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Garrison hadn't felt the cut on his hand. He'd been too worried about Aiden doing something stupid when he'd slid closer to the boy and grabbed him. He'd scraped the fireplace in the process.
Now, he could feel a tiny drop of blood sliding off his fingertip. He shifted so it would land on the floor, not on Aiden. His son was too keyed up. Garrison feared he'd jump, maybe alert Lionel that something was wrong. And they couldn't have that. Not when they'd finally gotten a smidgen of good luck.
He looked up to see the bald man staring at him. The man had been motionless all this time. Pretty impressive. Garrison focused on the floor, watched the man's feet, which shifted often. He was getting tired. Odd that he didn't sit or at least move.
Garrison squeezed Aiden's hand, spoke softly but loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Promise me you won't do something stupid."
Aiden sighed. Garrison couldn't see him, of course. In order to hold onto him, Garrison had had to turn his back to him. But he could hear the agitation in the breath.
"I'm going to let you go now," Garrison said. "Promise me."
"Fine."
There was that teenage attitude he was accustomed to. It made him feel better.
Garrison shifted, acted like he was trying to move away. Aiden turned, and Garrison mouthed, I have a plan.
Aiden's eyebrows lifted, and he lowered his gaze to the floor so Lionel and Baldie wouldn't see the reaction.
Maybe it wasn't a full-fledged plan. It was a start, though.
Garrison scooted back and leaned against the stacked stone fireplace. If he could find the place where he'd cut his hand—or any spot sharp enough—he could try to cut through the tie. How to do it without Lionel noticing?
"This is your fault." Aiden leaned forward, pushed his shoulder into Matty's.
Was Aiden trying to distract Lionel? Smart kid. A distraction would be good. But they probably didn't need to argue.
Matty's shoulder's slumped. "I didn't know any of this would happen."
Lionel was focused on the teens. "Let's not fight, boys."
Baldie shifted on his feet, watched the scene silently.
Garrison ran his hand along the fireplace. That sharp spot had to be here somewhere.
"I'm not fighting," Aiden said. "I'm stating the obvious. If not for Matty, none of this would have happened."
Lionel looked at Garrison. "What are you doing?"
"I have an itch." He scraped his back along the rough stones.
Lionel shook his head.
Frank turned and glared at Aiden. "Ain't his fault, kid. He did what I told him."
Garrison shifted closer to his son. Maybe the sharp spot...
"You're right." Aiden glared at Frank. "This is what he gets for trusting you. What kind of father are you, anyway? It's one thing to abandon your son, but then you come back to use him? Get your kid to do your dirty work?"
Garrison resisted the urge to silence his son. The noise was good. Kept the gunmen's focus off of him.
"I didn't know anybody was gonna get hurt," Frank said. "And anyway, if you weren't such a friggin' loser drug addict—"
"Hey!" Garrison said. "Watch your mouth about my son."
"Your son is my son's biggest customer." Frank tossed the remark at him like a grenade. "Did you know that?"
Garrison looked at Matty's back. The boy slumped until his face nearly touched his knees. So Matty was the dealer who'd been supplying Aiden all this time?
Aiden turned to look at Garrison, eyes wide.
Garrison blew out a long breath. "I did not."
Lionel chuckled and gazed at Baldie. "Looks like there's trouble in this little father-son paradise."
Baldie's expression didn't change. Where did these expressionless goons come from? Lionel had probably coached them in the fine art of intimidation.
Frank turned to Matty. "Sorry, kid. I figured he knew."
"Don't call me kid."
Frank didn't say a word, and the room remained silent. But Garrison needed the fight to continue. Or at least the conversation.
"You know, Frank," Garrison said. "Despite his recent choices, your son's a great guy. You might try getting to know him."
Frank glanced at Matty, who kept his gaze on the floor. "Yeah. You are a great kid...young man. And you have a heckuva right hook."
"You did that?" Lionel laughed. "You punched your own father? I'd love to hear that story."
Frank turned to the man on the sofa. "I'm trying to have a moment here."
"Oh, right. Sorry." The man's smile and rapt attention showed he wasn't a bit sorry.
Garrison continued his search for the sharp rock in the fireplace. There! It was higher than he'd thought, and closer to Aiden. This would be awkward, but he'd have to sell it, make it look natural. He adjusted his legs, kicked Frank. "Sorry. Trying to get comfortable."
Frank said, "I hear you. I'm too old for this."
Garrison shifted like he was miserable. He looked at Lionel. "My butt is killing me."
"Seems an accountant's butt would be used to it."
"I have one of those standing desks. Extra-tall, of course. Haven't you heard? Sitting is the new smoking."
Lionel shook his head. "I hate health nuts."
"I'm a big cashew fan, myself." Garrison pushed up against the fireplace, his palm pressed to the sharp spot. He shifted until one of the plastic zip ties was against it, then stopped.
"You good now?" Lionel asked.
"Yes, thank you. Seriously, they don't call it hardwood for nothing."
Aiden shook his head. "Sheesh, Dad. You're not funny."
"I'm a little funny." He chuckled, scraped the plastic against the rock, and heard a click. They'd need to keep talking.
"Matty, have you told your father about when you used to play baseball?"
The boy shrugged. Very helpful.
"Frank, Matty was a catcher. Best catcher in the league one year."
"Just little league, though," Aiden added.
"Same league you were in," Garrison said, "and you weren't the best catcher."
"That's 'cause I played shortstop."
Garrison tapped Frank with his foot, scraped the plastic against the stone again. "You ever play baseball, Frank?" Click.
"I played catcher." Frank looked at his son. "I didn't know you played the same position as me."
Matty shrugged. "Mom told me. I was good at it."
"Good hitter, too," Garrison added. "Like Aiden." He turned to his son, scraped the plastic again. Click. "Remember that home run you hit over the fence against...who was it?"
"Chargers," Aiden said. "Won the game."
"Walk-off homer," Garrison said. "I was all puffed up with pride. All the other ten-year olds' dads were jealous."
"Big moment for you, I guess," Frank said.
Garrison chuckled, scraped the plastic again. Snap.
He coughed to cover the sound, felt the plastic fall away. Thank God.
"Why are we talking about baseball?" Lionel asked.
"You're right," Garrison said. "Baseball's not worth talking about, not right now." He gripped his hands together to keep himself from letting on that he was free. He met Lionel's eyes. "I can't speak for your mother, but I'm betting your father didn't know you existed. Because what father could do that? Could leave his kid behind?"
"Let's leave my nonexistent parents out of this," Lionel said.
Garrison shifted his gaze. "And you, Frank. I bet even you, when you left your family, had their best interests at heart."
"I did." Frank nodded, looked at Matty. "Your mother kicked me out. I swore I was gonna make good, get her to take me back. But...I don't know. I could never do it. She said I was no good for you boys." He looked at Lionel, shrugged. "Guess she was right."
Lionel blew out a long breath. "Let's go back to baseball."
"No, no." Garrison shook his head. He was tempted to bump his son on the shoulder, but he didn't dare move, didn't dare risk Lionel or Baldie seeing the sliced zip tie behind him, or the drops of blood. He'd have to figure a way to hide those. "I want to use these minutes well. Because, you know, we might not get any more."
Garrison wouldn't think about what would come next. He concentrated on Samantha, on how brave she'd been as she'd walked out the door with the other man. How determined, despite her anxiety disorder, despite the gun pointed at her back. Remarkable, that's what she was. Brave and beautiful and stronger than she knew.
He squeezed his eyes closed. Samantha needed to be rescued. Please... He didn't even know who he was begging, God or that voice she'd told him about. He just knew they needed help. Please let her be safe. Please let her escape. Please let her be rescued. Garrison didn't care as long as she stayed far, far away from Lionel and his goons.
Sam needed to live through this. Then it would only be Aiden who Garrison needed to save. Aiden, his only son, who'd made a few bad choices but was still a wonderful, kind, generous, talented young man. He deserved to find out what the world had in store for him. Garrison loved his son more than his own life.
He blinked back the affection—the fear—that tried to leak from his eyes.
"You boys need to know," Garrison said, "that though most of us fathers try our best, we don't always know what we're doing."
"Ain't that the truth," Frank said.
"But we want what's best for you. Always." He lowered his voice, said it again. "Always."
Aiden glanced his way, and Garrison met his eyes. "I love you, Aiden."
"I love you, too."
Garrison took a deep breath, shook off the emotion. He needed to be strong now, to be alert when the opportunity arose. "The thing is, it's hard for teenage boys to understand that no matter how much they think they know, they don't know as much as we do."
Aiden lifted his eyebrows, and Garrison continued. "It's hard for you to trust us. But you need to trust us because even when we do it wrong, and even when we do it badly, and even when somebody gets hurt, we do what we do because we love you."
Garrison held his son's gaze, willed him to understand. When the time came, Garrison was going to throw himself at one of these gunmen, and he'd probably get shot in the process. But if it gave Aiden time to escape, or time to fight back, then Garrison's sacrifice would be worth it. If he didn't survive, he wanted Aiden to know he'd sacrificed himself on purpose, and for a purpose. For him.
Lionel groaned. "Either go back to sports or shut up. I can't stand this anymore."
Aiden faced forward. A minute passed, then another.
And then Frank said, "How 'bout them Yankees?"