Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2]

by Jennifer Lane

  “Well, I was standing near the side entrance to the compound, and that’s when I, uh, when I saw your dad.”

  Sophie bit her lip, feeling immense guilt for her earlier accusations. “Did you guys say anything to each other?”

  “No. I think we were both too shocked. We just kind of stood there, staring, until your dad took off and headed for the street. I watched him hail a cab, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing there.” Grant looked nervously at Sophie. “I didn’t know if I should tell you I saw him. I didn’t want you to be hurt any more.” He sighed. “It’s awful what your dad went through, but I’m so glad he’s not in cahoots with my family, Sophie.”

  She looked down. “Me too,” she said softly.

  “When I turned back, Officer Stone was leading Ben away, I assume to his car, which he’d parked a few blocks away,” Grant added.

  “Have you heard from Ben since then?” Sophie’s voice was full of concern.

  “Ashley called me once he got home, but according to her he’s not saying much. Apparently he’s been the perfect angel even in the short time he’s been back.” Grant and Sophie shared a smirk. Then Grant added wistfully, “I miss him already.”

  “Maybe he could come back and live with us?”

  “Maybe, but he probably belongs with his mom.”

  A silence descended. Feeling rather superfluous, Hunter interjected, “So, Sophie, how do you feel about your father telling you he’s responsible for you going to prison?”

  She frowned. “He’s not. I don’t care if he refused to pay the money; he’s not the one who acted inappropriately with a client. That’s on me.”

  Grant felt a stirring of uneasiness at the mention of his brother, knowing exactly what her “inappropriate” behavior entailed. Feeling an itching sensation in his fingertips—the impulse to lash out aggressively—he sat on his hands and forced himself to take deep breaths.

  “Shame’s a tricky emotion,” Hunter told Sophie. “It can sometimes make people hide or withdraw from those they love. It seems like your father feels horribly guilty for bringing the Mafia into your life, which explains why he never visited you in prison. He was too ashamed to see you.”

  She nodded her head thoughtfully.

  “And it also makes sense why he’s been so afraid of Grant being in your life—why he feels compelled try to avoid you getting hurt again.”

  Sophie considered Hunter’s statement and sheepishly gazed at Grant.

  “I’m sorry, Grant, but my father was convinced you were working for them. Angelo confirmed it.”

  Grant’s eyes narrowed.

  “And when my father told me he saw you there, what was I supposed to think?”

  Leaning forward on the sofa, Grant said, “You were supposed to think about us, Sophie…about the promises I’ve made to you…about my love for you. I would never hurt you—don’t you know that? Don’t you feel that inside you?”

  Gazing into his earnest, passionate eyes, she nodded, slowly at first, and then with increasing vehemence. The corners of her mouth turned down and her eyes began brimming with tears.

  “I’m so sorry, Grant. It was stupid of me to doubt you. I should never do that—it’s not fair to you.”

  “I feel…?” Hunter prompted.

  Gulping, she returned her gaze to Grant. “I feel horrible for doubting you. I feel, um, remorseful for listening to my dad instead of you. He was just so upset, and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “I don’t blame your father,” Grant said. “He was probably feeling lucky to get out of there alive, and then he ran into me right outside the compound? No wonder he was so upset. He’s just trying to keep you safe, and I’d probably do the same thing, telling you to stay away from any potential threat. If I had a daughter as precious as you, I’d do everything in my power to try to protect you too.”

  A few tears had spilled over onto her cheeks, and Sophie’s upper lip quivered. She sniffed. “You already have,” she said. “You already have done everything in your power to protect me. And like an idiot I forgot it all for a second. I’m really sorry. I won’t forget it again, Grant. I promise.”

  He listened to her apology with a keen sense of relief, his hope in their relationship returning. This misunderstanding had not been Sophie’s fault or even her father’s fault. Once again, the blame rested squarely on his family. The Barberi clan was yet again attempting to tear down all that was good in his life, but this time he wouldn’t let them. He was fiercely determined to hold onto Sophie, no matter what his family tried.

  “So what have we learned here today, people?” Hunter asked. “This isn’t the first time one of you has been so upset that you’ve gone AWOL, leaving your partner feeling rejected and panicked. What did you learn?”

  Sophie sniffled again. “We need to communicate,” she said quietly.

  “What was that?” Hunter mocked, dramatically drawing his cupped palm to his ear. “What did you say?”

  “We need to communicate!” Sophie shouted, earning a chuckle from Grant.

  “Precisely,” Hunter replied. “Now, with our remaining time today I’d like to go over some communication exercises from the great marital researcher John Gottman. I know you two aren’t married, but he has some wonderful recommendations for romantic relationships…”

  Hunter began droning on about physiological responses to conflict, rules for fair fighting, and love maps, while Grant and Sophie listened halfheartedly. Their true attention was riveted only on each other as they sat on either side of their psychologist. Longing for their typical closeness on the sofa, Sophie’s warm mahogany eyes smoldered with desire, and Grant’s cool crystal eyes glittered with want. The curious transformation from livid to lustful was taking place, and if there ever was a time for make-up sex, this was it.

  “Okay, so Gottman has found that successful marriages are built on successful friendships first. I want you two to take these love map questions,” Hunter explained, holding out a photocopy for Grant to take, “and quiz each other before we meet again.”

  Hunter planned to hand a copy to Sophie once Grant grabbed his, but he hadn’t reached to take it from his hand. Noting Grant’s parted lips and glazed-over stare, Hunter followed his eyes over to Sophie’s face, which looked equally dreamy.

  “Has either of your heard a word I said?” he asked.

  “Excuse me, sir, what did you say?” Grant stammered.

  “I said, take these questions and ask them to each other!”

  Grant took the paper and nodded. “Will do, sir.”

  Sophie let out a giggle of embarrassment as she took her photocopied paper. “Thanks, Hunter.”

  He rolled his eyes and wondered how long it would take the nymphomaniacs to get horizontal. “Okay, you two. Get outta here.”

  Grant popped off the sofa and headed toward the door, almost running into Sophie. “Oops.” He blushed, holding his arm out for her to go ahead of him. She let out another shy giggle.

  When his hand brushed up her side, landing on the small of her back, she felt the crackle of electricity on her skin. As they headed down the hallway toward the waiting room, their awkward excitement continued.

  “I can’t believe you ran into my father like that,” Sophie mused, shaking her head.

  “And I can’t believe you instantly accepted what he said about me!” Grant countered, a twinge of anger still evident in his voice.

  They arrived in the waiting room, whose sole occupant was the woman who’d earlier watched Hunter attempt to mediate their argument. Glancing at the flush of Grant’s cheeks, Sophie felt a thrill of naughtiness course through her. Without another thought, she grabbed Grant’s shirt and drew him into the unisex bathroom off the waiting room.

  “What’re you doing?” he hissed as she closed the door behind him and pushed him up against the bathroom wall.

  “Making it up to you.” She grinned, squinting her eyes mischievously before swooping in for a kiss. Grant’s lips were instantly r
eceptive, and their mouths collided as the temperature in the bathroom began to rise. Their hands snaked everywhere—caressing, groping, massaging, exploring, fumbling.

  He loved that the daughter of a very wealthy man was making out with him in a bathroom. “Classy joint you’ve taken me to, Taylor,” he teased between kisses.

  She felt his lips rise in a grin, pressing against hers.

  “Your dad would be appalled,” he added.

  “Maybe that’s why I like it in here so much,” she shot back, skating her hands inward from his muscled hips to the button of his jeans. As their mouths zigzagged across every inch of exposed skin, their bodies pushed against each other, creating a hot friction. With exquisite pleasure, Sophie let out one of her characteristic moans.

  “While I’m going to miss Ben,” she panted, “I do know one advantage of him going back to his mom’s.” She grinned devilishly. “Now we can be as loud as we want.”

  She heard the deep rumble of a chuckle springing up from his chest. “I see you’re already testing that theory, and we’re not even home yet.”

  Her laughter morphed into deep intakes of air as he worked his McSailor Method on her, swiftly and expertly.

  About five minutes later, they emerged from the bathroom, utterly disheveled, with flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and a sated glow warming their skin. The woman gaped at the two lovebirds.

  Despite her earlier demands for Grant’s touch, Sophie felt her face on fire. Grant, however, looked the woman directly in the eye, pulling his unkempt girlfriend to his side. Winking at the woman, he announced, “This couples’ therapy thing really works!”

  16. Concert

  “You ready, kid?”

  Grant glanced up from the sheet music in his hand to the open doorway off the bar to find his gray-haired boss staring expectantly. He rose, trying to swallow his fear. “I think so, sir.”

  Alex Remington laughed. His performer looked anything but ready for opening night. He took a seat in the makeshift dressing room. “Relax, Grant. You sounded great in rehearsal.”

  “Thanks,” Grant said, adding a giant exhale. “But I’m really worried I’ll forget the lyrics.”

  “Nah, you’ll be fine. Hell, I’m so confident my bar will be a hit that I invited a couple of old buddies to celebrate opening night. I really want to impress those two. Don’t let me down, Grant.”

  A bartender walking past the doorway distracted Alex, and he abruptly got up to follow, calling after the employee with some question about champagne.

  Standing alone now, Grant felt even more nervous. If that was supposed to be a pep talk, it had missed its mark.

  He wished Sophie were here, but her department was interviewing a cognitive psychology candidate, and she had to go to dinner with the prospective assistant professor. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he recalled how she’d attempted to calm his nerves the last time he’d been nervous about a public singing performance. One tequila shot had turned into quite a few more. He couldn’t remember much about that night—except for kissing her in the cab on their way to Kirsten’s apartment. It was one of their first experiences together, and even now it flushed his face with a warm glow.

  Returning to earth, he realized he was on his own this time, and he’d better not blow it. He sighed heavily and sat back down, snatching the sheet music to Mack the Knife and closing his eyes while mentally reviewing lyrics about a man lying dead on a sidewalk.

  He wished he could get through the song without thinking of Logan. Though Carlo was now six feet under as well, a heated desire for vengeance still rushed through Grant’s veins. Feeling sickened by the lingering impulse, Grant realized no matter how hard he fought, he’d always be a Barberi.

  Hearing light footsteps near the doorway, Grant opened his eyes to find the youngest Barberi tentatively entering the room. As soon as he and Ben saw each other, both broke out in big grins.

  “I found you!” the teenager said buoyantly.

  “Hey! What’re you doing here?”

  “Sophie texted me,” Ben explained, holding up his phone as proof. “She said, uh…” He scrolled through his messages, locating the one he wanted. “She said ‘Your uncle has his opening night at Capone’s Spirits and needs your support.’” Ben looked up and added, “He’s so nervous he’s peeing in his pants.”

  Grant felt the blood drain from his face. “She didn’t say that, did she?”

  Ben grinned. “Nah, I may have embellished a little.” Still peering at his phone, his face took on a wistful expression. “And she said, um, she missed me.”

  “That part I believe.” Grant smiled. “We both miss you. How’s it going at your mom’s? What’s it been, almost a week now?”

  He sniffed. “It’s okay.” Blushing, he glanced nervously at his uncle. “I feel kinda bad that my mom’s been all alone…so maybe I better stay with her—”

  “Of course,” Grant interrupted. “I totally understand. You’re welcome to stay with us anytime, but I think it’s great you’re back with your mother.”

  Relieved, the teenager studied his surroundings. “This is a pretty tough hotel, huh? Super rich. When I asked where the bar was, the dude at the front desk called me ‘sir.’” Ben grinned wickedly and glanced through the open door at the rapidly filling bar. “So, you’re freaked out?”

  Grant nodded solemnly. “I’m about to pee in my pants,” he said with a completely straight face. They both chuckled.

  “But you did okay on the cruise,” Ben pointed out. “At least the passengers didn’t try to launch themselves overboard or anything when you were singing.”

  “Thank you for that rousing praise. The difference is I only did one song on the cruise. Here I have at least six songs in the first set, and then maybe more if it goes okay.”

  “Hmm. Well, there is a bar out there—want me to get you a drink to chill you out?”

  “Hell, no,” Grant quickly responded. “I learned my lesson the first time.”

  As his nephew’s eyes lit up with curiosity, Grant shook his head. “Forget it—there’s no way I’m telling you that story.”

  Thinking for a minute, he narrowed his eyes. “Wait a second—you’re sixteen. How on earth would you buy me a drink?”

  The blush returned, coloring Ben’s neck and cheeks. “Uh, um, I dunno—charm the bartender or something?”

  Grant’s eyes filled with suspicion. “Give me your wallet.”

  “C’mon, Uncle Grant, it’s cool.”

  “Give it to me.”

  Ben frowned but reluctantly reached for his backpack, which he’d earlier slung over a chair. His uncle had some kind of hold over him, and he felt powerless to disobey. Slowly he unzipped the front pocket and handed over his thin wallet.

  Grant opened it, instantly locating what he was looking for: a fake driver’s license. Despite his disappointment, he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips as he read aloud. “Albert Fredo? Where the hell did that name come from?”

  Despite himself, Ben chuckled too. “My boys came up with that name—Al is one saucy dude.”

  Grant shook his head. Scrutinizing the fake ID, his eyes bugged out. “You’re supposed to be twenty-five? Has this ID actually worked?”

  Appearing wounded, Ben started to answer but then thought better of it. “I’m taking the fifth on that one.”

  “You’re taking the fifth?” Grant repeated, simultaneously dismayed and impressed. “Well, I’m taking this bogus ID.”

  “Hey, c’mon, Uncle Grant. Even you said the ID probably wouldn’t work.”

  “And if it doesn’t, you could get arrested! Do you want to go to juvie?”

  “No,” Ben conceded sullenly.

  Pocketing the offending license before handing back the wallet, Grant nodded. “Good.”

  As Ben zipped up his backpack, he felt overwhelmed. He wished he didn’t make his uncle so mad at him all the time.

  Watching his nephew stare at the floor, Grant sighed. “Look, I didn’t
mean to yell at you. I’m probably taking out my nervousness on you, and that’s not fair.”

  “’S okay. I probably shouldn’t have a fake ID.”

  “No, you shouldn’t, Mr. Fredo.”

  Ben looked up with one of his characteristic smirks. He was quiet for some time, then asked, “Are you mad at me for going to Angelo’s?”

  “I was mad,” Grant admitted. “Now I’m just relieved you’re okay. But if I ever find out you went there again, you’ll be doing push-ups forever.”

  “I’m not going back,” Ben told him.

  Grant was surprised at the conviction in his voice. What had happened at the compound?

  “Um, and the push-ups thing?” Ben said shyly. “Uh, I can do them now, I think.” His face reddened as he confessed, “I’ve been training.”

  “You can do fifty now? That’s great!”

  “Want me to show you?”

  Grant paused. This back room was hardly a convenient space to do calisthenics, yet he sensed his nephew’s urgent need to make things right, to make him proud. Grant often felt the same way when it came to Joe.

  “Um, sure. Why not? Here…” Grant scooted a small table against the wall and gestured to the floor. “You can do them here.”

  Ben nodded and bit his lip, totally focused on the task at hand. He bent down to rest his weight on his hands and toes, then pumped his body up and down while he counted off each rep. Watching the boy’s determination and burgeoning physical strength, Grant experienced a swelling in his chest, an outpouring of love so deep it almost felt like an ache in his heart.

  He remembered feeling the same sensation at age fourteen when he’d first held his infant nephew in his arms—when Joe had taken him to visit Ashley in the hospital’s maternity ward. Nineteen-year-old Logan had been absent at the time, but Grant had been amazed that his ne’er-do-well older brother had created the tiny, beautiful bundle in his arms.

  Before he knew it, Ben had returned to standing, fifty push-ups under his belt.

  Grant gave him a bright smile. “That was awesome!” He reached out to ruffle Ben’s hair, and his nephew looked embarrassed but didn’t shy away from the touch. “I love how you persevered—that’ll get you far in life. And now you’re no longer grounded if you come back to live with us.”