Athena had put this trip off for more than a week. Every single time, it got harder and harder to make herself go. Guilt inevitably got her over the hump and forced her into the car for the forty-minute drive to the campus just south of Johnson City.
The grounds of Haven Acres were beautiful. Long, grassy lawns, studded with trees that had leafed out for spring, gave way to stunning views of the mountains. That was part of why she’d chosen it. It wasn’t quite the view he’d had at home, but it was a damned sight better than the endless stretches of institutional beige and cinderblock walls of the state facility he’d been in for years before she’d made enough money to get him out. Not that he usually seemed to notice one way or the other, but maybe, somewhere down deep, he could feel the change.
She stopped in at the front desk of the nursing home’s main building to find out where he was this afternoon.
“Miss Reynolds! It’s so good to see you again. We didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Athena forced a smile, though she thought it might break her face. “Neither did I.”
As the woman checked the schedule on her computer, she kept up a steady stream of small talk. Somehow Athena made appropriate responses, though she wouldn’t have been able to say what they’d talked about on pain of death. The receptionist gave her directions, and Athena murmured her thanks.
Heading out the back door of the main building, she crossed the wide lawn, which was flanked on two sides by more buildings, creating a sort of quad that opened on the fourth side to the mountains. Beyond the buildings, various groups were clustered outside, enjoying the sunshine of a gorgeous spring day. To the south, a knot of people went through the slow, stylized movements of Tai Chi. Further up a small rise, half a dozen others had easels set up.
Away from all of them, a wheelchair was parked beside a bench, beneath a redbud tree that had burst into bloom. Its occupant faced the mountains, a light blanket tucked across his lap. A nurse sat on the bench, a paperback in hand, reading glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. As Athena got closer, she could hear the woman reading aloud.
“There waiting, silent and still in the space before the Gate, sat Gandalf upon Shadowfax: Shadowfax who alone among the free horses of the earth endured the terror, unmoving, steadfast as a graven image in Rath Dínen.”
Athena recognized it as Return of the King, one of his favorites. She had to pause for a minute, closing her eyes to find some control. It had been so many years since she’d heard him read it himself. So many years since she’d heard him speak at all. She couldn’t quite remember the sound of his rich, rolling voice anymore, and that was just another loss on top of so many. Another layer of herself flayed away by the whip of fate. Every visit left more scars on her heart.
When she was certain she could keep herself together, she crossed the rest of the way and crouched in front of the wheelchair. “Hey, Daddy.”
There was nothing in the gray eyes so like her own. No flicker of recognition. No acknowledgment he even knew she was there. A bad day, then. Bracing herself for that, she turned and introduced herself to the nurse.
“How’s he doing?”
“Physically, he’s perfectly healthy. He’s still not usually responsive to people, but he recognizes food when it’s put in front of him. The occupational therapist has been working with him on relearning how to feed himself. There’s been some progress with that.” The nurse smiled. “Won’t acknowledge a vegetable, but he almost always reaches for pie. He’s got quite the sweet tooth.”
Athena swallowed. “Yeah. He always has. Do you mind giving us a little bit?”
“Of course.” She handed the book to Athena and left them alone.
After a moment’s hesitation, Athena sank down on the bench and looked out at the view. She wondered if her father saw it, or if he saw something else wherever he was trapped inside his own mind.
“So, I’ve got news. I sold my share in Olympus. The paperwork came in day before yesterday.” Before she could change her mind and do something radical like burn the contracts, she’d signed them and overnighted them back, wanting the whole thing over and done with. “I got a good offer on it and the money’s all clear and in my account already.”
Her fingers restlessly stroked the edges of the paperback. “It’s a big change. I’ve still got to make a plan and figure out what’s next. Probably it’s gonna mean leaving Chicago and my apartment there. Not that that’s any great loss. I barely spent any time there other than to sleep. But all that can wait a little bit. I need some time to grieve.”
She paused, waiting for some change in body language. He didn’t even shift in his chair, so she kept talking. “I haven’t told my sisters yet. The reasons why I did it are…ugly and embarrassing. I made a bad decision. Seems I’ve made plenty of those over the years. But I wanted to make sure you knew you’re taken care of. The money from the sale will cover us both at least through the end of the year. By then I’ll have figured something else out.”
She reached out to take one of his hands in hers. His fingers were soft. Weak. Not the strong, callused hands she’d known as a child, when he’d been the one to hold everything together. That was her job now. Had been her job far earlier than it ever should have been. She clenched her teeth, all but snarling the promise. “I’m always going to take care of you.”
But there was still no response. His fingers didn’t tighten in hers. He didn’t move or look away from the view. So she squashed her disappointment and released his hand, picking up the book. “Let’s see what Gandalf is up to.”
She read until her voice gave out, waiting for some sign of life, some indication he wasn’t just a shell. But there was nothing. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she waved the nurse back, thanked her and hurried to the parking lot.
Safely ensconced in her car, she folded both arms over the steering wheel and pressed her face tight against them, her throat so tight, she thought she’d strangle on the urge to cry. When would she give up? When would she stop hoping, stop expecting that he’d fight his way out of the prison of his mind to give her some sign he even knew she was there? When would she acknowledge that her father had died in all but body years ago?
Unable to cope with the threat of tears, she reached for the anger that always battled them back. Because this hadn’t been an accident. This nightmare had been her father’s own fault, and she’d been paying and paying and paying for his mistake for years. The familiar heat of rage was cleansing, if not comforting. She was beyond comfort at this point.
Her phone dinged with a text. Straightening, she took a half dozen measured breaths before digging it out of her purse and thumbing open the screen. She found a message from Moses.
Duck and cover.
There was a link to something on YouTube.
Frowning, she loaded the video. As soon as it filled her screen, her fingers tightened on the phone.
“Oh shit.”
To Athena’s mind, some disasters unequivocally merited getting shit-faced. As it happened, there were only two places to get drunk in Eden’s Ridge. Elvira’s Tavern catered to the respectable crowd, the nice folks who rarely indulged enough to start a bar fight. As it was also where Kennedy worked as a bartender, and as Athena had absolutely no intention of talking this shit out with her sisters, it was automatically off the table.
That left The Right Attitude. She’d always privately thought that meant a bad attitude, given the clientele who frequented it. Those respectable folks didn’t darken its door, and the Sheriff’s Department was on speed dial. Heads were regularly cracked and glassware busted. She hadn’t been inside since an unfortunate incident testing out a fake ID when she was eighteen, but best as she could tell, the place hadn’t changed much. The squat, cinderblock building was a dingier shade of brown than it had been eight years before. As she came through the door, she noted the decor had been upgraded. Dozens of brassieres stood sentry around the perimeter of the room. Not just any bras, but buxom, over-the-shoulder boulder holders, in a blinding display of pattern and color.
Classy.
For a moment, she stood in the entrance, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The air was hazy, despite the non-smoking ordinance in town, and the floors seemed to suck at her feet as she made her way over to the bar. Aware of the eyes following her progress, she kept her gait loose and ignored them, dialing in her best fuck-with-me-and-die face. Which wasn’t hard, considering the reason she was here.
The bartender, a rangy man who could’ve been anywhere from mid-forties to mid-sixties, wandered over. His steel gray brows shot up as she slid onto a stool. “You in the right place, honey?” His voice was gravel and his face was dominated by a mustache that was a way-less-attractive homage to Sam Elliot.
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks for a bottle of Jack, a clean glass, and no questions.”
He inclined his head and slapped a glass on the scarred wooden bar in front of her. Snagging the iconic black-labeled bottle, he set that in front of her, too, then waited. Clearly she was expected to pay up on the front end. Fine. She dug a hundred dollar bill out of her purse and passed it over.
In the back of her mind, Maggie’s voice chided her that this whole thing was a foolish indulgence. She poured two fingers of whiskey into the glass and downed it in one, fast shot. The real Maggie would have plenty to say later. Athena sure as shit wasn’t going to be lectured right now. She deserved this one night to fall the hell apart and mourn the torpedoing of her career.
Someone had filmed her confrontation with Jayson. Someone on her staff, someone she’d made a part of her work family, had recorded the whole damned thing. It hadn’t been clear from the position of the camera who it had been. They’d sat on it until the final paperwork had been signed, sealed, and delivered. Until she was no longer connected to Olympus—and couldn’t do anything to retaliate.
But it had already gone viral, racking up four hundred thousand views since yesterday.
Jesus.
She poured more whiskey, knocking it back just as quickly and relishing the burn down her throat and into her chest. It complemented the fresh rage that had been simmering there since she’d seen the video.
Someone leaned against the bar between her stool and the next. “You lookin’ to forget something, sugar?”
She poured more whiskey. “If you don’t want me to take that pool stick and shove it up your ass, you will walk away right now.”
“Aw now, don’t be like that.”
Slowly, she turned her head to look at the guy. He wore a white cowboy hat. It was the only pristine thing about him. Two or three days’ scruff dusted his angular jaw, and some kind of dark grime rimmed his nails. Grease probably. A guy who worked with his hands. Under other circumstances, she might have been into that. She appreciated a working man—even more so after the flagrant betrayal from her white-collar ex. But tonight she was feeling mean. Or meaner than usual.
Something of her mood must’ve shown in her expression because the flirtatious smile slid off his face and he backed away real slow, as if she were some kind of rabid animal.
Looked like he had a few brain cells after all.
Turning back to her whiskey, she sipped this one slower, going back to mulling her problem. Even if she had some kind of PR team who could act—and the idea that she’d have such a thing was laughable—there’d be no containing the video. That runaway train would keep on escalating because people loved drama, loved bad behavior.
Look at the chef who utterly lost her shit and tried to kill her boss.
Never mind that if she’d been trying to kill him, he’d be dead. Or that the whole thing had nothing to do with their professional relationship. That was the relationship the public at large actually knew about. They’d kept their personal ties quiet. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. But now…This would taint her professionally. No matter that she had a Michelin star or that she’d won the James Beard Rising Star Chef of the Year. No one would care about the truth of the situation. The reasons why.
This was a shitstorm of epic proportions.
It would fade. Eventually. But who would want to touch her after this? How was she going to support her father? Haven Acres was ungodly expensive. After finally getting him out of the crappy state facility he’d been languishing in, she couldn’t bear to send him back. She didn’t know how much he knew, how much he was aware of, and she wasn’t ever going to risk him believing she didn’t care or that he didn’t matter. They’d both suffered enough of that from the woman who’d given birth to her.
The lone comfort in all of this was that the sale of her share of Olympus gave her enough cushion that she could figure it out. She didn’t have to rush and leap at the first option that presented itself. She’d be generous and assume something would come up. Optimism came easier as the level of amber liquid in the bottle dropped.
Unless something miraculously turned up in the next week or two, she’d have to tell her sisters something. That was a real pisser. They’d want her to talk about feelings. She’d rather scrape her knuckles across a microplane. What good did talking about that shit do? It didn’t change anything. And God, she really didn’t want to admit the truth of what happened with Jayson. So maybe…maybe she could come up with some half truth about why she’d decided to walk away. Right, because they’d believe her when she spontaneously walked away from her life-long dream for some other reason. She had time to figure that out, too.
The bottle of whiskey clattered against the lip of the glass as she poured herself another shot. In the category of more immediate problems, how the hell was she going to get home? Driving was off the table. Had been three shots ago. She wasn’t about to call the inn and worry her very pregnant sister. That would lead to those questions she didn’t want to answer. Same result if she called Flynn. Kennedy was working, and her other brother-in-law was the freaking Sheriff. That’d look just fabulous for Xander to come rolling in to scrape her off the floor here. Yeah, no.
There was really only one person she could call. One person who wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t lecture. Resigned, Athena pulled out her phone and dialed while she still could.