, when kids got out of school. Then, instead of going to the deli/café next door or the park when it was warm; most of the high school and community college kids came here to study. That was another reason business was as good as it was. Our little town didn’t have a library closer than 20 miles away so this was it, as far as a quiet place to study went; and even though I had three desktop computers that could be rented out for two hours at a time, (unless no one else was in line, then I was pretty lenient about it), but still, this was as close to a library as a lot of these kids got.

  “Good morning, Conner” Betsy came in around ten. Although there was a deli right next door; nobody beat our fancy coffee.

  “Good morning, Betsy. How are you today?” I asked politely.

  “Things are getting better. You know Harold fell and broke his hip last month and he’s got that therapy lady coming over today, bless him. I swear she flirts with him until he gets out of his chair. If it wasn’t working so well, I might be jealous.” She jokes, telling me, again, about her husband and the goings on between them, like she does most every morning. He had, in fact, fell and broke his hip last month, but didn’t require surgery, as it wasn’t bad enough to warrant it. He did have to do physical therapy four times a week though and getting him out of his TV chair before the new therapist, was next to impossible. According to Betsy, it was down-right easy to get him out of it now, when “Misses. Stethoscope”, came calling- her words, not mine.

  “I’m glad he’s doing better.” I smile my sincerity. Betsy and Harold have been married for forty-one years. I couldn’t even imagine knowing a person for that forty-one years let alone spending every single day with them. What that must be like?

  “Carl and I are going to welcome the new proprietors across the way, here in a bit. You wanna go check ‘em out with us?” She asked, Carl being the proprietor of “Bailey’s Deli” next door. To be honest, I couldn’t see any of us in a tattoo shop and wondered how we’d look, all of us, trotting across the street to say our hello’s.

  “Oh, no thank you. I’ll let ya’ll be the welcome wagon.” I tell her and she beams. Although she’s the one that’s always in everybody’s business, she is a good person to have on your side. She’s not one of those gossip hounds that tells everybody’s business, good or bad; but she does have a tendency to know a little something about everyone.

  “Alright then, honey. I’ll tell ‘em all to come introduce themselves, another time then.” She winked as I handed her, her usual vanilla cappuccino and she scuttled on back over to her store.

  Claire came in at noon and we had a few people meander in and out for the next couple hours while I stacked some books and replaced some others. When the school kids came in, it got louder than usual but not to a disruptive noise. I’d been noticing this high-school kid, Douglas, as everyone called him, kept side eyeing me every time I’d get near his area. The kid had been coming in for the past couple weeks but I didn’t know him nor did I know his parents; which I thought, rare, because like I said, everyone tended to know everyone around these parts. I tried to smile encouragingly at him, but he always got weird looks and looked away. I’m not sure what his problem was, but he seemed to have quite the attitude. I ignored his dirty looks and suspicious behavior and went back to the front counter.

  “We have two of the house computers in use and three tablets checked out. Two for the week, and one for an hour.” Claire tells me, as she makes two cups of French vanilla, iced coffee.

  “Great, thanks. Mary Henley turned hers back in, I assume?” I asked, knowing Mary Henley was always a day late and a dollar short, every time she came in here. She never turned anything in on time and always tried to haggle my book prices, even though most of them were way too cheap as it was. Still, she was one of our best customers so, I didn’t give her too much trouble about it. Plus, she was only 13.

  “She did and her mama came in and paid the late fee.” Claire rolled her eyes but then smiled. She knew how challenging that girl could be. I almost felt sorry for her mama.

  “Hey, do you know that kid over there? Tall, black hair, big hoodie? I see him in here from time to time but he never checks out with me and I never catch him leaving.” I asked her quietly; wanting to at least know the kid’s name.

  “Mmmhmm.” She huffed. “That’s Douglas Perry. He’s a punk, alright. I caught him trying to walk out of here with a book last week. I dang near had to chase him down. I told him no more of that stuff or I’d have to call his folks. He rolled his eyes and got a card, so, I reckon he hadn’t done it again, since.” She says while now entering new books that we’d just gotten from the thrift store, into the computer.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I stopped digging through the boxes and asked.

  “I thought I had it handled. He didn’t actually steal anything so I didn’t want to get him in trouble.” She answered, staring back at me with wide eyes

  I sighed and agreed, I guess she had a point.

  It wasn’t minutes after we’d brought up that the kid in the oversized hoodie, passed by me at a shelf I was rearranging; when his shoulder slammed into my shoulder and made him drop the tablet from his front pocket. He scooped it up and continued to walk out.

  “Sir, you didn’t turn in your tablet!” Claire called out to the kid but he just kept walking. “Excuse me! Douglas!” She yelled again and tried to go after him but I held up my hand to stop her. I didn’t know this kid but if he’s taking something that doesn’t belong to him, right in front of us, he’s not going to listen to her if she follows him outside. So I do.

  “Excuse me, Douglas is it?” I try, following him out the door. “If you want to rent that for the week, you’re more than welcome. It’s cheap and you already have a card. Just go in there to Claire and she’ll set you up.” I try again, but he doesn’t turn. I put my hand on his arm to stop him but wasn’t expecting him to turn as quick as he did or for him to tower over me in anger.

  “I know you didn’t just put your hand on me, faggot.” He snarled loudly; spittle flying from his mouth into my face. While it wasn’t the first time someone had called me that, but again, I wasn’t expecting it and it stopped me up short.

  “I just wanted to tell you that you could rent that tablet, but taking it out of the building without renting it, is stealing. Cl-Claire tried to tell you but you weren’t listening. I need you
to hand it over or go back in and rent it.” I tried to seem unfazed but he was towering over me and if I was being honest, it was scaring the shit out of me. I really should have thought this through a little better, but I’ve never had a problem like this before, not like this.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He backs up and looks around.

  “The tablet, in your jacket. It belongs to the bookstore.” I tell him unnecessarily; he knows it does, he’s just trying to steal it.

  “You accusing me of something, Cho-Mo?” He crowds me again, trying to intimidate me and it’s working.

  “I called Sherriff Lang, Con; he’ll be here in 10,” Claire called to me from the door. That seemed to piss the young man off, because, without warning, he reared back and hit me square in the nose. I doubled over in pain, hands holding my face. I could feel the warmth of the blood pouring down my lips and chin and making my shirt stick to my chest. I couldn’t help but cry. Seeing people on TV get punched in the face and snap back like nothing happened was crazy. This hurt so bad, I thought I was going to throw up, the pain was so intense. I couldn’t open my eyes or seem to stop them from watering on their own.

  “Hey, man. Hang on, let’s sit you down here for a second.” I hear a baritone voice beside me as he helps me to the sidewalk to sit. I look up through the blur of teary eyes to see tatted up, Kayson Kennedy- the man I’d been watching from afar. His golden brown eyes are all I see while he’s gripping my chin and turning my face this way and that. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen up close and I curse not being able to see him in all this inked up glory from across the two-lane street on a daily basis.

  “Here, take this rag.” Claire is suddenly at our side, shoving a towel at Kayson.

  “What the heck were you thinking, Conner? You should have let him go! Look at your face!” She squeals, frantically. I’d actually forgotten that I just got punched in the face, while I was getting lost in the golden depths of Kayson’s eyes. It’s then that I notice my shirt is covered, my hands are covered and from sitting here with my knees bent up to my chest; even they are getting covered with thick, sticky, blood red, splotches. It’s more than I can handle and the next thing I see… is nothing.