Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2]

by Jennifer Lane

  “I don’t know what screwed-up messages from your family are floating around in your head right now, but you’re staying right here.”

  A flash of unease shot through him. She’d read his mind.

  Sophie waited until his eyes met hers. “You’re Grant Madsen, not Grant Barberi, got it? We’ll get through this Logan thing. We will. I didn’t love him, and he was no good for me. But I love you, McSailor.”

  Grant exhaled loudly. “I love you too.” His actions sure hadn’t shown that tonight, but his words were true. He drew her close, resting his chin on her shoulder.

  When she brushed her hand across his buzzed hair, she said wistfully, “Your hair’s still damp from the shower.”

  They sat, twined together, as Grant continued to resist his urge to bolt from the apartment. Then another thought came to mind.

  “Sophie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The, um, the condom?”

  “Oh.” She pulled back to look him in the eye. “I started the pill.”

  His eyes filled with gratitude. “You did that? For us?”

  Even after the emotional rollercoaster of the day, after the fear and uncertainty she’d experienced in his arms, Sophie knew the integrity that lay beneath the layers of abuse. She desperately hoped they could stay together while they peeled them away. Studying him intently, she whispered, “I trust you.”

  He gently sifted his fingers through her thick hair and drew her into a hug, cheek to cheek. “Thank you.”

  Sophie hesitated a moment, then added, “Especially after learning about your meager sexual history.” She smirked, silently praying he would smile too.

  To her relief, his eyes narrowed playfully.

  Suddenly, a loud knock on the apartment door startled them both.

  “Grant!” a muffled female voice called.

  “Who’s that?” Sophie asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  He shimmied off the bed and reached for a pair of jeans.

  “Grant, are you home?” the unknown visitor hollered, knocking again.

  Sophie grabbed a tissue to blow her nose, then slid on her discarded panties before curiously following Grant into the family room. She didn’t own a robe—that was one item of many still to purchase after getting out of prison—so she lingered by the bedroom doorway, cognizant of her flimsy silk nightgown. She was extremely curious about the late-night female visitor, wondering if perhaps Grant’s sexual history wasn’t so meager after all.

  “Who is it?” Grant inquired, cautiously approaching the front door.

  “Ashley!” came the response, spoken so vehemently that Sophie heard it plainly across the room.

  Puzzled, Grant unlocked the door and came face to face with his sister-in-law and nephew. “Is it true?” Ashley asked shrilly, brushing past Grant with her son reluctantly in tow. She marched Ben to the center of the apartment and pointed authoritatively to the sofa.

  “Mo-om,” he whined.

  She glared at Ben then at Grant, who appeared bewildered. At the sight of them, Sophie left her perch by the doorway and scampered into the bedroom to get dressed.

  “Is it true?” Ashley hissed. “Is it true you caught him smoking pot and didn’t tell me?”

  Grant took a step backward.

  “Is it true?” Ashley screeched.

  “Yes,” he confessed.

  “Well, what a shock, Ben. You actually told the truth for once.”

  The sixteen-year-old’s cheeks reddened, and he ducked his head, wisely following his mother’s instruction to sit on the sofa. Ashley continued glaring at Grant, though her hostility had abated slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m sorry Ashley—I should’ve told you. Ben begged me not to since he’d have to go to rehab if he got caught smoking again.”

  “That was the plan,” Ashley retorted. “I caught him smoking last night, and I tried to get him into a program today, but it turns out my crappy health insurance won’t pay for drug rehab!” She sighed loudly.

  “What kind of job do you have?” Sophie interjected, having emerged from the bedroom in a T-shirt and jeans.

  Ashley looked startled, noticing the tall woman at the side of the room for the first time.

  “You remember Sophie, Ashley?” Grant supplied.

  Ashley looked from Grant’s bare torso to Sophie’s mussed hair before answering in a quieter tone. “I’m a waitress.”

  Sophie nodded. “Yeah, some professions have really awful behavioral health benefits. I had a lot of clients who only had like ten outpatient visits a year.”

  Ashley studied her curiously. “You’re a counselor or something?”

  Blushing, Sophie shook her head. “I was a psychologist. But not anymore.”

  “Well, maybe you can help Mr. Pothead over there.” She gestured to her son. “I certainly don’t know what to do with him.”

  Ben squirmed on the sofa, clearly uncomfortable about being the object of his mother’s anger.

  “I’d love to help,” Sophie offered, “but—”

  “Great,” Ashley interrupted, “because Ben’s going to be living here for a while.”

  Grant’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me, Ashley?”

  “You clearly think you know how to be his parent,” she told Grant. “You made an executive decision not to tell me about his drug use. So you can be his parent. He obviously needs a strong father figure in his life—Lord knows Logan never fit the bill.”

  “Ashley, this is crazy!” Grant protested. “I can’t have a teenager living in a one-bedroom apartment! Sophie and I both work long hours—”

  “Figure it out,” she snapped. “I’m sick of his outlaw behavior, which comes from your family, by the way. Ben’s school is closer to your apartment than mine anyway, so that’ll make it easier when school starts next week. Ben, go get your duffel bag from the car.”

  He bolted from the sofa, feeling immensely embarrassed, but he paused at the door. “Mom, don’t make me stay here! I’ll be good—I won’t smoke ever again!”

  “When have I heard that before?” she shrieked. “Go get your bag!”

  Ben was close to tears. “Please, Mom!”

  Sophie tentatively stepped forward, trying to infuse some calm into the situation. Ashley appeared to be at wit’s end, and Sophie knew exactly how the teenager felt, being unceremoniously kicked out of his own home. “Ben,” she said softly, “Grant and I would love to have you stay with us for a while. How about you get your bag, and we’ll sort this all out?”

  Everyone in the room stared at her incredulously.

  Then, knowing he was about to cry, Ben decided to hightail it to his mom’s car.

  Still somewhat shocked, Grant looked at Sophie with pure gratitude. He definitely didn’t deserve her.

  With Ben gone, Ashley’s whole demeanor changed. Her tough exterior melted, and she just looked tired. “It’s not forever,” she said, her eyes pleading. “I just need a break. Maybe you can help him.”

  Grant sighed. “I want to help him, Ashley—and help you—but I don’t know how to be a dad. I can’t make decisions about him.”

  “Well, I’m not asking you to do it alone,” Ashley snapped, suddenly fierce again. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m still his mom. You can’t figure it out? Give me a call.”

  Sophie returned to the bedroom to dig up some extra bedding for Ben, and Grant and Ashley exchanged phone numbers. Soon Ben knocked softly at the door and then shuffled in, his duffel in tow.

  Not long after that, Ashley was on her way and Ben had settled in with sheets and a blanket on the sofa. By now all three inhabitants of the apartment were feeling the effects of a long day.

  “We’ll figure out the details of you staying here tomorrow, after we’ve all gotten some sleep,” Grant said, fluffing a pillow for his nephew before tossing it on the couch. “Sophie and I have to meet with our PO at nine, and then I’ll be back to pick you up for work. And this time you need to take a shower first, ok
ay?”

  Ben pouted but brightened when he heard his cell phone’s blaring alternative-rock ringtone. Grant rolled his eyes. “And put that phone on vibrate. We don’t want to be woken up all night by your friends calling.”

  Glancing at the phone, Ben decided to respond to his friend later. Eyeing Grant and Sophie suspiciously, he commented, “Looks like you two had some make-up sex. Am I right?”

  Both adults narrowed their eyes at the teen, and Sophie told him, “That’s none of your business, punk.”

  7. Contrition

  Evidently they’d not heard him approach from down the hallway. Hunter stood still for a moment at the entrance to the waiting room, observing the curiously detached fit of Sophie’s body against Grant’s torso. Though his arm around her appeared to be a loving gesture, something was off. Perhaps it was the stiffness of Sophie’s back, the whiteness of Grant’s fingertips curled around her shoulder, or way their eyes avoided each other, but this display of affection definitely conveyed more tension than togetherness.

  Filing away his observations, Hunter breezily announced, “Good to see you, Grant and Sophie.”

  They looked up at Hunter, who was instantly drawn to the icy blue of Grant’s tired gaze. The man looked utterly exhausted, yet he didn’t hesitate to spring to his feet and guide Sophie to a standing position as well. When Grant took her hand, Hunter caught an irritated tightness, which she quickly masked with a plastic smile.

  “We’re ready, Hunter,” she said.

  Hunter paused a second at her forced tone, then nodded, pointing toward his office.

  Once the couple had seated themselves on the sofa, with a sizeable distance between, Hunter told Grant, “I’m glad you came back.”

  Did I have a choice? Grant wished he could say. But instead he replied, “Thank you for not telling Officer Stone I left early last time, sir.”

  Hunter appeared surprised—he’d not even considered reporting Grant’s early departure to the parole officer. “It was only ten minutes or so. And I think I understand why you ran out of here—a bombshell had just been dropped on you.”

  Grant and Sophie both looked miserable at that comment.

  Chewing on his lip, Hunter inquired, “So, um, how have you two been doing since last week’s session?”

  “We made up,” Sophie offered.

  Hunter scrunched his forehead. That was the last thing he’d expected her to say, given their aloof body language. “Really?” Neither spoke, so he added, “How?”

  “Grant’s nephew, Ben, came to live with us—” Sophie began.

  “Sophie’s been really great with him,” Grant interjected.

  She smiled. “—which was a good distraction, I guess.”

  Hunter looked perplexed. “Grant’s nephew—that’s Logan’s son? He’s living with you now?”

  Grant nodded. “His mother’s had it up to here with him. I think it’s just for a little while.”

  Hunter took that in and said, “We’ll get to that later.” Turning to Sophie, he asked, “You mentioned that Ben was a distraction? A distraction from what, exactly?”

  Sophie’s smile faded. “Um, well, the night Ashley brought Ben over—it was kind of a tough night. But it’s better now.”

  “How was it a tough night?”

  Sophie paused and Grant squirmed.

  “I made Sophie cry,” he finally said.

  “You were upset?” Hunter asked Sophie. “What made you cry?”

  She seemed to have difficulty finding words. “I—I wasn’t feeling very good about myself.”

  “How were you feeling?”

  “It’s over now, Hunter, no need to rehash—”

  “Sophie, it’s a simple question: How were you feeling?” He appeared irritated by her evasiveness.

  Sophie took a deep breath, stealing a glance at Grant, who had turned away from her, seemingly lost in his own self-hatred. Meeting Hunter’s compassionate eyes, she thought back to that night and confessed, “Used. I felt used. And scared.”

  She was surprised by the words coming out of her mouth.

  Hunter tilted his head, wondering what had happened between them. “Used and scared? That sounds rather serious. Grant, do you have any idea why Sophie felt used and scared?”

  Grant closed his eyes, feeling a wave of remorse crash over him. He’d desperately tried to forget that night. He finally rasped, “Because I hurt her.”

  “You hurt her?”

  “I was rough with her.” He shuddered.

  “He didn’t mean it, Hunter,” Sophie rushed in.

  “Wait a minute—you two were having sex?” They guiltily nodded. “Grant, you got, uh, rough, leading Sophie to feel used and scared?” More nods.

  Hunter felt his voice rising as his body tensed. “Were you hurt?”

  Sophie’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She felt her nose burning, a sign of imminent tears.

  “Yes,” she finally managed, “but like I said, he didn’t mean to hurt me. He just needed to vent, and I, I was trying to help him—”

  “You were trying to help?” Hunter asked incredulously. “Did you tell him he was hurting you?”

  She shook her head as her face crumpled.

  “Did you tell him you were feeling scared?” Hunter’s voice took on a gruff edge, and he saw her warily shake her head again. He stole a glance at Grant before returning his attention to Sophie. “Were you too scared to speak?”

  Feeling tears spring to her eyes, she kept shaking her head. “No. I thought I was h-h-helping him,” she choked out. “He needed to take it out on me—for the Logan thing. I deserved it.”

  Hunter felt his chest tighten with anger. “You never deserve to be hurt!” His shout stunned them both, but his next question was even more shocking. “Did he rape you, Sophie?”

  “No!” she cried immediately.

  Grant started breathing again, close to tears himself.

  “I told him to keep going,” she added.

  Hunter was incensed. “You were caretaking again, weren’t you? You were putting his needs in front of your own! You thought you were helping him? So you’re trying to play therapist with your boyfriend now? That’s simply not going to work!”

  Sophie sobbed.

  Hunter stared at her, suspended in disbelief. He didn’t know why he felt so angry, but he couldn’t stop the chastising words. “When are you going to stop caretaking? This time you could’ve gotten really hurt—physically, not just emotionally. That’s a dangerous game you’re playing!”

  Sophie could only sit there and sob, recognizing the true nature of her role in what happened that night.

  “Please don’t cry,” Grant begged.

  “And you!” Hunter nearly yelled, landing his livid gaze on Grant. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I…I wasn’t thinking, sir.”

  “Did you think you could get away with that?”

  “No! I was so mad—”

  “Did you think you had a right to hurt her?” Hunter seethed.

  “No, sir! I feel awful for what happened. But all I could see was an image of her and L-L-Logan in my head, and I snapped.” Grant’s breath came in shaky gasps.

  Hunter sat back in his chair, suddenly spent. Sophie’s muted sobs continued to fill the room, and Hunter eyed her sardonically. “I guess you got yourself another bad boy, didn’t you?”

  Sophie glared at Hunter, surprised by his cruel comment. Ignoring her indignant stare, Hunter added, “Maybe these sessions aren’t helping you. You just keep repeating old patterns.”

  “Stop being mean to her!” Grant countered, his nostrils flaring.

  “Oh, you’re the one to save her?” Hunter retorted. “The son of Enzo Barberi? Are you sure you’re not out to hurt her? I think you’re hiding something.”

  “Fuck you!” Grant was on his feet instantaneously, his hands balled into fists.

  Sophie and Hunter stared up at him, wide-eyed.

&nb
sp; Sophie reached up and frantically took his hand. “Grant, it’s okay. You can’t leave—we can’t go back to prison. Please stay. Hunter’s going to stop being mean. Right, Hunter?”

  Hunter felt the heat of her pointed stare and suddenly felt embarrassed. He looked down. He was supposed to be the professional, and here he was yelling at his clients? What did he think he was doing? He wondered why he felt so incensed.

  Hunter cleared his throat. “Yes, I’ll stop. I apologize for raising my voice. It won’t happen again.” He glanced up at Grant and nodded to the sofa. “If you can get control of yourself, I’d like you to stay. Please have a seat.”

  Grant jammed his fists under his crossed arms and settled back onto the sofa. Biting his lip, he asked, “Are you going to report me to Officer Stone?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You said you thought I raped Sophie.”

  “No,” Hunter corrected, crossing his legs. “I asked Sophie if it was rape, but it seems it was consensual—consensually stupid and destructive.”

  Grant blushed, and he offered meekly, “And then I told you to fuck off, sir?”

  Hunter suppressed a smile. “You think you’re the first client to tell me to fuck off, Mc—” he glanced at Sophie for help “—McN-N-Navy boy?”

  Sophie couldn’t stop herself from chuckling. “It’s McSailor.”

  “Right. McSailor.” Hunter returned his gaze to Grant. “I won’t report you to your PO, but I do think you have some anger issues you need to work out or you will wind up back in prison.”

  Grant hung his head. It was pretty obvious he had a boatload of issues.

  “You seem sorry about what you did to Sophie.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hunter leaned in. “And now you have a sixteen-year-old boy staying with you? A teenager who uses marijuana, disregards rules, and knows how to push your every button? What do you think is going to happen once he starts acting up?”

  “Are you saying I’m going to hit him?” Grant looked aghast. “I would never hit my nephew!”

  “It’s not outside the realm of possibility,” Hunter argued, “especially if you haven’t worked through your own past abuse. It’s all you know.”