From the Ashes (Beacon Hill Series -

Book Two 2) J.D. Fondry [Fondry

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Copyright © 2020 J.D. Fondry

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permitted by copyright law. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any
person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters
and story lines are created purely by the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

Editor: Emily A. Lawrence of Lawrence Editing

Cover Design & Interior Formatting: Qamber Designs & Media
Cover photo: Shutterstock
Headshot by Éva Watson
 FROM THE ASHES Playlist:
Youngblood – 5 Seconds of Summer
All Around Me – Flyleaf
I Was Once, Possibly, Maybe,
Perhaps a Cowboy King – Asking Alexandria
Take What You Want
(ft. Ozzy Osbourne & Travis Scott) – Post Malone
Gravity – Papa Roach
Enter Sandman – Metallica
I Am Broken Too – Killswitch Engage
Better Now – Post Malone
Hate Me – Ellie Goulding
Roots – In This Moment
Remedy – Cold
SICKO MODE – Travis Scott
Bounce – Timbaland
Who Are You Really? – Mikky Ekko
Glycerine – Bush
Who We Are – Nothing More
Please – Saro
Higher – The Score
What’s Wrong – PVRIS
Already Dead – Hollywood Undead
Beggin’ For Thread – BANKS
“Somewhere along the way we all go a bit mad. So burn, let go, and dive into the
horror, because maybe it’s the chaos which helps us find where we belong.”
— r. m. drake
 Dedicated to my mom, dad and brother.
I’d be nothing without your love and not even
as fraction as weird (cool).
 PROLOGUE
Ten Months Later
Kennedy

HER CRIES ARE DEAFENING.

I had almost drifted to sleep, the light vibrating buzz of my head against
the window of the T lulling me into that headspace between sleep and
reality. The wailing drowns out the sound of the train—metal on metal
doesn’t even lessen the ear-piercing screaming. The other commuters on the
red line shoot annoyed glances in my direction, then down toward the
screaming, tear-streaked infant at my feet.
They look at me, almost expectant.
I return them a small, closed mouth smile in response. Noncommittal.
So sorry for the disruption of your day, but unlike you, I’m truly enjoying
having my eardrums pierced by the unnaturally high decibel that baby girl is
hitting.
What else do they expect me to do?
She isn’t even mine.
The thought makes my stomach clench. Everything is still too raw to
think about.
The baby’s mother finally leans down, inserting a pink pacifier into the
child’s mouth, silencing her screaming, if only for a moment.
Sighs of relief resonate around me, and I pull out my phone for some
entertainment while on my daily commute. Since I left Beacon Hill and
came back to Boston, I have found it isn’t the same place I left. It doesn’t
feel like home. It feels cold, detached, and void of so much that I never
really noticed was missing before.
At least not until I found everything I wanted elsewhere.
Since I’ve been back, I found a good paying waitressing gig the first day
here and have been renting a room at my friend Chaz’s place.
But my heart is no longer within the city.
I left it on the ground in Beacon as I took off running from my problems.
Bloody, torn from my chest. Scarred and barely beating.
Owned by him. Even now. Even after…everything.
Palmer stopped texting me, probably soon after he realized I wasn’t going
to be answering back. The daily calls, texts, and voicemails began to taper off
slowly, until days would pass with nothing, followed by weeks. Now it’s been
months.
I miss him trying.
How sick is that? I wasn’t going to answer, but I wanted him to keep
calling anyway.
The train squeals to a stop, the metal screeching in my ears, and I exit the
large doors. My phone vibrates in my back pocket and I pull out the device,
staring lamely at the touch screen.
I haven’t seen that name on my phone for almost a year. My stomach
summersaults and nerves prickle against my scalp, causing me to itch.
There are too many questions that need to be answered.
Too much time has passed.
But I answer anyway.
The rough, familiar voice comforting me, even from across state lines.
“You ready to stop being dumb?”
 CHAPTER ONE
Present Day
Kennedy

I POUND AGAINST THE DIRT, my heavy boots thudding as I make my

way toward the roar of voices. I stop before I descend into the throngs of
bodies and take in my surroundings. A small crowd has formed around the
bonfire and I can feel the heat scorching my skin already.
Whoever came up with the annual Beacon tradition of a bonfire in
summertime needs to be publicly shunned. I’m freaking sweating.
I opted for comfortable today, as I’ve been unpacking a good chunk of my
belongings since I arrived this morning. My black oversized T-shirt, tied in
a knot above my bellybutton, hangs off one shoulder, and my torn-up denim
jean shorts allow what little breeze is in the air to offer me some relief. I
stand on the outskirts of the park, the best spot to enjoy some people
watching.
Dozens of Beacon Hill townies are congregated a few hundred yards from
where I stand, posted up in lawn chairs and seated on the ground and
surrounding spare firewood. I take in the smells around me—the burnt
marshmallows, the crisp beer being pumped from the kegs stationed off to
my right, and the subtle scent of summertime.
It feels good to be back.
I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I’ve been here. A lot has
happened since and standing here in the midst of the ruins I left behind,
along with the comfort of the familiarity, a sense of melancholy surrounds
me. I hug my arms to my stomach, suddenly feeling like an outsider in this
town I once called home.
I don’t recognize any of these people.
“There you are!” Sterling pounces on my back with a girlish squeal,
distracting me from my own thoughts. “I’ve been looking for you all night.
Did you just get here?” I get a whiff of crisp cinnamon as she takes a sip
from her red Solo cup.
“Yeah, I just got in this morning.” I nod, tucking my loose silver strands
behind my ear. “I had to move all my stuff into Jim’s place.”
I ended up subletting my apartment for the first few months that I was in
Boston since it was so short notice, but when it was clear I wasn’t going to
be coming back anytime soon, Jim’s friend who was letting me rent it
required someone be locked into an actual lease.
So, bye bye, my little Oasis.
“You should have told me; I would have helped.” She pouts next to me.
“Just looking out for your best interest, Sterl. Wouldn’t want you breaking
a nail with all that heavy lifting,” I tease.
“Ugh, true. You get me, babe.” Sterling lobs her head back, letting out one
loud chuckle. “I’ve missed you so much. It has not been the same here
without you.”
Without pause, she pulls me between her arms and I melt into her
embrace, hugging her back with equal fervor. Friends like Sterling are truly
one in a million. As much of a breather as being back in the city was, I really
did miss my best friend.
Among others…
“Heyo!” A familiar male voice booms to the right of me. “Let me get in
on this love fest right quick.”
Stepping back, I stare up at Lucas, my failed attempt at a blind date last
summer. His slightly curled brown hair is styled differently, but his smile is
just as bright. He actually is a nice guy, there just wasn’t that…spark.
Slapping playfully at his arm, I chuckle along with them.
“How’s my apartment treating ya?” I tease.
“Prime location, prime price, and prime paint selection, Kenny D.” He
ruffles my hair and I scowl, smoothing back the flyaways he produces.
“Thanks again for getting me hooked up so quickly.”
“Sure thing. I’m glad someone appreciates it—it’s a nice little spot.”
“Just as long as you know you’re not gettin’ it back,” he teases, giving me
the side eye, and I nod along as I roll my eyes.
I didn’t plan to move back into the apartment. There are far too many
memories there to ever be mine again.
Sterling and Lucas begin their gossiping about the newest scandal in
town, and I tune them out. I scan the crowd, appreciating the calm of being
back in the country after all this time. City life has its perks, that is for sure,
but there is just something about small town living. I think I may have
gotten a little too used to it last summer.
Or a little too used to something else…
I hear deep, husky laughter off to the left of the flames, pulling me from
my thoughts. The simple sound is enough to set my body off—my stomach
fluttering wildly. They aren’t butterflies; these are full-on pterodactyls
brawling in my gut.
My mind must be playing tricks on me.
I turn toward the familiar sound and catch a glimpse of the heart-
stopping smile I fell for last summer and my heart attempts to break free
from my chest.
Palmer.
I knew I was going to run into him at some point, it’s nearly impossible
not to in a town the size of Beacon, but damn it, did it have to be my first
night back?
And does he still have to look so damn good?
He’s seated within a group of people, all drinking and laughing. Most of
whom, like seemingly everyone else at this bonfire, I’ve never seen before.
There’s a girl situated between his legs and Palmer’s hand rests casually and
comfortably against her shoulder, curving just slightly around her neck. I
watch as his thumb absentmindedly caresses her skin and she leans into his
touch.
I stand, probably slack-jawed, hypnotized by the intimate interaction
before me. I watch as his large hand stakes its claim against this woman’s
flesh.
It’s possessive. Strong.
I clench my thighs together, remembering what his calloused, rough, and
warm tattooed hands felt like against my skin. The slow burn they left in
their wake; kindling to the fire as they would trail over my flesh. I feel it,
even now.
Although it could just be the heat from the actual fire pit before me, I
know at least some part of this burning is from seeing him again. I wasn’t
expecting it, and I damn sure don’t know how to act now that I know he’s
here.
His hair is shorter than before, cropped much closer to his scalp. He
seems different.
Different but still jaw-droppingly gorgeous.
Is it my imagination or is he somehow even bigger than before? I haven’t even
been gone a whole year. How is that possible?
The air in my lungs seems to have dissipated. How long could one go
without oxygen? I’m sure to be reaching the limit on that soon enough.
Unable to dislodge the blockage in my throat, and not really wanting to
start crying my first night back, I forcibly tear my gaze away and stare
blankly down at my feet. I choke back the tears rising as my throat begins to
constrict further.
“Hellooo?” Sterling waves her hand in front of my downturned face. “I
thought we lost you there for a minute.”
Snapping to, I finally lift my chin to face my best friend. Concern mars
her normally delicate, fairy like features.
“Sorry.” I sigh and my chest deflates, along with my will to stay here any
longer and watch the show. “I guess I wasn’t prepared to see him here.”
“It hasn’t been very long,” she adds quietly.
Huh?
“What hasn’t been long?”
Sterling tilts her head in their direction, back toward the fire. “That. He
only just started seeing her. I don’t know if it’s serious or not, but he—”
I hold a shaking hand up between us, not wanting to hear any further
details.
“I can’t.” I produce the weakest smile I can muster, but it doesn’t reach my
eyes. Sterling stares back at me with a pitying look, and I’m suddenly even
more ready to call it a night.
Here’s a sucker punch to the gut. Welcome home, Ken.
I look back once more before turning away to leave, suddenly a glutton
for punishment, only to find Palmer staring straight at me. My chest heaves,
my heart plummeting, bouncing off my ribs as it descends and all the air
leaves my lungs in a solid gust. Those emerald green eyes I stared into each
day are now void of their usual sparkle. They are absent of everything I grew
accustomed to.
His mischief has disappeared. The spark is gone. His softness is hardened.
Whatever I had left of my shattered heart splinters even further.
5 Seconds of Summer’s “Youngblood” drifts from the external speakers
spread throughout the park, though the pounding of my heart is nearly
drowning out the sounds anyway. My chest aches, but I can’t look away. I
haven’t even blinked. He’s still touching her, his palm against the crook of
her shoulder; but he’s holding me with his eyes. I can’t break that
connection. God, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. He continues his slow,
torturous caressing against her neck and I swear I can feel the tingle, feel
the pads of calloused roughness massaging my own skin.
Muscle memory. Is that what that is?
 Pain ripples through me, lapping against my skin like the flames from the
fire before us. This new man seated before me is made of stone; gone is the
man I knew whose world began and ended with me.
How am I ever supposed to move on like he has? How are boys supposed
to interest me now with their clubbing ways and childish wants when this
driven, beautiful man has kissed me? Tasted me? Even loved me at one
time.
How am I supposed to be satisfied with a tepid smolder when I know
how it feels to burn in his arms?
I watch, still enraptured, as Palmer’s ripped and corded biceps strain
against his black Henley. He sips confidently from his Bud Lite.
Jesus, even his choice beer is different.
I somehow find myself embarrassingly jealous of the glass bottle pressed
against his lips.
I’m suddenly left hopelessly staring as he breaks our staring contest first,
turning his attention from me to everyone else, nodding in agreement to the
guy on his right. It feels like a cheap shot to the gut and I all but crumple at
the loss of our connection.
My solo pity party is cut short when Lucas pulls me into a hug goodbye.
He holds on a little long for my liking, my cheek pressed tightly against his
chest. His T-shirt smells like laundry detergent and barbeque, so I turn just
slightly to allow for some breathing room.
Lucas begins speaking, but that’s when I notice our embrace has captured
some attention, so I can’t quite make out Lucas’ words.
Palmer’s gaze is back on me, hot and heavy. His eyes searing holes in my
flesh, his nostrils flared in anger. My heart flutters.
If his eyes are on me, that means his lips can’t be on hers.
My stomach bottoms out at the memory of his lips on Amber’s. Now his
lips potentially on this new girl? I don’t think my heart could take it.
It’s not that I imagined he would stay single forever after I left, but there
was always a tiny, selfish part of me hoping he would be right here waiting
for me. Arms open, ready to take me back.
That tiny part is now snuffed out just like the fire we once ignited.
Now only ashes remain.
He’s moved on. And who could blame him?
I left.
 CHAPTER TWO
Palmer

MY HANDS DIG INTO HER plush skin, jerking her weight against me,
squeezing her ample hips down on me with a grunt. I bury my face in her
neck. Anything I can do as not to look at her while I touch her like this. If I
don’t, if I can get away with not seeing the long brown hair flowing between
us, I can almost pretend—
“Kiss me,” she mews.
Christ, not now. I was almost there.
I reluctantly pull back, gliding my lips along hers, responding to her
fevered touch. My eyes are still closed, concentrating only on Flyleaf playing
downstairs to keep my focus. Maybe if she doesn’t speak again, maybe if she
doesn’t make any noise, I can get back to that place in my mind where she
isn’t here. She can be—
“I want you,” she whimpers against my lips while bucking hard against
my groin.
Goddamn it, not again.
I’m not even fucking hard yet.
The only way I can is if I picture her.
Jesus.
Seeing her tonight was torturous.
I wasn’t even remotely prepared to see her there—at least not without
some type of warning.
 I was sipping on a beer, enjoying the annual Beacon bonfire, minding my
own goddamn business, when I saw a flicker of gray and the sound of her
voice. Just the tiniest crumb, the smallest of noises, and every synapse in my
body was firing hot at the honeyed sound. We just stared at each other. I
couldn’t move. Shit, I could hardly breathe. Then I saw that fucker’s hands
wrapped around Kennedy’s small frame and my vision clouded over with
red, hot fury.
I was ready for war.
It was the same dude she went out with last year, her ‘blind date’ and the
same dude I saw locking up her apartment soon after she left.
Was that her new boyfriend?
Fuck, get a grip, man. Stop obsessing. She. Left. You…Again.
I had gone nearly a year without her. Three hundred and ten days, if I’ll
admit out loud that I’ve kept track.
Three hundred and ten days without her perfect smile.
Three hundred and ten days without her infectious laughter.
Three hundred and ten days without so much as a goddamn word from
her.
Yeah, okay, I’m bitter. Who the hell wouldn’t be?
I’ve spent about half that time being so fucking angry I can hardly see
straight.
Over the past couple of months, though, I’ve begun trying to test the
waters. Kennedy had yet to reply to a single text or voice message I sent her
and wanted nothing to do with me. The thought of being alone forever was
almost as terrifying as never being with my girl again.
So, enter stage left, Alexandra Brandt.
“Hon?”
Big, blue doe eyes framed by thick lashes meet mine as I’m snapped out of
my own thoughts. Alex actually is beautiful—it’s not that I’m blind to that
fact—it’s that I can’t see anyone else. My mind, body, and soul have been
irrevocably tied to a certain pint-sized, sassy, stainless-steel blond with hazel
eyes. My blinders are on. She’s all I see…even now.
Alex is a good girl. She’s safe. It’s simple. As a consumer loan officer at
the credit union in downtown Beacon, she helped me get Trav his first
vehicle at the beginning of the summer. Slid me her number on the back of
her business card before we left, which I left in my truck, never planning to
use.
But yet here we are.
“We need a condom,” she points out breathlessly.
“Right.” I tug at the back of my neck, blowing out a long, tired breath.
“I’m out. I completely spaced today, I’m sorry. I haven’t picked up any more.”
Liar.
My bedside table still has about fifty, but I’m in no mood to use Alex to
fuck the memory of Kennedy out of me tonight. I might be depraved, but
I’m not completely heartless.
Yeah, okay, maybe tonight, but what about the other times?
I scowl at my own thoughts. But it’s true. I’ve fucked Alex a couple of
times over the last two months, and both times I’ve fantasized Kennedy was
in her place.
Kennedy’s blond hair cascaded in a waterfall around the pillow instead of
dark chestnut.
Kennedy’s heady moans versus the purring of Alex’s climax.
Her tanned and tattooed skin in place of unblemished porcelain.
Kennedy’s toned and muscular body instead of Alex’s slender build.
The peach scent that rules my world instead of overpowering floral.
I’m a smart man—it’s wrong. I know that.
But there’s absolutely no use trying to change it. It’s the only way my dick
will stand at attention anymore. Turns out that appendage is a necessary tool
in order to fornicate.
Should have just stuck with my hand—at least then there are no one else’s
feelings to consider.
“That’s okay.” Alex slithers down my lap with a sly smile as she unbuttons
my jeans. “We don’t need one.”
Looking up at me from her position on her knees, she licks her lips and
grins wide, batting her eyelashes. I choose to close my eyes. I still can’t look
at her. I need her to be someone else for a while.
Leaning back on one elbow, I place my free hand at the base of her skull,
tangling my fingers in her voluminous hair, and push down as her mouth
slowly descends between my thighs.
I steel my jaw and scrunch my eyes tight as she licks and sucks. Poor girl
is actually unbearably nice and pretty decent at giving head. She’s sure to
make some guy really happy one day.
It just won’t be me.
After a few moments, my mind begins to wander, caught up in a
daydream while her head bobs up and down.
You say I’m your drug? So use me.
Kennedy’s taunting words from last summer come back to haunt me and
I grip the hair in my lap tighter, trying to chase after the voice in my head. I
push her mouth down further on my cock and she gags.
“Keep going,” I order, panting.
Jesus, that feels good.
Her head bobs up and down, taking me deeper as she moans with her
mouth full of me. Without prompting, my mind travels even deeper to some
fucking fantasy land where Kennedy never left me. A time when I didn’t
have to daydream while getting a blowjob in order to get off. A time before
everything got so damn screwed up.
I imagine Kennedy Darling between my knees.
At this moment, here and now, I can almost feel her with me. I can
almost smell her scent. She’s the one bobbing her head, taking all of me,
relentlessly pulling the life from me with her perfect mouth. Her nails dig
into my thighs and I hiss at the sensation. I missed her sweet mouth on me.
It’s all so good again…until the anger comes back.
How could she leave me without so much as a word? A whole motherfucking
year?
I fucking hate how easily she was able to leave me without so much as a
second glance.
In this moment…I hate her.
In this moment I hate Kennedy Darling and I’m going to fuck the
fucking hate and despair out of me and into her goddamn throat until I
come.
Lifting my thighs from the bed I begin thrusting upward into her mouth
at the same time I push her head down. The muscles in my thighs begin to
burn, and I grunt, pummeling her throat with my cock.
I hear her gagging.
I smile, reveling in it.
That’s what you get. That’s what you get for fucking forgetting about me, baby.
I continue ramming my hips, going deeper, farther, harder. Her tongue
rubs against the vein that runs along the bottom of my engorged flesh.
Just a little more. God, just a few more.
Three strokes are all I have left in me before, “Fuuuck!”
I jerk, gritting my teeth and arching my back off my bed. I hold her head
steady beneath my palm as I come in her mouth and down her throat,
making her take all of it. She’ll feel me tomorrow, no doubt. It’s comforting,
knowing she won’t forget about me again so soon.
Spent and panting, I flop down onto my bed and toss my arm lamely
across my eyes.
“Goddamn, Kennedy,” I let out a bitter laugh.
I hate her in this moment.
I hate how much I can’t fucking hate her.
“Kennedy?” I hear. The voice seems off. “What the fuck, Cole?”
Wait, what?
I tip my head toward my groin and see Alex’s wide-eyed glare on me, mid
sweep of a ponytail.
Oh, shit, that’s not good.
 CHAPTER THREE
Palmer

AS IT TURNS OUT, WOMEN don’t like to be called by another woman’s

name after they’ve just finished deepthroating your junk. Duly noted.
I sure learned that the hard way last night.
I also learned that in the dead of night, a slap across your cheek can be
heard by the neighbors.
You fucking deserved it.
It’s true. I did. I should have never started something with anyone
knowing I was still sickeningly in love with Kennedy. It wasn’t fair to Alex.
Hell, I’m not sure it was fair to me either.
I had been making progress—albeit slow, torturous, and seemingly
insignificant progress, but progress all the same—when it comes to
Kennedy. All those months apart and just seeing her for a fleeting thirty
seconds, I lost every ounce of it.
I just plain lost it. Period.
I took my frustrations out on Alex, and I shouldn’t have. I know that.
I’m left to overthink and overanalyze today, since I’m stuck face down on
this leather tattoo chair for the next four hours.
The buzz of the tattoo gun lulls me into a trance like state, with my chin
resting on my arm, crossed at the wrists below me.
Deacon Lennox, my tattoo artist, was just released from the same prison I
was sent to, and I’m long overdue for some new ink.
 Deacon made being behind those cinderblock walls tolerable. We had
known each other before we were inside, since he’s done most of my tattoo
work. That made my sixteen-month stay slightly more bearable. He was in
for drug possession and distribution, which I’ll admit, isn’t the type of
person I typically associate with. He’s a bit rough around the edges with his
stretched lobes and myriad of crazy tattoos—but he’s good shit. He saved
my ass on more than one occasion while up state and loyalty means
something to me.
I tap my foot along to Asking Alexandria as he wipes excess ink from my
back. The scrape against my skin pulls me from my thoughts for the
moment.
I enjoy the sting.
“How’s it feel to be back, man?” My chin bobs against my crossed arms.
“Eh,” Deacon grunts behind me. “S’aight.”
He’s a man of few words, this guy. Not in a rude or purposefully anti-
social way, but more of a he doesn’t like to waste his energy kind of way.
He’s straight to the point. Concise. Doesn’t mince words and doesn’t take
shit from anyone.
He’s the kind of guy you want in your corner. The kind of guy you trust to
jam thousands of needles into your back at rapid speed, and the kind of guy
you trust to literally have your back when shit goes down inside.
And man, did it ever.
“I can imagine.” I nod along with my words. “The shop is still standing,
though, so that’s a plus, right?”
I glance around the room—the silver tin ceilings, black painted brick
walls accented with gothic picture frames of artwork—and I see the pride
Deacon takes in his work displayed around me. The shop is immaculate, not
a spec of dirt in the place. It’s an intimate setting, not too big, not too small.
He has a handful of workers, though today we’re in on the one day the shop
is closed. Just another reason the dude is a plus in my book; he shifts his
schedule around and comes in on his day off to fit me in for some overdue
ink therapy.
“Somethin’ like that,” he mumbles.
When Deacon got busted, he entrusted his crew here at Second Chance
Ink to watch over his shop that he built from the ground up. Being a long
way from home, as he’s originally from Texas, this shop is his whole life.
Much like the auto shop is mine.
The fact he had to give up control for the two years he was put away must
have been excruciating for him. I speak from experience, because giving up
the shop for my little stint was damn near impossible. And that was only for
a little over a year. Dolan and Chace did a great job—but I can imagine it’s
like entrusting someone to watch over your only child in your absence.
It feels wrong, and it’s terrifying.
“How’s that lovely wife of yours? Y’all doin’ all right?” There’s a slight
twitch to his lip—the closest to smiling I’ve ever seen him.
Smug bastard.
Deacon is well aware of my history with Amber. He’s also well aware of
our current state of separation. He had joked while we were inside together,
on more than one occasion, that he could take her out with no questions
asked. I laughed about it, knowing I would never put a hit on anyone,
especially for reasons as pitiful as infidelity and just plain bitchiness.
He joked back then, but a part of me always believed he had truly meant
it, too. While I know the basics, I’ve never been quite sure that I have the
full story when it comes to Deacon.
Not entirely sure I want to, either.
“Good to see all that time inside hasn’t warped your sense of humor,
Deac.” I snicker, knowing he would get a kick out of my shitshow of a time
last night. “The she-bitch actually showed her face last summer trying to stir
up trouble for me. Haven’t heard much from her since, thankfully. What
about you?”
“Bless her heart,” he muses sourly and I smile to myself. “No ol’ lady, and
no plans for one.”
 Deacon’s Texan accent rears its head thick—though I got used to it, it’s
still so odd hearing it up north.
“No shit.” I laugh. “Anyone you’re seeing?”
After a beat passes, Deacon lets out a sigh. “Ain’t got the time. Tryna get
back on my feet and I was told, instead of asked, today that some journalist
is ’bout to be spendin’ a lot of time here. No doubt tryin’ to dig up somethin’
juicy for some gossip column.”
“That’s shitty, man. But don’t worry.” I chuckle. “I’ll find you a real nice
townie to heal that cold, battered heart of yours. I’ll even make sure she has
all her teeth, just for you.”
“Keep it up’n I’ll cancel your birth certificate, old man,” he jokes.
The buzzer to the front door of the shop goes off, halting the playful
roasting we have going on, and the stinging vibration against my back
pauses. The buzzing stops.
Deacon’s full attention shifts toward the door.
A man I don’t recognize, one built like a brick shithouse, stands in the
entryway of the shop, completely drenched from the downpour outside. His
light gray T-shirt is soaked, and water droplets coat his pockmarked face.
No words are spoken. The sizable man simply stares—his dark, cold eyes
telling me more than I’d care to know about him as the chill he let in from
the outside sets my body head to toe in gooseflesh.
At least that’s what I’d like to say is the cause of the chilly atmosphere...
When a few more moments pass with no one daring to speak, Deacon
slowly stands, sending his chair on wheels to gently roll back into the
mirrored wall behind us. The collision seems louder in this quiet space.
Now, I’m a fairly large dude, sitting at six-foot-three, two hundred and
fifty pounds, and without sounding like a meat head…I work out. With
that said, even I wouldn’t fuck with Deacon Lennox. He’s not quite as tall as
me, maybe a little over six feet or so, but the dude is stacked solid. Keeping
it short and sweet; let’s just say even his damn traps have traps.
Luca Brasi in the entryway over there must take a similar inventory of
him, taking the slightest step backward and shifting his ice-cold stare down
to me. His lip curls into a seedy smirk and my body ripples with a whole
new feeling of discomfort.
What the hell is going on?
With a curt nod and a few raps of his knuckles against the doorjamb, the
man gives one last glance toward Deacon before he turns and exits the shop.
The bell chimes once more with his sudden departure.
“Well, he sure was an ugly motherfucker, huh?” I crack, attempting to
alleviate my unease with whatever the hell just happened here.
“Got whopped by the whole goddamn tree.” Deacon’s response is terse,
not entirely unlike him, but his tone is different. There’s a layer of
defensiveness to his voice that wasn’t there only a few minutes ago.
I peer over my shoulder, noting his set and rigid jaw rippling underneath
his skin. He’s frazzled by the guy.
“Everything good, my man?”
“Sure.” He nods down at me once, attempting to reassure me with a small
smile that doesn’t quite meet his arctic blue eyes. “Everythin’s fine.”
Returning his chair to its rightful position, he seats himself and the buzz
of the tattoo gun resumes once more.
The scrape is back.
Deacon may have said the words, but I’m not entirely sure he believes
them himself.
I know I sure as hell don’t.
 CHAPTER FOUR
Kennedy

“IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU SHOWED your face around here.”

I look up from my task behind the bar, and I’m met with Travis’ boyish,
toothy grin. His feigned surprise at seeing me here makes me chuckle. After
all, his phone call is the one thing that got me to come back here after all
this time.
“Yeah, well, it appears that I don’t belong much of anywhere, anymore. At
least in Beacon I can give you shit to your face, Slim Shady,” I tease, taking
stock of Travis’ new look—a freshly bleached head of hair—as I force my
reluctant lips into a small smile. I round the end of the bar and make my
way out to where he’s standing.
“I was goin’ more for an MGK kind of thing, but I’ll take it. And
bullshit.” He shakes his head and pulls me into a tight embrace. “You belong
here. With us.”
Travis’ long, brawny arms hold me tight to him, and we sway to an
inaudible beat. He’s warm, and he smells familiar. It’s comforting. He’s
almost as tall as Palmer, easily pushing six-two at this point, but he’s more
lean muscle whereas Palmer is built like a tank.
“Nah, I like it.” I admit into his chest. “You look good, Trav.”
“Thanks, you look…tired.”
“Gee, thanks.” I allow the sarcasm to drip from my lips.
Resting my cheek against him, I hum a low “I missed you, you idiot” into
his chest.
“I missed you, too, Ken Doll. Don’t just up and leave like that again.” He
loosens his hold and peers down at me. “I know I should be pissed at you,
but I’m sure you’re getting enough of that from someone else. No use
kicking you when you’re down.”
“Yeah.” I puff out my cheeks, blowing out a large breath. “Any advice on
how to move forward with that one?” I step out of his personal space and
make my way back behind the counter as he grabs a seat at the bar. I shoo
him with my hand once he’s seated.
“Uh-uh…you can’t sit up here, Trav.” Jim might be my uncle, but he does
still have to obey the law. No underage people at the bar.”
“You’ve been gone awhile, Ken. I’m all legal and shit now. Things are
different around here.” He beams, showcasing his own panty-dropping
smile.
Having been infatuated with his uncle since I moved here, I never really
stopped to appreciate how good-looking Travis actually is. He has many of
the same features as Palmer—the same chiseled jaw, strong nose, shapely
brows and naturally buff build. He’s sporting some five o’clock shadow now,
whereas before he was always clean-shaven—adolescent, almost. Now?
Travis Palmer is a man. His once dark hair, again matching Palmer’s, is now
an unnatural shade of platinum bleached blond in a disheveled mess atop
his head. Oddly enough, the new look really does work for him. I’m sure he
gets his fair share of girls chasing him now.
“But no, I don’t have any advice on that.” He interrupts my thoughts. “I
do, however, have plans for us tonight.”
Us. There’s that word again.
The mischievous gleam in his eye worries me, but I raise an eyebrow in
question anyway.
“Party. You, me, local crew.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “It’s gonna be epic
and from the looks of those bags under your eyes, you need some damn fun,
Darling.”
 I let my head drop back and expel a groan.
“Do I need to remind you what happened at the last party I was at?” I
point to the faded, jagged scar above my eyebrow.
“Totally different vibe.” Travis waves a dismissive hand in front of him.
“Plus, Spencer is gone. No one has seen or heard from him since last
summer. He doesn’t even have social media anymore. Dude could be dead
for all we know.”
Comforting…
“You know what?” I give it one last fleeting second thought. “Why not?”
I deserve some fun. Operation Make-Palmer-mine-again is at a standstill
since aside from showing up at his house or shop, I never bump into him.
Almost as if he’s avoiding me.
“Pick you up at your mom’s?”
“Nah, I’ll come to you. We’ll Uber there so we can actually drink.”
I nod in agreement. “I’m off at ten.”
“I know.” He smirks.
“Okay, and I’m staying with Jim, he’s at—”
“I know.” He cuts me off while winking and hops from the stool,
whistling as he exits Buckey’s with his hands secured in his front pockets.
What the hell does he have up his sleeve now?

Travis is at Jim’s doorstep promptly at ten thirty, bottle of Fireball in hand.

He raises the amber liquid between us.
“Pre-party beverage?”
“I’m all set.” I laugh. “But you have at it.”
“Suit yourself.”
I sidestep, allowing him to enter and lead him into the back room where
I’ve been staying. Jim’s spare bedroom is an office, so instead of completely
upheaving his life, I said I would be fine staying in the den they used for
storage and hangouts. Most of my big belongings are in a storage unit in
town, but I don’t mind sleeping on the pullout couch. He’s done so much
for me, the last thing I want to do is make demands for sleeping
arrangements.
“Nice digs.” He scans the room, taking in the boxes piled high on the left,
the pullout couch haphazardly folded back up to allow for some more space
to move about, and my makeup in a pile on the floor in front of the full-
length mirror leaning against the wall.
“It might as well be the Ritz.” I grab my purse off the couch as Travis
takes a shot, hissing as the liquid makes its descent. “I already called us an
Uber. It should be here in a few.”
He nods, walking about the small space, inspecting things as he goes.
Reaching the pile of cardboard stacked high, he grabs a downturned picture
frame off of one of the boxes. Flipping it over, he reveals a photo of Palmer
and me smiling at the county fair last summer. Palmer towers over me in the
photo, my arms wrapped lovingly around his waist with both of our smiles
mirroring one another. I can see our smiles from where I stand and my heart
plummets into my stomach. I look down at the floor, focusing on my pale
pink polished toes, courtesy of Sterling.
When will this ever get easier?
“He still loves you, you know.”
My attention snaps toward his voice only to find Travis is staring at me. I
look back down briefly, embarrassed about my knee-jerk reaction to
anything Palmer related.
“Yeah, well.” I laugh sourly. “He seems otherwise preoccupied. I saw him
the other night with…” I trail off, not wanting to finish and actually say it
out loud.
Say what? His new replacement? It’s your own fault.
Travis nods, knowing exactly what I mean without me having to say it.
“It’s not serious.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because no one who’s getting laid and really feels for that person would
still be as big of an asshole as he’s been.”
The thought of Palmer sleeping with someone else makes my stomach
churn. When I say nothing, Travis continues. “Sorry. I just know he misses
you. He’s been a royal dick since you left—moping around and irritable.
He’d never admit it out loud, but it’s because he still loves you.”
Unable to believe it, I turn, fluffing my hair in the mirror. As I flick an
abandoned speck of mascara off my cheek, I see Travis still watching me in
the reflection.
“What?” The irritation in my voice is painfully obvious, but it’s not him
I’m upset with.
I’m upset with the world.
I’m upset with Palmer.
But mostly I’m upset with myself.
“Just wait,” he says, with more confidence in his voice than I can muster.
“He’ll come around. I have a plan.”
“You have a plan?” I chuckle. “That sounds like the makings for a shit
show.”
Travis only grins.

Walking into the house party, I’m smacked in the face with the sensation of
déjà vu. The smell of marijuana, the mass of bodies circulating, and the bitter
stench of beer from the kegs lining the wall to my left. The mugginess of the
summer heat is trapped inside this small, rundown house we’re in.
Why the hell did I agree to this again?
“C’mon.” He grabs my hand, weaving me through the bodies around us. I
don’t recognize a single person. That’s becoming a pattern around Beacon
now.
Maybe it’s better that way.
He leads us into the kitchen at the back of the house, which is slightly
less crowded than the living room, and begins mixing drinks for us. I lean
against the kitchen cabinet with my arms folded. I’m thankful I wore my
hair up in a ponytail, and my signature plain black camisole with cutoff
shorts—any more clothing and I’d be melting in this hotbox.
As I take in the people around me, I see that others had the same train of
thought. Most of the guys just have swim trunks on and little else. The girls
who aren’t in bikini coverups have skimpy tank tops on as well.
Gotta love the bi-polar summer weather changes in the north east. Tomorrow
it’ll probably be raining and in the 50s.
I watch Travis as his long fingers unscrew an abandoned bottle of Jack
Daniel’s and pour a rather large amount into a red Solo cup. Next is the
Coke, which he skimps on. That cup better be his—I’ll be dead on my ass
after drinking that concoction.
He hands me the opposite cup, and I’m pleased to find that when I take a
sip, it isn’t overly strong. I smile at him over the rim of the cup, a silent
thanks, which he nods to. We stand there, taking in the sounds, listening to
people bicker, the couples making out, the pinging of the pong game off the
dining room to our left, and hear the splashes of the people enjoying the
pool out back.
A group of guys approach and they all do that weird handshake, chest
bump thing that the male species seems to just…do. I bob my head along to
Post Malone, content with my people watching, hoping they ignore my
presence.
“Who’s your friend, Palmer?”
I turn back at the mention of the name and my heart beats double time,
until I realize he’s just speaking to Travis. My heart deflates, whizzing
around the room like a popped balloon.
He is a Palmer too, you lunatic. Just breathe.
“Dom, this is my aunt. Kennedy.”
I give Travis, who’s practically gnawing off his lips to keep from busting
out, the side eye and he straightens.
“Fucking seriously?” I roll my eyes and hold out my hand as he latches on.
“Ignore him, he’s drunk.”
“Really, really not, though.” Travis laughs. “Nah, this is my friend Kennedy
Darling.” He motions to me, then to the guy standing before me. “Ken, this
is Dom. We actually went to high school together.”
Dom, donned in jet-black hair and mocha skin, sports an eyebrow ring
and nose stud. He’s much shorter than Travis, a good six inches at least. He
studies me from the neck down, perusing slowly, and I tug my hand back.
“Nice to meet you, Kennedy.” His tongue darts out and moistens his full
lips before a wolfish grin breaks out across his features. “Very nice.”
Uh, okay…gross.
“Easy there, big fella.” Travis pats Dom’s chest as he moves to stand beside
him, flinging an arm across his shoulders, both of them squared off to me.
“She’s off-limits, and trust me, that’s not something you wanna push.”
Could this possibly be any more uncomfortable, or?
“Hi, baby.” A short brunette sidles up to Dom and pecks a kiss to his
cheek.
Yep, guess it could.
He doesn’t even acknowledge her presence, and how could he? He hasn’t
taken his eyes off me since our introduction and I suddenly feel like I need a
shower.
The girl, presumably his girlfriend, glances my way and ends up doing a
double take.
“I know you,” she states, bobbing her finger in the air in my direction. I
turn, giving my nerves a break from her creep of a boyfriend. “Yeah, you
were dating Spencer Laurent, right?”
I nod. “I was, yeah. Past tense, thankfully.”
I feel Dom do one more slow, exaggerated sweep down to my feet and I
shudder.
“I thought you looked familiar. I was at the party last summer at Alpha
Gamma Phi—”
At her mention of last summer’s party I zone out.
 Never have I ever fucked an older man to make myself feel validated.
I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot fucking pole after letting that scumbag,
Colson, between your legs.
Flash those perfect tits around all you want—you’re damaged goods, Darling.
Spencer’s vile words that night flash through my mind like a bad movie
reel and my head begins spinning. I can tell that this girl is still speaking to
me, but I’m lightheaded and I’ve hardly had anything to drink. It feels like
the walls are closing in on me.
I need to leave.
“Ken?” I look up at Travis’ questioning eyes.
“I…” Dom, Travis, and this random girl’s eyes sear into my skin. I feel
hot. “I just need some fresh air.”
I push past the three of them and onto the back-patio porch. The late
May night feels good on my skin and I let my eyes flutter closed to focus on
breathing.
In, out.
In, out.
In—
I lurch forward and catch myself on the railing of the porch. I turn,
inspecting my now wet ass from some unknown beverage and attempt to
see what, or who, had rammed into my backside.
“Shit, srry, sweetheart.” A tall, lanky guy with curly blond hair stumbles
onto the porch, slurring his words. “I dint see you therrr.” His lopsided grin
shines as he sways with the nighttime breeze. In his hand, a completely
horizontal red Solo cup expels the last of the liquid held inside straight
down onto his chucks.
Remind me again why I agreed to come to yet another party when I loathe
them?
Choosing to ignore tall, curly, and drunk, I make my way off the patio,
thankful that even Travis didn’t follow me out, and onto a small bench
hidden within some shrubbery. I plop myself down with my phone and
begin to scour through Instagram. Deciding to torture myself, I search for
cole.palmer37 and scroll through his photos. Thankfully he doesn’t have any
new ones, especially none with her.
A photo collage of the two of us at Lake George.
The Pinterest birthday cake fail we worked so hard on last year for
Dolan’s thirty-fourth birthday.
A Chuck Norris meme.
Series of selfies of us in his truck making silly gestures at the camera and
seeing who could make the most ridiculous face.
A photo he took of me at a diner in New Jersey when he brought me
along to pick up some car parts with him.
A candid of me behind the bar at Buckey’s. I wasn’t looking at the
camera, but he snapped a shot from the counter. This one is accompanied by
a short caption underneath it.
Not sure what I did in my life to deserve this beautiful woman. I’m not one for
sap, but I’ll take any and every opportunity to show off my favorite girl. Our days
are just beginning, baby. I’m crazy about you. I love you.
Tears well in my eyes. How had I missed this photo? I’m not tagged in it,
so I guess it slipped between the cracks somehow. My chest tightens as I
double tap the image and shove down the sob that wants to worm its way
out of my throat.
Commotion coming from back inside the house suddenly piques my
interest. There are glasses being shattered and voices getting louder by the
minute. I jog back to the porch to survey the situation going down, peering
around the crowd of people already forming to watch the fight go down.
That’s when my eyes practically bug out of my skull.
Through the mass in front of me, I see two guys pummeling each other.
There’s blood splattered on the wall, and broken glass on the floor
surrounding them. The taller of the two takes the grappling to the ground
and that’s when I recognize the distinct jaw line, the strong nose, and newly
bleached blond hair.
 CHAPTER FIVE
Palmer

MY PHONE VIBRATES IN MY back pocket and I lift my hips off the

couch to pull the damn thing out.
It’s Travis.
I groan, speaking before he has a chance to.
“This better be good,” I pause The Ugly Truth playing on my flat screen.
“I’m in the middle of something important.”
“Palmer?”
The smooth, low purr of her voice jolts my dick in my pants.
I shoot up off the couch.
“Kennedy?” The shock in my voice is annoyingly apparent.
What the fuck?
“Yeah…it’s me,” she’s practically whispering.
I hear muffled music in the background and my heart begins hammering
within my chest. It’s the first time I’ve heard her voice like this in so long.
“Please don’t hang up…”
“I’m not.” God, I’m not. “What is going on?” I pull my phone back to
inspect the caller ID one more time to make sure I’m not completely losing
my mind. “And why do you have Trav’s phone?”
“We’re at a party, and something kind of…happened. Can you come get
us?”
What the hell was Travis doing dragging her to a damn house party after
what happened last year?
“Please? I didn’t know who else to call.”
Like I could really fucking say no to her.
I adjust myself through my jeans, the action only making my situation
worse down there, and I growl.
“I’m on my way.”

I pull up to the house using the directions she gave me, and see Kennedy
and Travis sitting on the curb out front. He’s cradling the side of his face, a
red cloth pressed against his brow and Kennedy has her hand on his back,
rubbing in slow circles.
Jealousy instantly bubbles to the surface.
Seriously? It’s your fucking nephew. Get. A. Grip.
Hearing my tires approaching, they both look up. Travis’ eye is already
almost completely swollen shut. I pause “Gravity” by Papa Roach and roll
down my window, nodding toward the passenger seat. I got the abridged
version of what happened from Kennedy on the phone.
Travis had been fighting.
No shit, the apple doesn’t fall far from the—
“Get in.” I shut down my internal dialogue. I don’t need to be any further
reminded of how much of a role model I’m not.
They both slide in; Trav in the front and Kennedy takes the seat behind
me. They’re silent, each looking like they’re about to face the music from an
irate parent. I’m too angry to speak, so I just…don’t. I pull away from the
curb and head toward my sister Jamie’s house, my first stop, to drop Travis’
bruised body off on her doorstep before I finish what this supposed Dom
kid—shit, person—started.
The ride is awkward and quiet. My skin crawls with everything I’d like to
say. To both of them. But I know if I open my mouth, I’ll say some shit I
don’t mean. It’s still too raw.
 “What the hell were you thinking?”
Well. Guess I can’t hold it in any longer.
The silence in the car is fucking deafening and I can feel my lid about to
blow. “Fucking throwing punches at a party like some thug? Jesus, Trav, use
your head.”
“Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you!” The tendons in Travis’ neck
pulse.
“Watch it, kid.” I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning
snow white. I turn down Jamie’s road, their house coming into view, and I’ve
never been so happy to see my sister’s place in my life. I’m afraid the longer
I stay in the truck with him, shit is going to be said that can’t be taken back.
“Nah. Fuck this.” Excuse me? “I’m sick of you moping around and being a
proper ass to everyone in your damn path.” His voice continues rising. “You
want Kennedy, it’s not a secret. Well, she’s right fucking here!” He motions
to the backseat. “Silver platter and all, so have at it, and put us all out of our
misery.”
Silver platter? Did he…did he plan this?
I slow to a stop at my sister’s driveway, and Travis hops out of the truck,
making his way toward the front door before I can utter a single word. I let
out a slow breath through puffed cheeks and wait until I know he’s inside
before looking in the rearview mirror.
And then there were two…
“You can sit up here if you want. I’ll bring you to your apartment.”
Kennedy shakes her head softly, almost timidly. “I’m okay back here.”
I watch as she hugs her arms around her midriff, the motion pushing her
breasts up in her tank top. My dick stirs and I bite back a groan. It’s been
torture these last few days knowing she’s back in town but that it still
doesn’t do me any good.
I want her to want me again, but I also need her to work for it. On the
other hand, I’m fairly sure if she threw herself at me and said that she still
loves me I’d melt into a puddle at her feet and take her back in a damn
millisecond.
Fuck being a male—my dick does my thinking ninety percent of the
time, and it’s sure as shit not doing me any favors lately. First and foremost
is my anger toward her; but I can’t deny that I’d do just about damn near
anything for this girl.
“I sort of feel like a taxi.” I level her with a stare through the mirror. “Can’t
you just…” I motion to the passenger seat.
She sighs, but I hear her seat belt unbuckle and my heart begins thrashing
in my ears. She exits the truck and I let out a breath, exhaling the tension
from the car ride here so I can secretly enjoy the second half of the trip to
her place.
I’ll lose my shit at the rate this night is going if I drop her off at her
apartment and douche nozzle opens the front door. What was his fucking
name again? Lucas?
Her agile little body jumps up into the passenger seat and she shuts the
door quietly behind her. I place my hand behind her headrest and look over
my shoulder as I back out of the driveway. I see her body tense as I do so
from my close proximity.
I still affect her.
That has to be a good sign, right?
“Am I taking you to your apartment?” I steal a glance, only to find her
looking straight ahead.
“Um, no.” She fidgets in her seat. “Jim’s house, please.”
Interesting. I wonder why she doesn’t want to go to her place. Are she and lover
boy fighting?
“I saw—” Stopping myself before I put my foot in my mouth, I hit play
on the stereo and Papa Roach begins serenading us once more. I don’t want
her knowing I saw Lucas coming out of her apartment. I’ll just seem like a
creepy fucking stalker.
“What?” She presses. “Saw what?”
Shit.
 “Nothing, I don’t know what I was going on about. Let’s just get you to
Jim’s, it’s late.”
“I know. I’m sorry for calling you this late. I just didn’t know what else to
do. We didn’t drive there. Obviously.” She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “I
wasn’t sure you’d pick up if you saw it was me calling, so I had to use Travis’
phone.”
Now she’s talking. This is all good.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” I turn to look at her. Her hair is up in a
high ponytail with a few tendrils hanging down around her face. It’s a new
look for her and I’m tempted to tuck the strands behind her ear. She looks
so effortlessly stunning that I have to turn my attention back to the road to
avoid making an even bigger ass of myself. “So what caused the fisticuffs?”
When she doesn’t answer, I turn my attention her way once more. She’s
staring down at her lap, playing with the rings on her thumbs.
“Kennedy?”
She looks up at me with a sigh.
“Travis overheard that Dom guy saying things about me.” Her arms fold
over her chest again. “What he wanted to do…” her words trail off. “Things
like that.”
My blood begins to fizzle.
“What was he saying?” I manage through gritted teeth.
“Nothing I’d like to repeat.” She faces out the passenger side window.
She’s shut herself down next to me, and I can tell the conversation is over.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on him.” She speaks softly toward the window.
“He was just standing up for me.” Our eyes finally meet over the center
console. “He’s a really good guy.”
I nod once, feeling like King Dick. I need to apologize to Travis
tomorrow. I guess I just assumed he was being a hothead like me. I never
considered the fact it may have been the result of a noble intention.
“I miss you.”
Her voice is so quiet I question whether it was all in my head, but when I
peer back at her as I pull in her uncle’s driveway, I see that she’s staring
straight at me.
My inner self is fist punching the air and doing backflips off a fifty-foot
cliff.
She misses me. She! Fucking! Misses! Me!
I swallow down the excitement, knowing that I need to ease into this, and
slam on the brakes before my heart decides to run off into the sunset hand
in hand with the blonde in my front seat.
I need to use my head. My big head.
For once.
“Yeah, well.” I sigh, putting my truck in park. “I needed answers and I
never got them. You left without so much as a word, Kennedy. I didn’t know
what the hell to do. I couldn’t contact you. I never heard from you and I
didn’t know where the hell you had even gone. You never gave me a moment
to explain what happened. You didn’t even have the decency to answer or
reply to anything I sent you.” I had said enough. I didn’t need to keep it
going, but my mouth was on a roll and there was no stopping it now. “You
thought the worst of me in an instant without ever hearing my side. You’re
gonna have to prove it to me that you’re in this with me.”
She nods along to my spiel. “I know.”
“I need some time.” What? What are you saying? No, you don’t. “If you’re
truly wanting to work things out or move forward, you need to show me.”
Seriously, stop talking! “Only then can we lay all of our cards out on the table
from that night. I need you to prove it to me.”
“How do I do that?”
“That’s something you’re just gonna have to figure out on your own.”
 CHAPTER SIX
Palmer

METALLICA BLARES THROUGH THE SHOP speakers, and I turn it

down to a tolerable decibel. I stretch the tightness out of my back—
spending hours bent over the hood of a car really takes its toll.
Fuck, man, you sound old…
I grab a torque wrench off my tool bench and take a swig out of the Red
Bull I’ve been nursing all morning.
Breakfast of champions.
Ever since Kennedy left, I’ve been back to microwaved meals, fast food,
energy drinks, and processed junk. If the work I do doesn’t kill me, my poor
eating habits surely will.
As I make my way back toward the ’69 Camaro I’ve been working on all
morning, I’m reminded by the silence around me that I haven’t been
bothered in the last few minutes. Entirely unusual in this place. I drop the
wrench back down on the wooden bench behind me, hearing the whistles
before I see anything. Swiping the rag from my back pocket, I begin erasing
the grease from my fingers and round the half wall separating me from the
rest of the shop.
I discard the filthy rag on the cluttered tool bench in the main shop and
kick away the creeper that was left haphazardly strewn in the middle of the
floor just waiting for someone to trip over it and break their damn neck.
Fucking Travis…
 I hear chatter toward the front of the garage, and as I round the lifted
civic, I notice a semi-circle of my crew is formed around the table just inside
the large service bay door.
Am I the only one fuckin’ working today?
The glistening top of Kennedy’s silver locks catch my eye as I approach
the lazy sons of bitches I call my workers, and my heart begins attempting
to tear from my chest. The traitorous lub dub of my heart beats in tandem
with my boots against the concrete floor.
Hearing me approach, some of the guys turn and scatter, making room
for me—guilt spread across their faces.
Kennedy’s dressed in skimpy, torn black denim shorts and those weird
strappy sandals chicks wear that look like they should be suiting up for a
gladiator arena. A charcoal gray, flowing tank top rests above a strappy, black
lace bralette showcasing the swell of her perfectly supple tits. Her smooth
skin sports a fresh tan and it takes everything in me to stay rooted where I
stand. With her flesh bared in her barely there clothes, I notice a few more
tattoos since she left last summer.
Kennedy Darling looks good enough to fucking eat.
I hear a deep moan, like someone else agrees with that fact, coming from
Dolan to my left.
“Mmm. Delicious.”
Ex-fucking-cuse me?
I shoot daggers his way, and he freezes, noting his mistake, no doubt.
“What?” He shrugs, his mouth full of food. “She brought donuts.”
I let out a breath, thankful I don’t have to kill my best friend, and he
stands to the side, showcasing the orange and pink box of donuts resting on
the table. There looks to be plenty for everyone. Murmurs form around me,
and one by one my guys grab a treat, holding them up in cheers, thanking
her while stuffing their faces.
Two-timing dicks, the whole lot of them. She comes bearing treats and they all
roll over and drool.
 Looking to me for what to do, I simply stare back. They take the hint and
piss off, leaving me alone with Kennedy. Dolan pats my shoulder as he
passes, powdered sugar coating his lips. He holds his out to Kennedy in
cheers and she giggles as he moseys his way back into the shop.
“You already forgot I like jellies?”
Kennedy snickers to herself and pulls down one strap of her mammoth
purse, revealing a small, lone white box from inside. She opens it, exposing a
solitary jelly donut.
“Didn’t want someone else to take it,” she states with a shrug.
I eat my words as my lips turn upward slightly without even thinking, but
I shut that shit down and level her with a bored stare. Plucking the donut
from its confines I take a small bite, relishing the doughy outside and sweet,
gooey center. An unrestrained moan escapes my lips as I swallow and
Kennedy fidgets.
“What’s all this for?”
She tenses, looking almost shy.
That’s a fuckin’ first. I inwardly chuckle.
“I guess I just wanted to see you. And I know I can’t just show up here
empty-handed. These guys would eat me alive.” She laughs uncomfortably.
Oh, I’d be the one eating you, sweet girl…
No. Shit. I’m trying to make her actually fucking work for this. I cut my
thoughts off at the knees. I need all the strength I have to put any real
distance between us and stand my ground.
Shrugging coyly, she then adds, “Plus, I thought a jelly might make a
good peace offering. I could never forget that those are your favorites.”
I suck the sugary sweetness off my thumb as I stare at her, never once
straying from her gaze. She fidgets with the hem of her shirt as we stare
back at one another. My blood heats beneath my skin.
At least the sexual tension hasn’t changed any, Jesus Christ.
“It’s gonna take a lot more than some donuts to get back on my good
graces, Darling.” I take another large bite.
 Yeah. That’s more like it.
Forcing myself to turn and walk away, I lift her ‘peace offering’ in the air
while I mutter with my mouth full of dough, “Thanks for the food.”
Only when I’m sure she can no longer see me do I allow the smile that
had been threatening, to rise to the surface. Dolan snickers at me from the
corner of the shop, shaking his head from side to side.
He knows just how much she gets to me.
Like the good friend I am, I bellow for everyone to get back to work and
flip him the bird.

The remnant of jelly donut sitting on my workbench pushes me through the

rest of the day. I chose to leave a small bite, propped mockingly on a napkin
that I could stare at.
It’s Kennedy.
Yes. Hi, I’m crazy; nice to meet you.
It’s the small part of her that thought of me, a moment in her day that
was dedicated to doing something small that she thought I might like.
And she even took care of the guys while she was at it.
She is so goddamn perfect, and she doesn’t even need to try—that’s
what’s so infuriating.
I can’t stand my ground because the next thing I know, she’ll be off doing
the next perfect thing and I fall even more in love with her than I was the
moment before that.
It’s exhausting.
I guess it’s also invigorating. To love someone that much and not even
having to try to force it.
It’s organic—it’s real.
“Boss man,” Chase calls to me over the stereo blaring Killswitch Engage.
“You got a customer out front asking for you. Some curly-haired kid.”
Curly-haired kid?
 “Uh, sure. Thanks, man.”
I pop the last bit of donut into my mouth, and the irony of ‘eating
Kennedy’ is not lost on me. I make my way outside to figure out who the
hell is asking for me.
I slow to a stop outside the raised service bay doors, at a loss for words at
who stands before me.
That fucking Lucas kid.
Kennedy’s he’s actually a nice guy blind date.
Nice guy my ass.
Nope. No can-do.
He can drive four blocks over and get his shit fixed there. I don’t need the
business.
Just as I turn to leave, not really giving two shits about my manners, I take
notice of the car he’s here with.
A car that looks eerily similar to Kennedy’s shit box.
I approach, inspecting the vehicle as he watches me make my rounds, and
just as I suspected, a worn, black Misfits T-shirt lies crumpled in the
backseat.
What the fuck?
“Kennedy recommended your shop to me,” he blurts out.
The fact he just said her name sends tingles down my spine and out
through my fingertips.
When the hell were they talking about me?
“Oh did she now?”
“Yep, said you’re the best in the state, actually. I really need this fixed
before the end of the day, if possible.” He shrugs, gently kicking Kennedy’s
damaged bumper. “Help me out? I don’t want her to know about this.”
“You keep kicking this shit like that, you’re only gonna add to the
problem I gotta fix.” I let out an impatient sigh.
I definitely have the time to help him—the question is do I want to?
Who am I kidding? I know the answer immediately.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 THE RANGE QUADRANT
The range quadrant consists of the quadrant spring fastening and
bracket, rocker, body, scroll gear, range disk, range and cross levels
with suitable leveling screws, and a micrometer to set off the angle of
site.
The range disk is graduated to 6500 yards, least reading every 50
yards, scale numbered every 500 yards. This disk is operated by a
scroll gear. Large changes in range may be made by pulling out the
handwheel, thus disengaging the scroll gear, and moving the body
and index to the approximate range, whereupon the handwheel is
released, and the range accurately set by again turning the
handwheel.
The micrometer has 100 divisions and is operated by a milled
head. The limb of the micrometer, called the level scale, is graduated
from 2 to 5, each division corresponding to one complete revolution
of the micrometer. The arbitrary reference point or mean position of
the level holder is 300 which corresponds to a point on the same
level as the gun.
 RANGE QUADRANT
REVISED JUNE 4, 1908, JULY 30, 1910, FEB 6, 1911. CLASS 36-DIVISION 22 DRAWING 5

CARE AND INSPECTION OF SIGHTS.

Rear sight Bracket.—Should not be bent, broken or cracked.
Must be seated firmly in the bracket support.
Shank Socket Mechanism.—Not bent or burred; interior of shank
socket, scroll and worm gears free of scratches, burrs or deformed
threads. Sight shank easily inserted and moved up and down in the
socket. Scroll gear securely held in mesh with rack of sight shank.
For large movements of shank, should be easily disengaged by
pulling out scroll gear handle; must be securely held in place by
spring when released. Keep interior well lubricated. See that level
vials of cross and elevation levels are intact and bubbles not too
large.
Sight Shank.—Rack on right side must engage with scroll gear;
keep lightly oiled. Sight shank should remain in fixed position except
when disengaged or operated by scroll gear handles. For changes in
range of 300 yards or less use only the scroll gear; over 300 yards
pull scroll gear handle and slide shank up or down in socket by hand,
making accurate setting with the scroll gear.
Panoramic Sight.—Lug must fit snugly in T slot of rear sight and
then held fast by clamp screw and ratchet. When making ready for
march order, first set the azimuth and R & L deflection scales at
zero, and the elevation scale at 300. Release clamp screw and
ratchet. In removing panoramic sight, grasp at center below the
azimuth gear case, lift vertically out of the socket, lower the top of
sight to the left and replace in panoramic sight box.
Quadrant.—Must fit snugly in its bracket, spring catch engaging.
Nut on range disk must be tight to prevent slipping. To remove
quadrant, press on spring catch before sliding off bracket.
The sights are correctly adjusted when, at zero elevation and
deflection, correction having also been made for difference of level of
wheels, the line of sight is parallel to the axis of the bore.
The range quadrant is correctly adjusted when, with the range
disk set at zero, level set at 300, axis of gun horizontal and corrected
for difference of level of wheels, the bubble of the range level is
centered.
In adjusting sights, the panoramic sight should first be corrected. If
the rear sight is adjusted first, it will require readjustment if the
subsequent adjustment of the panoramic sight causes a change in
position of the rear-sight range strip.
To adjust the panoramic sight.—Select a well defined point at
least 2000 yards distant. If the bore sights are not available, stretch
two threads or hairs from the tail of a horse across the grooves
marked on the face of the muzzle and fasten them by a strap or
rubber band. Remove the firing-lock case from the hub of the block-
carrier. By sighting through the hole in the vent bushing of the
breechblock, adjust the intersection of the cross hairs on the distant
point, using the elevating and traversing mechanisms of the gun.
Now without moving the gun or disturbing the laying of the cross
hairs, bring the cross wires of the panoramic sight on the same
distant point by means of the azimuth scale worm-knob and the
scroll gear of the rear sight (on panoramic sights, M1915, to the
deflection R & L scale should first be made to read 0, and the
elevation scale of the objective to read 300). The cross hairs of the
gun and the cross wires of the panoramic sight will thus be laid on
the same point. Now adjust the azimuth micrometer scale to read 0
by means of unscrewing and tightening the screw on the milled
head. Loosen the nut on the range strip; move it up or down until it
reads (0) 100. Tighten the nut again. Verify the laying. For this
adjustment, it is not necessary to have the wheels or the carriage on
a level platform; cross level should be leveled.
To adjust the rear sight.—Having adjusted the panoramic sight
and the rear sight range strip as described above, and without
disturbing the laying of the gun, shift the deflection scale of the peep
sight and raise or lower the front sight until the cross wires of the
latter are laid upon the same distant point. Now loosen the two
screws of the deflection scale and place the 0 of this scale opposite
the index of the peep sight. The front sight is raised or lowered by
removing the split pins and then turning the front sight in the sight
bracket sleeve either up or down.
To adjust the quadrant.—(a) If an adjusted B. C. telescope or
another gun with its quadrant in proper adjustment is available, the
angle of site of some distinctly visible and distant point is measured
by either of these means. The gun to be adjusted is then laid upon
this distant point either with the bore sights, or with the tangent sight
set at 0 (or some other convenient) range. The measured angle of
site is then set off on the level scale of the quadrant and the bubble
of the range level is centered by turning the handwheel of the range
disk. By using the quadrant wrench, the range disk is then adjusted
to read 0 range, (or the convenient range previously set off on the
tangent sight).
(b) If no means are at hand to correctly measure the angle of site
of a distant point, the quadrants may be adjusted by using two guns
as follows: Unlimber two guns at about the same level, first seeing
that the sights are in adjustment (par. 75). Lay both guns upon some
distant point by means of the panoramic sight set at 0 range. Now
set both quadrants for the same angle of site (roughly estimated A.
S. of the distant point) and center the bubbles of the range level by
turning the handwheel of the range disks. By means of the quadrant
wrench, adjust the range disk of one of the quadrants to agree with
the other. Whatever error exists will now be the same in each
quadrant.
Now move one of the guns about 100 yards away and turn the
muzzles toward each other. With the sights set at 0 range, lay the
panoramic sights upon each other and measure the angle of site of
each gun. Half the difference of the two readings will be the slope of
the line of sight between the two guns. On the level scale of the
quadrant which read the greater angle of site, set off 300 plus the
half-difference, on the other quadrant set off 300 minus the half-
difference. Now center the bubble of the range level by turning the
handwheel of the range disk. By using the quadrant wrench, adjust
the range disk until it reads 0 range. Having thus adjusted two guns,
the others may be adjusted by the first means described.

OBSERVING INSTRUMENTS.

B. C. Telescope, M. 1915.

The B. C. Telescope, M. 1915, is a binocular observing

instrument of the scissors type. The two tubes of the telescope may
be clamped either in a vertical or a horizontal position. In the former
position the objectives are 12 inches above the eyes of the observer,
and in the latter position they are 24 inches apart and at the same
height as the eyes of the observer. In both cases they permit the
observer to take advantage of some shield or other cover and still
obtain a full view of the sector of observation. The tubes may be
adjusted for the observer’s interpupillary distance in either the
vertical or the horizontal position. The eyepieces may be adjusted to
the eyes of the observer by screwing in or out.

BATTERY COMMANDER’S TELESCOPE MODEL OF 1915.

36-22-31

The principal parts of the telescope are:—Leveling mechanism,

azimuth mechanism, elevating mechanism, angle of site mechanism,
the telescopes and the tripod. A carrying case is provided separately
for the instrument and for the tripod. In garrison a storage case is
also provided.
The leveling mechanism consists of a ball and socket joint
operated by the vertical spindle clamping screw.
The azimuth mechanism consists of the azimuth worm knob with
its lever, operating the azimuth worm and worm wheel; the adjusting
or slow motion knob and the azimuth clamp. The azimuth limb is
divided into 64 parts, each division representing 100 mils. The
azimuth micrometer is divided into 100 equal parts or mils,
numbered every 10 mils. One complete revolution of the micrometer
is equal to one division of the limb. The scales therefore correspond
to those on the panoramic sight, 6400 mils to the circumference.
The leveling mechanism is operated by the small elevation worm
knob.
The angle of site mechanism consists of the level, the angle of site
scale and micrometer with its worm knob.
The telescopes consist of the eyepieces, telescopic tubes with
their optical systems. In the right eyepiece is a graduated cross wire
which can be rotated for either the horizontal or the vertical position.
The tripod is similar to the usual telescopic instrument tripod.
The optical characteristics of the instrument are as follows:—
Power 10; field of view 75 mils; focal length of objectives 11½
inches; the field is flat, free from chromatic and spherical aberration,
coma and distortion.

Care and Instructions.

To set up the telescope.—First set up the tripod, clamping and
propping the legs so as to obtain the desired cover and view. By
means of the vertical spindle clamping lever, approximately center
level on azimuth worm case and clamp tightly. Carefully take out B.
C. telescope from case and while pressing on locker plunger, place
telescope on vertical spindle so that the projection on the azimuth
worm case will fit into the corresponding slotted segment of the
telescope. Release the locking plunger.
To focus the eye pieces.—Adjust each eye piece separately by
turning the same until the image of a distant object appears sharply
defined. Read the diopter scale, plus or minus, and note for future
use.
 To adjust the interpupillary distance.—The eye pieces having
been focussed, loosen the large friction clamp knob in front. Grasp
both tubes with the hands and separate or close them in (either in
the vertical or horizontal position) until the fields of view of the two
eye pieces are exactly coincident and present a single image to the
eyes. This can be tested by alternately closing one eye and then the
other, noting any movement in the image. Tighten the large friction
clamp knob. Read the interpupillary scale and note for future use.
To lay 0 on any point.—Level the instrument by means of the
vertical spindle clamping screw. Bubble must remain approximately
centered while instrument is turned 1600 mils. Set both the azimuth
index and the micrometer to read zero. Release the azimuth clamp
shaft knob; turn the telescope toward the point and tighten the
azimuth clamp shaft knob. Bring the vertical wire accurately on the
point by turning the azimuth adjusting worm knob.
To measure the deflection and site of a target.—Lay the zero
on the aiming point as above. If the line of sight must be moved
through a large angle, press down the azimuth worm lever as far as
it will go and while holding it down move the azimuth mechanism
until the line of sight is approximately directed upon the target; then
release the worm lever and bring the cross wires accurately on the
target by turning the azimuth worm knob (for deflection) and the
elevation worm knob (for elevation). Center the site level. Read the
deflection and site.
For carrying the B. C. telescope assembled on the tripod, clamp
tightly the vertical spindle clamping lever; close in and clamp the
tubes of the telescope; slide up and clamp the lower tripod legs; then
carry the telescope over the shoulder by grasping the tripod legs,
tube bases of telescope resting on the shoulder.
To dismount the B. C. Telescope and to pack in carrying case.
—Screw in both eye pieces. Press on the locking plunger and lift the
telescope vertically off the spindle. Unclamp the large friction clamp
knob, bringing the tubes together and insert in the carrying case;
close and lock the lid. In dismounting the tripod the leg separators of
the upper sections should first be unclamped. After the lower legs
have been assembled, they should be clamped. To set up the tripod
the operation is reversed.

Aiming Circle, M, 1916.

The Aiming Circle is an angle measuring instrument only and
consists of a telescope, leveling mechanism, angle of site device,
elevating mechanism, azimuth circle and compass, mounted on a
tripod.
Its leveling, azimuth and angle of site mechanisms are similar to
those in the B. C. Telescope, as is also the tripod. The elevating
mechanism consists of elevating worm knob and gear connecting it
with the telescope. The telescope has a universal focus, magnifying
power of 4, and a field of 180 mils. The cross wires are illuminated
by a window. The compass is secured by the needle release button.

Care and Instructions.

Glass compass cover should fit tightly. Compass needle when
clamped should not rotate while instrument is revolved or tipped.
When release button is pressed, compass must swing freely on pivot
and again remain clamped when button is released. Compass
should be released only when aiming circle is set up and horizontal.
 AIMING CIRCLE
36-22-30

Bubble must remain approximately centered while instrument is

turned 1600 mils.
To lay 0 on any point.—Set both the azimuth index and the
micrometer to read zero. Release the wing nut; turn the telescope
toward the point and again tighten the wing nut. Bring the vertical
wire accurately on the point by turning the adjusting worm wheel.
To measure the deflection and site of a target.—Lay 0 on the
aiming point as above. If the line of sight must be moved through a
large angle, press down on the azimuth worm lever as far as it will
go and while holding it down, move the azimuth mechanism until the
line of sight is approximately directed upon the target; then release
the worm knob (for deflection) and the elevation worm knob (for
elevation). Center the site level. Read the deflection and site.
To measure the compass deflection of a target.—Set both the
azimuth index micrometer to read 40. Release the wing nut; turn the
telescope until the N and S poles of the compass are respectively
near the N and S points marked on the compass box. Make the
coincidence accurately with the adjusting worm wheel. Now proceed
to measure the deflection and site of the target as described above.
The Tripod and Azimuth Gear Case.—The leather cover
protecting the ball and socket joint must fit snugly both above and
below, and be free of rips or holes. The ball and socket joint and the
tripod legs should be easily adjusted and moved, but should remain
fixed when clamped by the clamping levers.
For carrying the aiming circle assembled on the tripod, the wing
nut and the vertical spindle clamping lever should be clamped tightly
and the instrument carried over the shoulder by grasping the tripod
legs, head of tripod resting on the shoulder.

Adjustments B. C. Telescope and Aiming Circle.

The B. C. Telescope and the Aiming Circle are correctly adjusted
when the following conditions prevail: Telescope properly focussed;
plane of level perpendicular to the vertical axis of the instrument;
angle of site scale reading 300 when the line of sight is horizontal;
lost motion on worm gears eliminated. In principle, the adjustments
of the B. C. Telescope and of the Aiming Circle are exactly the same.
The leveling and focusing have already been described. Detailed
instructions of the operations in eliminating lost motion in the worm
gears will be found in the Handbook for F. A. Fire Control Equipment,
1916.
To make the site scale read 300 when the line of sight is
horizontal.—Set up the telescope or aiming circle. Level the
instrument so that the bubble on the azimuth worm case will remain
centered while the instrument is turned 1600 mils. Lay on some point
of a stake or other vertical linear object which is at a convenient
distance but not closer than 100 yards to the instrument. The point
selected should be at such a height that the telescope can later be
set up close to it, with the objective at the same height as the
selected point. Read the angle of site. This reading will be equal to
(300 + S + E), in which S is the angle of slope of the line of sight,
and E is the error in the site adjustment. Before leaving this station,
set up a second stake near the telescope and mark on it a point
which is at the height of the objective.
Now move the telescope to the first stake; set up and level the
instrument with the objective at the height of the point marked on this
stake. Lay on the marked point of the second stake and read the
site. This angle will be equal to (300 - S × E). Subtracting one
reading from the other we have:—(300 × S × E) - (300 - S × E) = 2S;
or one-half the difference of the two readings is equal to the angle of
slope of the line of sight. Therefore with the cross wires directed
upon the marked point of the second stake, center the bubble of the
site level. Now loosen the angle of site locking screw and turn the
micrometer to read (300 - S), being careful to keep the bubble
centered. Screw up the locking screw. The instrument is now in
adjustment.
After one telescope has been adjusted, other telescopes, aiming
circles and quadrants may be adjusted by merely measuring the site
of some distant point. The other telescopes and guns, being in
position near the adjusted telescope, are then made to read the
proper site when laid upon the distant point.

FIELD ARTILLERY RANGE FINDER, 1 METER

BASE
 (Bausch & Lomb.)
The instrument and accessories consist of the range finder proper,
the tripod mount, the tripod, the adjusting bar, the carrying-case and
the storage box.
The optical parts of the range finder are embodied in a seamless,
steel tube (A) covered with canvas and asbestos, to minimize the
effects of the change of temperature. The eyepiece (B) is located in
the center of the instrument and is equipped with a focusing device
graduated in diopters. A soft rubber eye cap is furnished to protect
the observer’s eye from shocks and stray light. A ray filter having two
sets of glass is operated by a small lever (C) situated to the lower left
of the eyepiece housing.
 DIAGRAM TO ILLUSTRATE THE
GENERAL PRINCIPLE OF RANGE-FINDERS.

The objective openings on the end boxes are opened and closed
by means of rotating shutters (D). Buffers (E) are provided on the
ends as a protection against shocks.
The range finder is of the type known as the fixed base, invert,
single coincidence. The magnifying power is 15; actual field of view
50 mils; shortest distance measurable 400 yards. The instrument
weighs about 20 pounds. Under favorable conditions and with expert
operators the average errors are:
1000 yds. 5 yds.
 2000 yds. 15 yds.
3000 yds. 30 yds.
4000 yds. 55 yds.
5000 yds. 90 yds.
6000 yds. 130 yds.
7000 yds. 175 yds.
8000 yds. 225 yds.
In practical use under ordinary conditions and with average
operators, the errors are three times as great.
The tripod mount consists of a spring catch (a); clamping lever
(N); elevation worm case (b); elevation worm knob (c); worm wheel
support (d); angle of site micrometer (e); angle of site housing (f);
angle of site vial holder (g); clamp screw handle (h); azimuth worm
knob (i); azimuth micrometer (j); azimuth worm lever (k); azimuth
scale (m); adjusting worm knob (n); and the vertical spindle clamping
lever (p). The tripod, consisting of spindle bushing locking screws (t);
tripod legs upper (r); tripod legs lower (q); clamping wing nuts (w);
and locking clamp arms (x), is similar to that provided for the B. C.
telescope and the aiming circle.

Care and Instructions.

To set up the Range Finder.—Set up the tripod as heretofore
prescribed, take the range finder from its case, holding it with the eye
piece toward the body, hook down. Place the instrument on the
support and engage the spring catch (a). The instrument is then
firmly seated on the tripod. Remove the protective hood from the eye
piece and the rotating shutters (D) from the objective apertures.
Loosen the locking lever so that the range finder may be made
horizontal, then turn toward the target and clamp the lever. To
dismount the range finder the operations are executed in an inverse
manner.
RANGE FINDER.
REAR VIEW
RANGE FINDER.
 To Measure a Distance.—Focus the eye piece. In very bright light
or in thick haze use the amber ray filter in the eye piece. By means
of the clamps and worm knobs of the azimuth mechanism and the
worm knob of the elevation mechanism, lay the range finder on the
target roughly by looking through the open sight on top of the
instrument. Final adjustment in deflection is made by the adjusting
worm knob (n) and in elevation by the elevation worm knob (c).
Now, look into the instrument. The field of view is divided into two
parts by a horizontal line. In the lower part the image is erect, in the
upper part inverted. By turning the elevation worm knob (c), the
images are lined up so that the same points will touch the dividing
line. Now, by turning the measuring roller (M) on the right hand top
side of the range finder, the upper image is shifted laterally until the
same vertically disposed points of the target are exactly opposite
each other. The range is then read on the range scale (H), which is
protected by a sliding shutter (Q).
In case the target is without prominent vertical features, such as a
crest line, the distance is measured by first turning the instrument to
a vertical position (Plate XV). This is accomplished by the clamp
screw handle (h) on the tripod mount. Final adjustment in deflection
is then made by the elevation worm knob (c), and in elevation by the
clamping lever (N).

Adjustments.
Adjustment for Height.—The erect and invert images sometimes
do not touch the dividing line with similar point so that one image
reaches this line before the other. In this case, lay the range finder
on an object having a sharply defined horizontal line or very
prominent point, and bring the images of this point exactly opposite
each other by means of the measuring roller (M). The two images
are then brought to the dividing line, the lower image by means of
the elevation worm knob (c), and the upper image by means of the
halving adjusting roller (J).