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Garrison couldn't get Sam's response—or lack thereof—out of his mind. Maybe he hadn't bared his soul to her. Her response was to cut him out? He'd invited her to give him a hint about what she was feeling, and she'd avoided the question like a criminal in an interrogation room.
He tried to enjoy dinner with this group of friends. Sam was acting like everything was fine. Normal. Well, maybe it was. Maybe all these feelings were only on his side. Maybe he was only seeing what he wanted to see. Maybe he was realizing the truth too late. That's what he got for letting his guard down, believing he could count on her. He didn't have time to figure all that out right now. She was right about that. He did need to focus on Aiden. Didn't mean he couldn't get to know Sam better, as long as he was here. Once Aiden was settled in rehab, they'd have more time together, assuming Garrison actually relocated.
Was he crazy to consider it?
Not that the move would have to be permanent. But if Aiden went to the rehab place in Dover, Garrison could be closer to him, closer to Sam. And he could work from here, head back to Long Island once every couple weeks to check in at the office. The plan was perfect. Assuming Sam wanted him here.
How could he know for sure?
Nate asked a question, and he rejoined the conversation at the dinner table.
After the meal, he stood to help with the dishes, but Rae shooed him back to his seat. He talked with the guys and played with Johnny, who happily bounced on Garrison's lap. He remembered when Aiden was this age, little, giggly, all smiles. Back then, Aiden had thought his dad could do no wrong. Thought him a superhero.
Little Johnny would grow up to idolize Brady. Would he reach his teen years and turn away, realize his dad wasn't the superhero he'd once thought, reject everything Brady had taught him?
How could this innocent little child make those choices? How had Aiden become the angry teen in the other room? And what could Garrison do to fix it?
He watched Sam wipe down the kitchen counters while she chatted with Rae and Marisa. Ana had gone into the living room and turned on the TV.
Garrison peered in there, saw Aiden and Caro talking, one eye on the cartoon on the screen.
Finally, Sam dried her hands and looked around the clean kitchen for something else to do.
Marisa set the pan of brownies in the middle of the table and settled in her chair beside Nate. "In case anybody wants seconds."
Brady and Nate both reached for one. Garrison wanted a second brownie, too, but he wanted to talk to Sam more.
"Thanks for your help," Rae said to her. "You don't have to run off, right? Come back and sit."
Sam smiled at her friend. "I'm just going to the restroom."
After she walked out of the room, Garrison stood, handed Johnny to Brady, and headed toward the living room to check on Aiden. He stopped at the door.
"Dad used to be an FBI agent," Aiden told the girl. "Now he's just an accountant."
Garrison hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He wished he hadn't. Not that Aiden had lied. Garrison was an accountant. A six-foot-four gym rat who used to have a reason beyond vanity to stay in shape. Who used to carry a gun to work, not a calculator. Who used to investigate suspects, not numbers. His world had turned into a long list of used-to's. But he'd given up his dream job to save his marriage and build a better relationship with his son. Fat lot of good that had done. His marriage had crashed like an antique computer. His son had to snort, smoke, or swallow whatever he could find to make life with dear old Dad tolerable.
Crap, he missed his old life. Missed the badge, missed the authority and respect that came with it. Missed the other agents. He even missed the criminals with all their lies and excuses and stories that had made life interesting. Now, the only one who lied to him was Aiden—generously, expertly, shamelessly. And when Garrison wasn't trying to save his son, he got to study numbers until he wanted to light all the spreadsheets on fire and throw himself into the flames.
"Hey, Dad."
Garrison forced himself off that train of thought. "You guys doing okay?"
Aiden looked at the TV. "Fine."
Caro giggled. "We're watching my favorite show."
"Mine, too!" Ana jumped up and sat next to Caro on the sofa. "Can I sit with you?"
"Sure, squirt."
Sam returned from the restroom, and Garrison met her in the kitchen, on the far side, away from the table. Just five minutes alone with her. That was all he needed.
Her smile was natural, her pretty dimples pronounced. She acted like everything was normal between them. As if she hadn't rejected him an hour earlier. "Sounds like you guys enjoyed the lake today."
The lake. Aiden. Of course that's what she wanted to talk about. He'd mentioned it at dinner, but he hadn't told everybody about their conversation, about his son's outburst. And until he talked it out with Sam, he wouldn't know how to process it.
That's what she'd become to him. His sounding board, his wisdom. For months, every difficulty, every funny story, every argument with Aiden had become fodder for their evening phone conversations, as if those things didn't make sense until he'd shared them with Sam.
What had he become to her in those months? Was he just a burden, a guy who needed her help? Maybe she felt like helping Garrison was her Christian duty.
Maybe he was an idiot. He'd thought Charlene cared for him, too. But she'd tossed away their marriage faster than an empty pill bottle. And here he'd confided in Sam, shared more with her on those phone conversations and in the last few days than he had with anyone in a long time. He'd done it again, given away too much information. Too much of himself.
Sam tilted her head to the side. "Did something happen?"
He was being melodramatic. Sam already knew about Aiden and the problems they'd had. He should tell her about their day on the lake. But he didn't need Sam taking what was left of his broken heart and crumbling it to pieces.
Broken heart? Sheesh. Aiden would tell him to grow a pair.
"He wants to go back." Garrison blurted the statement, relieved at having said it. "To pack." He smirked with that last word. Aiden couldn't care less about what clothes he wore, not these days. He used to dress sort of nice, stylish even. Now, his hair was shaggy, his clothes ratty. Seemed all Aiden cared about was drugs.
"What did you tell him?" Sam asked.
"I called the place and talked to Luke before we came over here. He confirmed a bed would be available on Friday, and they'll reserve it for him. It looks like we're staying until he moves into rehab. That is, assuming your cabin is still available. I brought a check to pay—"
"You're welcome to stay as long as you want, and you're not paying for it. The house doesn't have a renter for the rest of the summer."
"I can't stay without paying."
"Tell me about Aiden."
He wasn't going to take advantage of her kindness. He'd fight that battle later. "I suggested we go see another rehab place tomorrow, that one up north. I think he'd like to live in the mountains, but he didn't seem interested. Said the one today was fine, and I agree. I like that they cater to people his age, not younger kids, not old men. Maybe that'll be good for him."
"It has an excellent reputation," Sam said. "Expensive though."
"I talked to that guy you hooked me up with. Reed. He knows a lot of guys who've gone there and gotten sober. And he's going to help me get the best price. I guess you can negotiate with these places."
"Like you're buying a car?"
"Ridiculous, right?"
"Completely. Will insurance help?"
"Probably not, but I'll call tomorrow."
"Good," Sam said. "So that's the plan? Aiden will stay close by?"
Was that hope he saw on her features? Did she want him here? Or was he just reading into this to make himself feel better? "It's my plan."
"What does Aiden think?"
Garrison glanced toward the door that led to the living room, though he couldn't see his son from where he stood. "He says he's considering it. That it might be a good idea. That's what makes me nervous. Why is he being so cooperative?"
"Maybe he really wants to go."
If only Garrison could believe that. "It's possible."
At the table, this group of people who'd invited him into friendship chatted and laughed. Garrison felt more at home with this crowd than he'd felt in a long time, since he'd retired from the FBI. This camaraderie was what his life had been missing. This...and Sam.
The memory of her rejection had him backing up a step.
She tilted her head to the side, her brown eyes wide with concern. "You okay?"
He should return to the table, let their earlier conversation slide. Maybe she had no feelings for him whatsoever, and if that was the case, did he really need to know tonight?
Yes, he did.
"So." That was all he could come up with? Good start.
"I'm sorry," she said.
He kept his mouth shut, hoped she'd go on.
"I haven't been in a...a relationship in a long time, and I have no idea what I'm doing."
"But you... I got the impression that maybe you don't want that. Maybe you're happy with us just being friends. And if that's the case, then whatever." Quoting his teenage son. "It's fine. I just want to know. Because..." What? How was he supposed to finish that statement?
"I don't know what I want," Sam said. "I feel like..." Laughter at the table had her gaze darting to the crowd.
"Like what?"
Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. "I'm damaged."
Damaged? This beautiful, tenderhearted woman? Was she nuts?
"I can't leave my hometown without medication, Garrison. And that's... I'm not what you think I am. Here, with these people"—she nodded to her friends at the table—"I look so normal. But I'm not."
He took her hand, wanted to pull her close. Would she let him? Would she run? Now, in this setting, wasn't the time to find out. He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed the soft skin. "You are a lot of things, Samantha Messenger, but you are not damaged."
She pulled her hand away. "There are things you don't know." She swallowed, stepped back. "I just don't think...I don't know how to do this."
"I haven't dated in a long time myself. We'll figure it out together."
"It's not just dating. It's..."
"What?"
She looked at the floor. Her hair fell over her shoulder, hung beside her face. He wanted to touch it, to feel if it was as silky as it looked. To push it back so he could see what she was thinking.
"Sam?"
She looked up. Her expression looked frightened, tortured. "I just don't know if I can."
"Are you married? Hiding a husband I don't know about?"
She nearly smiled. "Never married."
"Have you taken some kind of vow? No dating guys from New York?"
Her lips twitched. "I considered it."
"Can't blame you for that. Trouble, that's what I am."
"Right. Trouble." She smiled, and those dimples made an appearance. "We've never even been on a date."
"I look forward to changing that."
"But right now, Aiden's your priority."
Aiden. Right. He wanted to stay in this little fantasy a little longer. But until Aiden was settled, he couldn't focus on Sam. Couldn't consider what might happen between them.
If anything could. Because if Garrison didn't get his son healthy, nothing else would matter.
* * *
IT WAS DARK BY THE time Garrison parked in front of the cabin that night. He hadn't left any lights on, so he and Aiden groped to the front door, where Garrison managed to fit the key in the lock. He flipped on a couple of lights inside and sat on the sofa that had been his bed the previous two nights. It would be tonight, too. He needed to be able to hear if Aiden sneaked out.
He set his keys and phone on the coffee table. He would have brushed his teeth and changed his clothes for bed, but Aiden seemed in the mood to talk. He'd told Garrison about Caro, Johnny, and their walk on the way home. Garrison got the feeling the kid was talking just for the sake of it, or to impress him or something. But whatever the reason, at least Aiden was trying.
Aiden headed to the kitchen, and Garrison heard the refrigerator door open.
"You can't be hungry," Garrison called. He didn't mind his son eating. When he'd seen Aiden in his swim trunks today, Garrison had been shocked at how much weight he'd dropped. How had he not noticed? Aiden had lost ten pounds, maybe fifteen, this summer, but he'd kept wearing the same clothes.
Just excuses. A better father would have noticed, would have known long before now how bad the addiction had become.
Aiden came into the living room with a sandwich, a bag of chips, and a Pepsi. He sat on the love seat adjacent to Garrison.
"That drink'll keep you up tonight."
"Trust me, Dad, it won't. Caffeine doesn't affect me at all."
Caffeine was a mild drug compared to what Aiden was used to.
Garrison longed to lay his head down. "You want to watch a movie or something?"
"Maybe. In a minute. But I gotta tell you something first."
"Okay." Garrison went to the kitchen and grabbed himself a Pepsi. He needed to be awake. He sat, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. "What's up?"
Aiden set his plate on the table. Blew out a long breath. Turned toward his dad. "I just wanted to say that you're right. I do need to quit. I've been fighting this...this craving, since Saturday. I keep thinking it'll go away, but it doesn't." He looked away, looked at the plate, looked at his hands. "I'm sorry. I thought...I thought I could be strong like you, but I guess I'm not."
A wave of annoyance had Garrison's voice rising. "You think I wouldn't get addicted to the drugs you've been using?"
"Probably not."
"That's baloney." Not the first word that popped into his mind. "Anybody abuses drugs like that, they're going to get hooked. You know why I'm not a drug addict? I've never abused them."
"But some people are more prone to it than others. I think I'm one of them."
He stifled the words cop-out and excuses. "That may be true, but you don't have to be prone to it to get addicted to narcotics. What you've been taking? That's one of the most addictive substances on earth. If I abused it, I'd get addicted too."
Aiden's eyes narrowed. "You really think so?"
"Remember when you were a kid and I injured my knee?"
Aiden leaned forward, nodded. "I always figured you were chasing a bad guy through a dark alley or something."
Garrison's chuckle felt good. "I was jogging and accidentally stepped in a hole."
Aiden laughed out loud. "Wow. Good job, Dad."
"So much for your cool old man."
"Aw, you're still cool. For an old man."
Garrison shot him a watch-it look tempered with a smile. "Anyway, they prescribed painkillers for that. I took two, then flushed the rest down the toilet."
"Are you joking? You didn't like them?"
"I liked them too much. I wasn't about to flirt with addiction. I'd seen too many people..." Nope. He wasn't going to let this turn into a lecture. He'd done enough of that in the last few days. "I managed the pain without the pills."
Aiden's smile faded. He grabbed his sandwich, took a huge bite, set it back on the table.
Garrison kept his mouth shut.
Finally, Aiden spoke again. "You're smarter than me, I guess."
"I'm older than you. When I was your age, I did my share of stupid stuff."
"But no drugs."
"No." He hadn't wanted to try drugs. He'd only wanted one thing when he was a kid—to prove to his old man that he could make it. He'd worked his tail off, gotten an academic scholarship, joined the military, gotten hired by the Bureau, and had a family. Dad still wasn't impressed. "I did my share of stupid things. I was lucky."
"How so?"
Details. The kid wanted details. Fine. "I was lucky no girls turned up pregnant. I was lucky I never got in a wreck. I drove like a madman back then." Even Garrison's rebellion had been designed to elicit some sense of pride from his father. Look at all the girls who like me, Dad. I like cool cars, too, Dad. Not that he'd realized it at the time. No matter how many times his father let him down, Garrison had never quit hoping.
Lot of good that had done.
"Girls, huh?"
Figured Aiden would latch onto that. "Don't follow in my footsteps." He'd warned Aiden against that when they'd had the talk, but who knew what the kid did for fun these days? Obviously, he didn't have a lot of moral qualms about anything. "Girls just mess with your head. Trust me."
Aiden didn't offer any insight into his own choices, and Garrison didn't ask. They had enough to deal with right now.
"I didn't drink when I was a kid," Garrison said, "because my father drank. A lot. And he was a mean drunk."
"Grandpa? I can't picture him drunk. Or mean."
"He had a hair-trigger temper back then, worse when he drank. So my mother tiptoed around him, didn't ask him to do anything when he got home from work, and trained us to not make waves. The only things my dad cared about were his job, his car, and football. He'd throw the ball with me all the time. I wanted to try out for quarterback, but Dad said no. Thought I had good hands and trained me to catch. And if I missed, if he'd been drinking..." Garrison didn't finish, didn't need to tell Aiden all his father's faults. Or his mother's, for that matter.
"I can't picture him like that."
"He quit drinking years ago. I think maybe Mom got fed up. I never knew the whole story, but your aunt Nadine hinted that Mom threatened to leave at one point. I guess they worked it out."
"Lucky them."
Garrison blew out a long breath. "I wish your mom and I could have."
"Do you, really? Because you and Sam..."
He gave his son time to voice his concern, but Aiden clammed up.
"I didn't meet Sam until March. And we're just friends. She had nothing to do with what happened between your mom and me."
"What did happen?"
"Not a chance, son. I know it sucks for you. You were the victim of our stupidity. Still are, I guess. But that doesn't change the fact that our marriage is our business."
"Mom tells me stuff."
The anger flashed like hot oil and a lit match. Charlene would poison his relationship with Aiden for sport, and who cared how it hurt their son as long as it also hurt Garrison. He closed his eyes, imagined the anger burning itself out. Opened his eyes again. "That's her prerogative."
"She makes it sound like everything's your fault."
"I wasn't perfect."
"But you tried, right? You guys went to counseling and stuff. And I remember..."
After a moment, Garrison said, "Remember what?"
"I overheard you guys talking. You were trying to get her to go to counseling one time, and she didn't want to. She was just, like, I don't know. Like she didn't care."
Garrison had enough anger directed at Charlene for both of them. Aiden didn't need to carry any of it. "I think I was too late," he said. "I should have left the Bureau years earlier. I should have been home with you guys."
"At least you tried. I never saw Mom do anything but...but hate you. And take pills." Aiden dropped that bomb, then went back to his food and drink like it was no big deal.
"I don't want you to think of your mother that way. Before she started abusing drugs, she was a great mom. When you were a kid, you remember how she used to be? How she always cooked your favorite meals for supper, how she always had some kind of homemade cookies in the jar?"
"Yeah. And for special occasions, she used to make those muffins that were covered in cinnamon and sugar."
"And butter. Those were delicious."
Aiden nodded, paused, ate a bite of his sandwich. Sipped his Pepsi. "I remember that."
"She was a good wife," Garrison said. "And a good mom."
"Until she discovered painkillers."
Garrison didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The truth was like a monster snarling in the corner.
"Anyway," Aiden said, "I just wanted to tell you I'm, like, sorry for all of this. And I know I need to quit. I just think I can do it, you know, without having to go to rehab. So, like, if we could look at other options...counseling or whatever."
"Your mother tried outpatient therapy, and it didn't help at all."
"But she didn't really want to quit. I think I can do it myself."
"Do you really want to quit?"
"Yeah." Aiden swallowed. Shrugged. "I mean, I want to want to."
"Well, we need to get you to actually want to."
"I can get there. I just need to keep doing what I'm doing. Stay sober. Quit hanging out with certain people. I can do it."
Garrison wasn't falling for that again. Aiden had made promises before—and broken every one. "There's no shame in getting help."
"Really, Dad? Because I never see you asking for help."
"I was on the phone half the weekend—"
"Trying to fix me. Not for you."
"I'm not the one addicted to drugs."
"Right. I know." Aiden heaved a big sigh. "I'm just saying, you're totally independent. You don't need anybody for anything. I thought I was like you."
Garrison opened his mouth to respond, but what could he say? Aiden was right. Garrison was terrible at asking for help. He'd rather go it alone—and do it wrong—then admit he needed anything from anyone. And all that independence had gotten him right here—with a son who needed rehab and refused to go so he could be like his old man. His stupid, independent old man.
He angled toward Aiden. "I have a problem trusting people. You're like me in a lot of ways, but you don't want to be like that."
"You want me to be needy?"
"Nobody's completely independent." How had this conversation gotten so offtrack? "We all need each other. And if I've shown you otherwise, I'm sorry. I need people."
"Who? Who do you need?"
Samantha's image filled his mind. He'd grown to need her. He didn't like the feeling.
"I need you to be healthy and happy."
Aiden leaned back on the sofa. "Whatever."
"I'm sorry," Garrison said. "I don't know what you want from me. I can tell you that when I was your age, I wasn't independent, and you're not either. And if you ever want to hold down a real job, pay your own bills, have a life, you need to quit using drugs. And that's going to take rehab. I don't want you to go, either. But as hard as it'll be on you, it's your best chance. You go, get it over with, graduate with your class, and then live your life with this in the rearview mirror."
Aiden looked at his empty plate, took a deep breath. "Yeah. I guess that makes sense."
"You're saying you'll go willingly?"
Aiden shrugged.
Garrison stood, pulled his son off the couch and into a hug. "You're a smart kid, and you're making a wise choice." He patted him on the back, wanted to hold onto him forever. "I'm so proud of you."
Aiden sat, wiped his eyes quickly, and clicked on the TV. "Wanna watch a movie?"
He wanted to sleep, desperately. But he settled on the couch and said, "Sure. See what you can find."