Grant sighed. “This again. It all comes back to my father, doesn’t it?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Hunter studied him. “You look tired.”
“He hasn’t been sleeping well,” Sophie interjected. “Whenever I wake up in the middle of the night, he’s still awake.”
“Has it been tough to fall asleep?” Hunter asked him.
Grant shrugged.
“Are you trying to avoid sleep?”
Grant looked startled, and when he tried to answer negatively, Hunter didn’t buy it.
Ignoring Grant’s shaking head, Hunter asked, “So the nightmares have returned?”
A forlorn expression crossed Grant’s face, and he looked down. “I just can’t have any more nightmares,” he admitted. “At least not while I’m in the same bed with Sophie.”
Sophie remembered shaking him awake from his nightmare after the first time they’d had sex, dragging him away from some torturous scene in his mind. Once he’d come to and stopped thrashing about, he’d smoothed his hands across the bedding as if he were looking for something, feeling for something. He’d done the same thing in their therapy session last week, she realized—he’d run his hands over the sofa cushion as he came out of his agitated state.
She’d hated having to tell him she knew about his past. It didn’t seem right that she was aware of the painful story before he’d had the opportunity to choose to share it with her. It didn’t seem right that she knew about him peeing his pants…
Her sharp intake of breath turned both men’s heads toward her.
“What is it?” Hunter asked.
Sophie’s cheeks reddened. “I think I know why Grant’s trying so hard to avoid nightmares, especially when I’m there.”
Grant turned to look at her with a hitch in his breath, and she slowly met his gaze. “You’re worried about what might happen if you have a nightmare about your childhood. You’re…” she gulped “…you’re worried that you’ll pee in your pants again.”
His anguished expression and subsequent huddling up into a ball, gripping his head in his hands, told both Sophie and Hunter she was right on track.
“But Grant,” she said in a soothing voice, leaning over to rub his back, “you were only four then. You’re an adult now, and that’s not going to happen.”
He abruptly lifted his head, letting his hands fall free. “But it did happen!” he insisted. “Two years ago! I’m not an adult. I’m a fucking baby!”
Sophie halted the smooth circles she was tracing on his back, unsure what to say next.
“What happened, Grant?” Hunter prodded. “Two years ago—you were in prison, right?”
Grant moaned, “Oh, God! I can’t tell her, I can’t.” She’ll leave me.
Maybe they’d finally get to whatever he’d been hiding, Hunter hoped. Sophie certainly deserved to know the truth. “It’s okay,” he gently encouraged.
Looking up at the psychologist, Grant expected to find a hateful glare, but instead he only saw compassion in Hunter’s eyes.
“Go on, Grant. Keeping it all in obviously isn’t helping you, and you have to get some sleep. Telling your story’s a way for the past to have less of a hold on you.”
“I don’t want to do this!” Grant protested, looking wildly around the room. “I just want to get the hell out of here—but I can’t. I have to stay, damn it. I can’t escape from my father no matter what I do.”
“Sometimes the best way out…is through,” Hunter said.
Grant gulped. Could he do this? What he’d done to Sophie in bed had really thrown him, and the idea that his unresolved anger could lead him to hurt his nephew further rattled him. After all they’d been through, he knew he could trust Sophie, but what about Dr. Hayes? He sighed. He really had no choice.
Feeling hopelessly embarrassed, Grant gritted his teeth and began. “It was my first day at Gurnee State Pen.”
Sophie felt a rash of goose bumps cover her arms. She didn’t know if she could stand to hear this story.
“My father and his men approached me in the yard,” Grant continued.
“Wait a minute,” Hunter interrupted. “Your father was in Gurnee too?”
“Yes, sir. He still is. He got a life sentence for killing a kid.”
Hunter tapped his fingers on his knee. “I have a vague memory of your father’s crime from the news accounts—could you remind me of the details?”
Sophie sat frozen on the sofa while Grant dutifully responded.
“When I was eight, my father was about to be indicted for murder,” he said, his voice hollow. “Somehow he discovered the location of the informant, Richie Fanocelli, and he went there to try to kill the guy before he had a chance to testify. But there were two kids in the picture that made it all go to hell. My cousin Carlo apparently snuck into my dad’s car and then went into the house after my dad, and Fanocelli had his young son with him in the house.”
Sophie was fascinated, but still unable to move. “How old was Carlo then?”
“I don’t know—ten?”
“This is the same Carlo who shot Sophie a few weeks ago?” Hunter asked.
Grant nodded. “Anyway, my father and Carlo were both in the house, and Fanocelli shot Carlo.”
Sophie gasped. “Carlo got shot? Where?”
“In his left arm, right above the elbow.” Grant turned to Sophie with a look of wonder. “Exactly where he shot you.”
The three absorbed that bizarre coincidence before Grant resumed, “When my father shot back, he hit Fanocelli’s son. My dad killed him—Tony Fanocelli. H-H-He was only seven.”
“Tony was just one year younger than you then,” Hunter said.
Grant nodded grimly.
“That must have been terrifying to hear that your own father killed a little boy.”
Grant’s knuckles had gone white, gripping the edge of the sofa cushions on either side of his legs.
“What were you told about the shooting back then?” Hunter inquired.
“I’m not sure,” Grant responded. “I do remember that my mom took us to the hospital to visit Carlo after my dad was arrested.”
“She took you and Logan to see Carlo? How did Carlo get to the hospital in the first place?”
“My dad rushed him there.” Grant exhaled with disgust. “Big magnanimous gesture on his part—saving his nephew’s life in exchange for getting arrested right outside the hospital. Uncle Angelo was furious.”
“Your Uncle Angelo blamed Carlo for Enzo going to prison?” Hunter shook his head.
“I think so,” Grant said. “He seemed ticked off at Carlo when we visited him.”
Hunter asked, “Angelo was at the hospital?”
“Yeah. He and my mom had words, and the next thing I knew she packed us up and took us to live with Uncle Joe at Great Lakes.”
“Logan lived with Joe too?”
“No. Logan and Joe were fighting a lot, so Logan ran away to the compound— Uncle Angelo’s house. My mom was really sad.”
Hunter sat back in his chair. “So you were eight years old, and you’d just lost your brother and your home. Not to mention losing your father—and you’d learned your father killed a child your age. It must have been devastating.”
Grant’s throat felt tight. “I missed Logan, and I missed my friends, but it wasn’t so bad. At least Dad couldn’t beat up Mom anymore.”
“And he couldn’t beat you up anymore, either.”
There was silence.
Sophie had listened to the rapid-fire questions and answers in shock. No wonder Grant never wanted to discuss his past.
After a moment, Hunter questioned again. “Did you ever visit your father at Gurnee prior to your incarceration?”
“No, sir, and that didn’t exactly help my cause. My dad was pretty pissed off about me never visiting.”
Grant sighed. He still hadn’t answered the original question, and it felt like a nightmare just thinking about telling them what had led to his adult nightmare
s. Yet he knew he had to. Hell, Sophie had practically figured out the story on her own already.
“As I was saying, my father approached me in the yard, and he told me he’d protect me if I joined him.” Grant grimaced. “Meaning I could never speak to Joe the whole time I was inside.”
Sophie looked horrified. “Your father made you renounce Joe?”
He nodded. “But I refused. Well, I tried to refuse, but my dad wasn’t having it. I could either join him or he would let the prison…wolves teach me a lesson.”
Sophie’s jaw clenched even more tightly.
Grant sighed again. “And they did teach me a lesson. They came after me, and the next thing I knew I was sitting handcuffed in the warden’s office, being told I would spend sixty days in solitary as punishment for fighting.”
“But that wasn’t fair!” Sophie protested.
“That took incredible strength to stand up to your father,” Hunter said.
“More like stupidity,” Grant scoffed. He hesitated, clearly worried about sharing the next part of the story.
“What was solitary like?” Sophie asked. “I would’ve been terrified to go in the hole.”
Flashes of memories appeared in Grant’s head. I was terrified, he thought. “It was awful. I, um, I couldn’t see—it was pitch black—and the walls; they were closing in…” Grant’s voice cracked, and he looked down, feeling the heat of a blush on his cheeks and tears prickling at the back of his eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry.
A thought dawned on Hunter. “It was just like the closet your father had locked you in when you were four.”
Stunned, Grant lifted his head, blinking away tears. “Y-Y-Yes, sir.”
Sophie resisted the urge to scoop him into her arms as he looked down in shame.
“I reacted just like I was four too.”
She could hear the tears in his voice and was not surprised when a few plopped onto his jeans. She was instantly reminded of Logan crying in her office.
“How did you react?” Hunter gently asked.
“I—I don’t know what happened,” Grant said. “But I woke up three days later in the psych ward.” He snuck a glance at Sophie, dreading her response to discovering her boyfriend was crazy. “The doctor said I’d been catatonic. They, um, they had to remove me from the hole because I hadn’t been eating, and I, and I…” He took his head in his hands and whispered, “I peed in my pants.”
Once he began sobbing, Sophie couldn’t contain herself and launched herself across the sofa to gather him into her arms, murmuring soothing words while stroking his back.
Hunter wondered about the therapeutic value of her hug, which interrupted his story, but he also realized there was no way he could separate them at this point. They clearly needed each other.
“I bet you didn’t know you had a psycho boyfriend,” Grant muttered through his tears.
“You’re not psycho. Of course you dissociated in there, Grant,” she said, still rubbing his back. “It triggered a childhood trauma reaction.”
Noting Grant’s puzzled expression over Sophie’s shoulder, Hunter said, “Sophie, let’s give him some space to understand all of this.”
She nodded and let go, but stayed close on the sofa.
“I agree with Sophie,” Hunter said. “To be locked up in a small, dark place like that must have been very frightening and reminded you of that happening when you were four. It makes total sense that you had an adverse reaction to that situation, and it doesn’t make you crazy. Sophie used the words ‘dissociation’ and ‘trauma,’ and I want to review some of that with you in the next session, okay? You’re not crazy. You’re just suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.”
Grant swallowed hard and nodded, swiping at his cheeks.
“You did well today—both of you,” Hunter added. “This was a tough session, but I think we made a lot of progress.”
Looking again at her shell-shocked boyfriend, Sophie crawled onto his lap, folding her slim body into his. At first Grant seemed surprised, but once she draped her arms over his shoulders, he responded by wrapping his arms around her back. They held each other tightly for several moments.
Hunter noticed that much of their tension was gone. This time their hug was genuine.
Sophie drew back and wiped a fresh tear from Grant’s cheek, gazing into his eyes. They held their stare for over a minute, both trying to steady themselves after what they’d endured.
Eventually Sophie’s face lit up in an evil grin. “Now that I’m on your lap, McSailor, you better keep your pants dry.”
Amidst their snickers, Hunter shook his head disdainfully. “Jesus, get a room, you two.” They smiled, and he added, “Let’s make it gentle, clean fun this time, all right?”
Their cheeks flushed pink, and Grant appeared most contrite.
“And,” Hunter concluded, “make sure your live-in teenager doesn’t hear you in action. I think Ben’s had enough trauma, don’t you?”
8. Congenital
Uncle and nephew ambled their way across city streets, taking in the dapples of morning sun filtering through the trees interspersed on the sidewalk. Swaying the still-green leaves was a cool breeze, a prelude to the end of summer.
Then Ben broke their comfortable silence. “So, should I tell Rog today or tomorrow?”
Grant was grateful his nephew was no longer grumbling about him insisting they leave early for work. “Tell Mr. Eaton what?”
Ben exhaled with exasperation. “That I’m done for the summer.”
“What do you mean?”
The teenager looked at his uncle like he was incredibly obtuse. “I’m starting school next week! I can’t work anymore.”
Grant’s return stare was equally incredulous. “You get out of school at three fifteen, that’s plenty of time to make the five o’clock and seven o’clock cruises.”
“I don’t wanna work after school! When am I gonna have time to chill with my friends?”
Grant had a sneaking suspicion that these so-called friends were no strangers to marijuana. Besides, he’d really enjoyed having Ben with him at work, and despite the teen’s protests, he knew Ben had liked it too. They’d become closer—talking about school, girls, music, cell phones, and even Logan upon occasion. A conversation about the man who linked them both usually ended abruptly when one of them cleared his throat and changed the subject, claiming the Chicago wind was making his eyes water.
“The cruises only run another month or so, Ben,” Grant patiently explained. “You can hang out with your friends the rest of the school year, but for now I expect you to work after school.”
“Nooo!” he whined, beginning to drag his feet. “This blows. I already told Nick we’d go to ESPN Zone next week.”
Grant stopped walking and turned to look at Ben. “I’m sorry, but the video games will have to wait. Sophie and I are both working in the afternoons, and I don’t want to leave you unsupervised.”
“I’m not some baby,” Ben scoffed. “I can take care of myself.”
Grant felt his blood pressure rising, particularly after Ben punctuated his statement with a defiant jut of his jaw.
“I never said you were a baby. But now that you’re living with me, I’m responsible for you—”
“You can’t make me!” Ben blurted, his cool blue eyes flaring indignantly. “I don’t wanna work anymore for that asshole Roger on his stupid, shitty boat!”
Appalled by his nephew’s sudden temper tantrum, Grant felt a heated flush warm his face. How dare he talk about his boss like that? He should be grateful he even had a job, much less a home, after all the crap he’d pulled.
“End of discussion, Ben. You’ll keep working.”
“You can’t make me.”
Grant’s straightened his back, pulling himself up to his full six-foot-one height. His voice was ominously soft. “Do you want to try me?”
With a look of betrayal, Ben countered, “Oh, what’re you gonna do? It’s not like you’re my dad or anyth
ing.”
“You’re right. I’m not your dad, but as long as you’re living with me, you’re going to follow my rules.”
Grant cringed the second the hackneyed parental warning escaped his lips. His heart pounded as he stared into insolent eyes whose sky blue matched his own. He had no idea what he’d do if Ben refused to obey him.
“This is bullshit,” Ben spat. “I’m not going to work next week, and that’s final.”
“Yes, you are!” Grant bellowed. “You’ll do what I say, damn it!”
His scalp tingled and his hands itched. He lunged forward to seize the boy and shake some sense into him, when suddenly Grant froze. Sensing impending violence, Ben’s eyes had widened, and he too seemed paralyzed, gaping at his uncle whose outstretched hands hovered inches from his body.
Swallowing, Grant dropped his hands and turned, walking a few steps away to stare at the sidewalk. Hot fury coursed through him, and he found himself clenching his fists. The overwhelming urge to physically dominate or even harm his nephew horrified him. This is what Dr. Hayes warned me about. This is my father’s blood running through my veins.
After a few long moments, Grant shuffled back to his wary nephew. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I should’ve discussed your plans for work with you first.”
Ben stood still, chewing his lip.
“I’m new at this, okay?” Grant pleaded. “I’m not used to having a teenager live with me, and I’m probably screwing it all up.”
Ben’s eyes welled with tears. “You don’t even want me to live with you!”
Grant was taken aback. “Yes, I do! Why on earth would you think that?”
“Because when my mom dropped me off, you said I couldn’t live there!”
Grant frowned. “Look, Ben, Ashley dragged you in there without warning—I was just trying to adjust to the idea. And your mom interrupted a really bad night I was having with Sophie. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Ben listened, standing quietly beside his uncle. At first he hadn’t liked the idea of sharing his uncle with an unknown woman, but Sophie was growing on him. She always made sure he had something to eat, and she didn’t complain about how much food he snarfed down, unlike the nonstop bitching of his mother.
Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2] Page 9