by Loren, Roni
Wes didn’t look up. “No, it’s fine.”
“All right,” she said brightly. “Well, you let me know when you need a refill, or if you need me to pry it from your hands and dump it down the sink.”
He lifted his head at that. “What?”
She shrugged and nodded toward his grip on the glass. “I’ve seen this argument before. If you need me to help you win it, I can.”
He gritted his teeth. “I don’t need any help.”
“No worries.” She tapped the top of the bar. “Give ’em hell.”
Then she was off to the other side of the bar where a raucous group of women were keeping her busy.
Wes stared down at his glass again. This was exactly why Rebecca couldn’t say yes to something with him. Because his first instinct when he’d left her house had been to come here, like muscle memory. Get your heart handed to you, drink until numb, repeat.
But he hadn’t taken a sip yet.
He’d imagined the taste of it on his tongue, had felt the smooth burn of it on the back of his throat. He could almost feel that beginning tingle of his limbs getting numb.
But then he’d pictured his parents. Marco. Dev and Suzie. The kids in his class. He imagined their faces and how they’d react if Wes ended up drinking again. He forced himself to remember what that life had been like, what misery had filled his days when he was drunk. He imagined the bus sitting empty and abandoned and never becoming a restaurant. The kids in his class talking about what they could’ve had.
That had kept the drink in its place.
He could hear the emergency broadcasting system blaring in his head. This is a test.
A test to determine if Marco and Rebecca had been right. Had this thing with Rebecca only been a rebound, a new obsession to distract him? The ache in his chest felt like it was more than that. He’d blown it by rushing things with Rebecca, but maybe it’d been an impossible road to begin with.
He’d told Rebecca he knew his own mind, but then he’d acted like she didn’t know hers. She’d told him from the start that she didn’t want a relationship, that her job and her parents’ divorce had soured her on marriage or anything long-term. She’d told him and he’d ignored that, so whose fault was it, really?
He was the one who’d let himself believe that because his perspective had changed, he could change hers, too. That wasn’t fair.
But at the same time, he couldn’t help feeling like he’d missed something. He hadn’t read all her signals that wrong. He wasn’t that dense. Rebecca had been swept up by this whole thing, too. He’d caught her watching him sometimes with a look that had taken the air right out of him. Tonight, she’d told him he was an amazing person and magic with the kids. She’d said it with complete sincerity, with…love, and then they’d fallen into bed like they couldn’t get enough of each other. No part of him believed that she’d said those things just to pay lip service to him or that she’d slept with him just for the hell of it. But something had spooked her, and she’d shut down.
He’d come here thinking that she’d sent him away because she didn’t think he was good enough for her. He was the recovering alcoholic. He was the former delinquent. He was the one with the shot credit and lost restaurant. But the longer he sat here, the more that didn’t ring true.
I’m never going to be able to hear it.
When she’d said those words, he’d been so taken aback by the whole situation that he’d immediately taken it personally, but what if it wasn’t about him? What if she meant that in all situations?
I’m never going to be able to hear it.
I’m never going to be able to hear it.
I’m never going to be able to believe that someone loves me.
The second he ran those altered words through his head, something clicked inside him. That was it. He knew those words like they were written on his heart. He’d felt that when he’d first gotten to Carolina and Ed’s place. Wes hadn’t trusted their kindness, their love, their acceptance of him. He’d expected them to leave or send him away, like everyone else.
Rebecca hadn’t been left without parents, but her mother had abandoned her and her father’s version of love was barbed and merit based. She’d had a life in high school, and her friends and teachers had been ripped away from her in the most tragic way possible. Good things were temporary in her life. Love was always followed by loss.
I’m never going to be able to hear it.
She’d created the loss this time. He couldn’t hurt her if she sent him away. He couldn’t leave her behind if she pushed him out the door first.
Wes let go of the glass and put his head in his hands.
This is a test.
Rebecca had given him one whether she’d realized it or not, and he’d failed with flying colors, making it all about him and his ego. Nice one, Garrett.
Wes lifted his hand and motioned the bartender over.
“What can I get you, hon?” she asked.
Wes handed her the glass and a twenty-dollar tip. “The whiskey’s down for the count.”
She smirked. “I never had any doubt. In my experience, anyone who makes it past the first five minutes is who I’m putting my money on.” She dumped his drink in the sink. “I guess I’ll be seeing you.”
Wes slid off the stool and smiled. “No, you won’t.”
She lifted the empty glass in salute, and Wes headed out the door. He had somewhere to be, but the minute he stepped outside into the humid night air, his phone buzzed against his hip.
The ringing was shrill in the calm quiet of the evening, cutting through the gentle hum of the streetlights and the passing cars. His hope spiked. Maybe Rebecca had come to the same conclusion he had, but when he pulled the phone from his pocket, it showed unknown number.
He stepped away from the bar and hit the button to answer it. “Hello.”
“Is this Wesley Garrett?” said a clipped male voice.
“Yes.”
“This is Officer Mullins. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but we have a situation that we need your help with.”
“A situation?” Wes asked, confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. What is this about?”
“Do you know a Steven Gregoire?”
Wes stilled, the words chasing out the last remnants of confusion and making his heart pound. “Yes, he’s a student of mine at an after-school program.”
“He’s in trouble. He’s asking for you,” the officer explained. “We need to send a car to your house so we can get you to him. The situation is serious.”
“Wait, what’s going on with him?” Wes asked, worry surging. “And I’m not at home.”
“Where are you? It’s very important that—”
“I’m out.”
“Address,” the cop said, all business.
“But what is this—”
“Address, Mr. Garrett. Please. Time is a factor here.”
Wes turned to find a number on the building and gave the bar’s address.
“Has he been arrested or something?” Wes asked.
“Not yet.”
Wes rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “Not yet? What does that mean?”
“The situation is in progress. We’re sending a car, and the officers will brief you with what we need from you. Steven is negotiating with us, and he won’t do anything until he can talk to you and his lawyer.”
“Negotiating?” Wes pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind racing. “His lawyer?”
“Mr. Garrett, your student is holed up in his home threatening to shoot himself. We’ve done everything we can, but he won’t budge until he talks to one of you,” the officer said grimly. “We need your help.”
Wes’s stomach plummeted. “Steven’s threatening suicide? Jesus Christ. Is he saying why?”
The cop cleared his throat. “Because we’re trying to take him in. Earlier tonight, he shot his father.”
The view of the building wavered in Wes’s vision, but he forced out a respo
nse. “I’ll be ready when you get here.”
The cop car rolled up a few minutes later with flashing lights. A short, broad female cop got out of a passenger side and greeted Wes only long enough to tell him her name was Officer Clement and to verify he was Wesley Garrett. She pulled open the back door. “Please, sir, we need to get you to the scene.”
“Of course.” Wes tucked his phone in his pocket and hustled into the car, but when he slid into the backseat, he found he wasn’t alone.
Rebecca was already there, face pale and eyes red and puffy from crying. “Wes.”
The car door slammed behind him, and he turned to her, confused. “Bec. What are you doing here?”
“He asked for me, too,” she said, her voice rasping. “I’m…his lawyer.”
“Shit.” Wes laced his hands behind his head. “This is bad.”
Rebecca peered past his shoulder, no doubt seeing the flashing beer sign in the window of the bar before the car rolled forward. She glanced back to him, her features sagging into heartbreak. “Wes, this is a bar. Did you? Are you…?”
“I didn’t drink. I was pondering.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” He tapped her knee. “Things you don’t have to apologize for. My demon. Not yours. But I won. I’m stone-cold sober right now and completely focused on Steven.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she lowered her voice so only he could hear. “Wes, this is my fault. I let him go home. I waited. He shot his dad.”
Wes curled his fingers into his palms and took a breath, trying to beat back his own panic. “Those are things we are not going to think about right now, and this is not your fault. We have no idea what happened. All we know is Steven is in danger and may not make it out if we don’t help. We have to focus on that right now. Steven needs that.”
“Right.” She nodded and met his gaze, fear there, but a resolute look coming over her face. “I can do that.”
“Okay.” He reached out and took her hand and was relieved when she curled her fingers around his. “Can you give us any more information, officers, so that we know what we’re walking into?”
The male officer flipped on the siren, even though traffic was nonexistent at this hour, and sped toward the side of town near the youth center. Officer Clement turned and briefed them from the passenger seat.
“Shots were fired late this evening, according to neighbors. When medics arrived, the father had made it onto the porch but had lost a lot of blood from a bullet wound. They rushed him to the ER, and all we know is that he’s in surgery. When we tried to go inside, his son, Steven, pointed the gun at his own head and threatened to pull the trigger if we came any further. Our top negotiator has been talking with him, but he wanted to see his lawyer, who he said was you, Ms. Lindt, and his cooking teacher, you, Mr. Garrett. Normally, we don’t bring civilians into these situations, but we plan to keep you well away from the danger. We just want you two to talk to him by phone and let him know that you are nearby and willing to listen. We need you to convince him to put the gun down and come out.”
“So you can arrest him,” Rebecca said, her tone hard.
The male officer glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Yes. He shot his father.”
“Has he said why he did it?” she asked.
Wes peeked over at her, finding no sign of the panic he’d seen in her eyes a few minutes ago. She was all business, looking more pissed now than anything else. Only the hard grip she had on his hand gave him any clue how tense she was beneath all that.
“He said he was scared that his father was going to kill him. But there are no signs of that from what we can tell. His father is a respected police officer, and Steven seems to have a history of problems.”
“His father is abusing him,” Wes interjected. “Rebecca had to file a CPS report today.”
Officer Clement’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “At this point, I’m less concerned with the why. I just want the kid to put the gun down and talk to us. We can sort out the rest later.”
Rebecca sniffed derisively and sent a look Wes’s way. He nodded. Message clear. No one was on Steven’s side right now except the two of them. They couldn’t mess this up. They needed to get Steven safely out of there so that he could have a chance to tell his side.
Wes gave her hand a squeeze.
They pulled into a middle-class neighborhood with rows of houses that all looked the same. A line of cop cars had cordoned off an area, all their lights flashing. A spotlight was trained on the front door of what Wes presumed was Steven’s house. Further out, Wes could see the bright lights of news cameras.
The cops parked behind the main line of vehicles and turned to them. “We’re going to walk to that van over there. We’ll set up the call from there. Just do everything we say, and we can get this ended with no one else getting hurt, okay?”
“Okay,” Wes agreed, but he had no intention of feeding Steven lines from whatever script the cops had. If Steven wanted to talk to him, Wes would talk to him—or just listen, if that was what Steven needed. Whatever it took to get the kid out of that house in one piece.
Wes and Rebecca were led out of the car, a good distance from the house and under the cover of darkness. Rebecca held on to Wes’s hand, and he caught the tremor there.
He leaned over, the officers a few steps ahead. “You okay to do this?”
She wet her lips. “I hope so. I’m talking myself out of a freak-out. I don’t want to mess this up, but all of this is a little too familiar. It could go sideways for me.”
Wes’s stomach flipped over. Shit. He hadn’t even thought of that. This situation was stressful enough, but police, guns, news cameras… All kinds of reminders that could make Rebecca think of Long Acre. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
She rolled her lips inward and then nodded, as if making an agreement with herself. “I don’t always have control over how these things affect me. Like at the speech. Or the night of the mugging.” Her gaze went to the ground, her posture stuff. “My head’s all messed up, Wes. Sometimes, too often lately, I…see things, and past and reality can get mixed up in my brain. Like seeing ghosts and losing a sense of what’s real and what’s not.”
She was talking so softly that he barely heard the words, but they hit him squarely in the gut. She was seeing things. Past things. Scary things. He wanted to take her in his arms and chase those ghosts off for her, sweep her away from this situation that could trigger all that pain for her. “Bec…”
She gave him a sharp look. “You have to promise that if you see me start to lose it, you will take over. I don’t want to make this worse for Steven. I’m…a liability right now.”
He stopped walking for a moment, halting her with his grip on her hand. “Look at me.” When she did, he continued. “You are not a liability. Now or ever. To anyone. Steven is going to feel better knowing we’re both here for him. If you panic, I have your back. If I notice you acting strangely, I’ve got you covered.”
“Thank you,” she said, rubbing her forehead with a shaky hand. “I hate feeling weak like this. I hate feeling broken.”
Wes shook his head, amazed she’d even go there. “Lawyer girl, you’re the toughest person I’ve ever met. However this goes, you’re not weak or broken. You’ve got completely understandable challenges. Just keep reminding yourself that this is not Long Acre, that you are safe, and I am here to back you up. Focus on Steven. We are going to talk that kid out of there. You are not going to let him down. I know you. This is not going to end in tragedy.”
Rebecca pulled her shoulders back and nodded, some of the spark coming back into her eyes. “No, it’s not.”
God, he hoped that was the truth.
chapter
TWENTY-SIX
This is not going to end in tragedy.
Rebecca hoped with all she had that it was the truth. Every part of her nervous system wanted to trigger the alarms. She could feel the monsters l
urking behind every corner. Fight or flight was beating through her with knee-weakening force. But she had to focus on the fight portion of that. Not the flight.
She kept repeating the facts in her head, trying to ground herself in the present. This was not Long Acre. Steven was a kid who didn’t want to die or hurt anyone else. She knew that in her gut. That boy who’d begged her not to tell about the mugging had plans to do something with his life. He was doing this because he was terrified. Reacting. Something had gone very wrong, and he’d gotten himself into this position.
He didn’t want to die. He wanted help. He wanted to talk. That was why he’d called for Wes and Rebecca. She needed to hold on to those facts. She would not let this kid down by dissolving into a flashback or panic episode.
Plus, she had to keep her head clear because Steven needed an advocate, a protector. If the cops thought they were going to toss him away without investigating what had gone down today, they had another think coming. Steven now had a lawyer on his side. A damn good one. And she would use every resource she had to make sure that he would be treated fairly.
She and Wes climbed into the back of the police van, and another cop briefed them on the procedure. They were to keep Steven calm. Tell him everything was going to be okay. Talk him into putting the gun down and coming outside. Not offer to go to him. To make false promises if need be. Anything to keep him from hurting himself or someone else.
A little black-and-white TV showed a picture of Steven’s front door. Everything looked so still and quiet, no sign of the ring of cops just out of the camera’s view. Just a house. But inside was a scared kid, one who’d suffered God knows what behind those doors. One who didn’t trust people not to do him wrong—especially cops. But he’d called for her and Wes.
Rebecca was not going to make him false promises, and she was not going to trick him. She was going to show him that some people were worth trusting.
Wes took the phone first after the cop talked to Steven and told them what was going on. Wes sat on the floor of the van, his hand clasping the back of his head as he greeted Steven. Despite the tension on his face, in every tight line of his body, Wes’s voice was clear and calm when he spoke. Like he was simply telling Steven what they were going to do in class today.