August
I’m not much of a bar hopper. On occasion, I’ll go out for drinks with my buddies from work. And I’ll hang out at The Wicked Horse. Otherwise, I stay home. My life isn’t all that exciting outside of work.
As such, I wasn’t sure where to take Mike for a beer, but ended up settling on a small hole-in-the-wall place in a shopping complex about a mile from the hospital, which I’d noticed on my many trips by. It’s perfect since it’s practically deserted, and the bartender pretty much stays away from us.
Cracking peanuts provided in little plastic baskets, we watch the TV behind the bar that’s muted but showing sports highlights on ESPN.
When I’m almost finished with my beer, I decide to break the silence. “What’s eating you?”
Mike surveys me for a moment before giving his attention to the TV. “Nothing.”
“Not true.” I reply confidently.
I’m met with silence.
I pick up my mug, drain it, and push it to the edge of the bar, which catches the bartender’s attention. Lifting my chin to indicate I’d like another beer, I then gesture at Mike’s nearly empty glass. When we have two full and foaming mugs in front of us, I try my second attempt to get Mike to open up. “So… Sam had a good birthday, huh?”
That has an effect. Mike makes a scoffing noise before muttering, “And why wouldn’t he? His dad managed to outshine us all by bringing a professional football player to the party—his favorite one, at that.”
I’m startled by the derision in his voice. I’d thought he’d be happy for Sam to have such a treat, not bitter about it. I shift on my stool to face him. “Are you jealous of what I did for Sam?”
“No,” he replies sulkily, eyes returning to the TV screen.
I don’t back off. “Sure sounds like it to me. Maybe that’s just your own guilt manifesting.”
Mike whips around on his barstool, his eyes flashing with anger. “What do I have to feel guilty about?”
And while my intent was to get Mike away from the hospital and perhaps relax over a friendly drink because we’ve all been under a lot of pressure, I realize we actually need to have this out. There’s been animosity brewing between us. “Oh, let’s see,” I sneer, deciding… fuck it. I’ll let it all hang out. “Maybe you’re feeling guilty because you chose to stay behind instead of coming with Sam to Vegas. Put your own selfish needs above your grandson.”
Mike pales, his eyes rounding in shock. “Sam is my number-one priority.”
“If that were the case, you never would have stayed behind,” I accuse.
In disbelief, Mike shakes his head, giving a mirthless laugh. “You think I stayed behind because I was afraid for myself?”
Admittedly, I’m thrown off by his tone. He sounds so confident I’ve misjudged him.
“Well yeah,” I drawl, now a little uncertain.
Mike leans into me, growling, “You dumb jackass… I didn’t come because I thought it would put Sam in more danger. It’s me the mafia wants. They don’t even know about Sam. I was afraid moving to a new location would… I don’t know… cause a stir and unwanted attention. At first, I thought him going off to Vegas with you and Leighton would be the safest thing for him. Letting him go would make him safer. What I feel guilty about is breaking down and coming here. Possibly putting him in danger by my proximity now that we’re out of government protection.”
Well, fuck. Clearly, I had not read the situation correctly. Or, rather, I hadn’t bothered to find out what his intentions and reasoning were in the first place. I merely assumed he was a coward who was abandoning his grandson.
“Shit,” I mutter. Picking up my beer, I take a long pull and set it down, giving a sidelong glance at Mike. I can do nothing but offer a sheepish smile. “Sorry… apparently, I got that wrong.”
“Yeah,” he replies dryly. “I stand by my statement… you’re a dumb jackass.”
“Owning up to that,” I admit. Angling my body his way, I offer him my hand. “Will you accept my apology?”
Mike flicks a disdainful glance at my hand before meeting my eyes, and I think he’s going to snub me. But then he huffs in annoyance, takes my hand, and gives it a hard shake. “Apology accepted. And, I’ll admit, that was pretty fucking cool of you to get Darius Fables to visit Sam. Sorry I made light of it. I’ve just been feeling pissy about this entire situation with Sam.”
I finally understand what’s at the heart of his fears. “You know, Mike… I believe you’re safe in Vegas. I don’t believe you’re bringing any untoward danger on Sam and Leighton. All indications are nobody is coming after you. At least not actively. And I have sources in the government who will alert me if that changes.”
Mike chuckles, but it doesn’t sound like it’s in pure amusement. There’s a darkness to it. “Listen, August… I appreciate you attempting to make me feel better here. But when you have a death sentence hanging over your head, it doesn’t matter how many people tell you that you’re safe or your kid and grandson are safe. You never believe it. Not really.”
I’m starting to get that. God knows Leighton has made enough mention about how deeply the fear was instilled within her family so they always stayed on their toes. Always operated with caution and distrust. It’s easy for me to be mad about it, because it drove their decisions and ultimately cut me out of Sam’s life. But I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing if in their shoes and with only the information they were given.
My phone rings, and I reach into my pocket to pull it out. Cage Murdock’s name flashes. He’s one of my Jameson teammates, but he works from the Pittsburgh office now.
In apology, I tell Mike, “I need to take this really quick.”
Mike lifts his chin in acknowledgment, his eyes returning to the TV screen and his hands curling around the beer mug.
“What’s up?” I say as soon as I connect the call.
“They’ve found Malik. He’s alive,” Cage says. A ripple of disbelief and adrenaline shoots up my spine, causing me to sit ramrod straight on my barstool.
Malik Fournier has been missing since a mission in Syria gone bad over four months ago. We’ve been searching for him on a few follow-up missions, but we haven’t been able to glean any reliable data as to whether he’s dead or alive.
“Come again?” I order.
Because, surely, he’s mistaken. This seems too good to be true, so my inclination is to distrust it.
“He’s being held prisoner. I’m putting together a team to go in,” Cage says, his voice hard and brusque. I can tell he’s one hundred percent in black-ops mode. “You’re one of the first I’ve called. I want you on the rescue op.”
I take in Mike next to me. He’s a reminder of how drastically my life has changed in the last several weeks. There was a time when Cage would have called, told me the exact news he just laid out to me, and I would have said, “Count me in,” without a second thought.
But my life is different now.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, my voice laced with regret and self-recrimination. I can’t believe I’m declining this opportunity. “But I can’t leave.”
Cage doesn’t hesitate. “I know. I mean, I knew you would say that. But I needed to make the offer, so you knew you were one of my first choices. But honestly, dude… with what you’ve got going on? You’re right where you need to be.”
Admittedly, that helps a little. Assuages the guilt over not being a team player right now. I never thought anything in the world could ever stop me from going on a rescue mission to find and save our fallen teammate. But I have a little boy battling for his life in the hospital, and Sam’s more important than anything else.
Cage fills me in on what their intelligence has revealed. They’re putting together a rescue mission, hoping to leave within a few days. He assures me I’ll be kept updated along with everybody else at Jameson.
“Good luck, brother,” I say solemnly just before we disconnect. “Bring him back to us.”
“I will,” Cage says with determination, then he’s gone.
I gently place my phone on top of the bar before picking up my beer and taking a sip. I’m going to have a lot of friends getting ready to put themselves in serious danger, and I can’t do a damn thing to help them because I’m needed here more.
“Everything okay?” Mike asks.
Slowly, I swivel his way, leaning my elbow on the bar. “No, it’s not.”
“Anything I can help with?” he offers.
I stare at this man, who, at one point in my life, was like a father to me. I thought I would marry Leighton—that Mike would always be there to impart advice.
With a sigh, I explain about Malik and how he was sent to rescue hostages in Syria but became one himself. I wrap it up, saying he has apparently been found and I’m not going to be able to go on a rescue mission because of Sam.
“You give up a lot for your son,” Mike murmurs. “And I know your job is important to you. I understand how important this friend must be to you. But you’re being the best father a man can be by setting your priorities straight. If there’s ever any advice I can impart to you about being a father it is for you to continue being the same man you are when it comes to your son.”
“Really?” I ask, because I’m new to this. I have no fucking clue if I’m doing anything right.
Mike nods, a smile playing at his lips. “You’ve always been a good man, August. I saw it when you were younger, and I see it now. From the moment Leighton showed up on your doorstep, you have been a father in every sense of the word. Even before you met Sam, you were a father because you didn’t ask questions and you immediately jumped in to do whatever it took to save his life. Sam’s a lucky boy. His life is much better now that you’re in it. I’m glad this all played out the way it did.”
I’m usually not one to get choked up by emotion, but I have to say… Mike’s words affect me deeply. While I have a great relationship with my parents, they’re not the type to be overly involved with me as an adult. Once I flew the nest, they decided to start leading their own lives. They’ve never told me that they’re proud of the things I do. I mean, I know deep down they are, but they’re more interested in assuring I’m a happy person and living my best life. They have no clue I have the abilities to be a good father. But they’ll soon be given the opportunity to evaluate that since I’m going to have to tell them about Sam. We all discussed it, and Sam is eager to meet them. Our goal was to get him out of the hospital first, so I’ll need to give them a call to convince them to come to Vegas for a visit.
“You and Leighton seem to be getting on very well,” Mike muses, the hopeful emphasis on the word “very” ringing loud and clear.
I shrug, trying to brush off the significance of his claim. “You know I heaped a lot of blame on her in the beginning for keeping Sam away, but, lately, I’m wondering how fair I’ve been. I think we’ve made our peace.”
Mike takes a swig of his beer. “Nobody ever begrudged your anger over the years you missed out on with Sam.”
I’ve appreciated the understanding on their part—their willingness to let me work through those turbulent emotions. “My ability to handle fear is a lot different based on my experiences and environments. I think I’m becoming more cognizant of the fact Leighton has a separate set of experiences and environment which she operates in, so I can’t hold her to my standard. I’ve come to appreciate her as a mom a lot more. Becoming a parent has made me look at things a bit differently.”
Mike chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder. “I always knew you two were good for each other. Knew you’d find a way back onto common ground. You can’t quiet a love like that.”
I jolt at his proclamation and use of the “L” word, shaking my head in denial. “It’s not like that.”
Not for me. At least, I don’t think it is. I mean, Leighton made the statement the other night she never moved on from me, so maybe she’s there. Should I be? Am I in a place I shouldn’t be?
I can tell by the skepticism on Mike’s face that he’s not buying my denial. “Oh, it’s something like that. You say what you want, but something has changed between you two lately. You’re both doing that thing you used to do when you were younger.”
My brow furrows. “What thing?”
“Communicating silently.” Mike chuckles. “Used to drive me batshit crazy. With just a look, you two could pass entire conversations back and forth. You’ll never know what that does to a father—knowing his daughter has that deep of a connection with another man. At any rate, you and Leighton are doing it again, so you can’t tell me there’s not something there.”
I grab my beer, muttering, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, old man.”
Mike doesn’t reply, merely laughs knowingly.
Sullenly, I brood over my beer, wondering how much I even know about myself. Or am I just being stubborn and refusing to admit my feelings?