Drugs.
Just the word made Garrison's insides clench. It would be easier if he didn't know so much, hadn't seen so much, seen people with every advantage in the world utterly ruin themselves for just one more hit. Seen his own wife throw away everything they had for a lifetime of quick highs and lingering numbness. The futile search for euphoria in an ever-increasing pile of empty bottles.
For all the temptations out there, drugs scared Garrison the most. Because they enticed Aiden the most.
Tonight, when Aiden got home, Garrison would make him pee in a cup, see if there were any drugs in his system. Maybe that made him a crappy father. Well, who cared if it did? He wasn't going to lose his son to addiction. Not the way he'd lost his marriage to it.
After wiping down the kitchen counters, Garrison headed upstairs to grab a drug test kit from the box he'd ordered off Amazon. The thing better work.
He was pocketing the little package when his cell phone rang downstairs. Probably Aiden saying he'd be late. Again. At least he'd called this time. That was a step in the right direction.
Garrison ran down the stairs, snatched the phone, and looked at the number.
Didn't recognize it.
"Garrison Kopp."
"Mr. Kopp." The man's words were clipped, unfriendly. "This is Officer Finnegan. You have a teenage son, Aiden?"
He stifled a swear word. "What happened?"
"Not sure exactly. We got him in an ambulance."
A thousand images flicked through his mind like a slideshow.
No time for that now.
Garrison reached for his keys, but they weren't there. Aiden has his car.
Fine. He'd Uber. "Where they taking him?"
The police officer told him the name of the hospital.
"On my way."
GARRISON SAT BY HIS son's bedside. At least Aiden had calmed down. He was sleeping restlessly, his wrists still restrained and connected to the bed rails. They hadn't feared escape—he wasn't under arrest, thank God. But the drugs had kept Aiden hallucinating all night, screaming for relief. The nurse had insisted on the restraints when Aiden grabbed her arm so tightly, he'd left a mark.
She was a kind woman, though. Slight and pale and young but much stronger than she looked. Garrison had managed to pry his son's fingers from her forearm, and then she'd shaken it off. "Drugs make monsters out of the nicest kids."
That's when Garrison's eyes had first tingled.
Aiden had once been a nice kid. He'd never hurt a woman. He'd been raised better than that. But the drugs, they were stealing him, chipping away at his very Aiden-ness, making him a monster Garrison feared he soon wouldn't recognize.
When Aiden finally relaxed, Garrison sat back in the chair in the tiny room and waited for his son to wake up, to realize what he'd done.
Garrison was dozing when someone knocked on the door.
He looked up to see the doctor he'd met earlier step inside. "Still sleeping, I see."
Garrison sat up and wiped his tired eyes. "He's been out for a couple hours."
"Not surprised." The man checked the computer, then walked around the bed beside Garrison and leaned against the wall. "Tox screen showed LSD, opiates, alcohol, and marijuana in his system."
The words bounced around Garrison's brain, but he couldn't make sense of them. Surely his son hadn't done all those things, not in one night.
"We're assuming," the doctor continued, "that the LSD caused the issues that brought him here. A bad trip. Happens a lot."
Bad trip, bad drugs. He'd love to believe Aiden had been slipped the acid. But he hadn't been slipped alcohol or pot. And opiates, as in Oxycodone. Charlene's drug of choice, and one of the most addictive things out there. Had Aiden gotten the pills from his own mother?
"Thing is, there's a lot of oxy in his system," the doctor said. "A lot, which leads me to believe he's built up a tolerance to it. Like he takes it often." He paused, let the words sink in. "I know this is a lot to process. I ordered a psych consult to talk with you about rehab."
Rehab.
A good idea, though the thought had him wanting to argue, to fight.
How could his own son need rehab? How had they ended up here?
"We would recommend you take him straight to a facility. There are some decent state-funded—"
"No." Garrison swallowed. Shook his head. "Rehab's a good idea, but if he's going to do it..." He trailed off, knowing how hit-or-miss it could be to get someone into one of the better facilities. And there were fewer beds for juveniles.
"I'll figure something out."
The doctor's smile was sad. "This is not something you want to put off, Mr. Kopp. The sooner you intervene, the better it'll be."
"I know. Unfortunately, I know."
The doctor left. A few minutes later, the psychiatrist came in, talked with Garrison, and gave him a handful of pamphlets on drug addiction and their options. He thanked her but tossed the paperwork in the trash as soon as she walked out.
Rather than rush into a decision, Garrison needed to get Aiden away from here, isolate him. He grabbed his phone and searched for a place to stay.
Within minutes, his eyes were crossing. He couldn't make sense of the vacation rental websites—probably going a night without sleep wasn't helping. He could find a hotel, but anywhere worth visiting was already booked. He and Aiden might kill each other if they had to share a crappy little motel room.
Besides, he didn't want to go just anywhere. He wanted to go to Nutfield, New Hampshire. He wanted to see Samantha.
Maybe he should feel guilty for that. But it wasn't just that he missed her. He could use her level head right now. And he needed an ally. Besides, if anybody could scare up a good rental house for him, Sam could. And if that rental happened to be close to her...all the better. He'd planned all summer to make it back to Nutfield, to explore a more personal relationship with the beautiful brunette who'd so intrigued him earlier in the year.
He checked his watch. Almost seven. She was probably awake, and anyway, he didn't want to wait another minute to make a plan.
Her number rang three times before she answered.
"Garrison?" Samantha's voice sounded tired, and he would've kicked himself if he'd had the energy.
"I'm sorry. I forgot it's Saturday."
She cleared her throat. "No problem. You didn't wake me."
"Right. The phone did."
Her laugh was short. "What's wrong?"
"Aiden..." His throat closed, and he squeezed his eyes shut, thankful she couldn't see him. It took a moment before he could speak without emotion.
Samantha waited silently.
"Aiden apparently dropped some acid last night and had a bad trip. We spent the night in the ER."
"Oh, no. I'm so sorry. Is he OK?"
Garrison looked at his son's pale face, the dark circles ringing his eyes. "Yeah. He will be, but this is the wakeup call. I need to get him in rehab. I think maybe I knew, but I was... I'm so stupid."
"You're just like the rest of us, figuring life out as you go along."
A wise answer, and one of the reasons he liked Sam so much.
"I don't know exactly what we're going to do," Garrison said. "But I do know I've got to get him out of here, away from his friends and the drugs and..." And his mother, but Garrison didn't say that. No need to bring the ex into this conversation. "I could take him to my folks' house in Florida, but my dad... He'll just make things worse. I know you're plugged into the rental market. Maybe you know a place I could rent."
"Oh. That's a great idea. Let me think..."
Garrison closed his eyes and let himself hope. If Sam didn't have an idea for him, he'd find something. A cabin in the mountains, far from the lakes and summer fun. He'd seen and discounted a few of those. Not much to do on the slopes in the summertime, and he could use Sam's support right now.
"I have a two-bedroom place that's empty," she said. "I needed to replace the roof, but they finished up this week. I just hav
en't had time to put it on the website yet. It'll be perfect for the two of you."
"We'll take it. How much—?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Sam, you can't—"
"I'm not going to argue with you."
Bad enough he'd asked for her help, now he was taking something from her. He didn't like that. He'd figure out a way to pay her eventually, but he didn't have the energy to press the point right now. He still had so much to do, like locate his car and bring it to the hospital. Maneuver Aiden into it, which might be difficult, considering the kid's current state. Go home and pack and hit the road.
He'd focus on that—getting on the road. Once they were headed to New Hampshire, everything would look clearer.
Samantha said, "When will you be here?"
"We'll leave sometime this morning."
"Call me when you know, and I'll make sure the place is ready for you."
He took a deep breath, probably the first since he'd gotten the call the night before. It wasn't a complete plan, but it was a start. It helped to know the next step. "Thank you. You can't know how much this helps."
Chapter 3
Samantha Messenger climbed into her Isuzu Trooper, pulled out of her condo complex, and hoped like crazy the cabin really was ready. Her contractors were very reliable, but she hadn't checked on the place since they'd called a couple days before and said the roof was finished.
June, July, and August found her cabins at nearly full capacity, booked months in advance. If not for the unexpected roof leakage, this one would have been, too.
Thank heaven for the leaky roof.
She drove toward the lake and tried to focus on all she had to do to get ready for Garrison. Trying not to think about the man proved futile.
For the hundredth time that morning, she told herself it was wrong, so wrong, to be happy Garrison was coming. The circumstances were tragic and heartbreaking. But the fact that he'd called her, wanted her help, wanted to see her...
But his call hadn't been about the two of them, nor had it been about the romance that never quite was. It had been about Aiden. Garrison obviously hadn't been thinking of her except as a friend who owned rental properties. She had to be careful not to read too much into it, or it would hurt so much more when he left.
And of course he would leave. A man like Garrison Kopp would be bored to tears in her tiny little New Hampshire town, living her tiny little New Hampshire life, and Aiden? The teenage boy would want nothing to do with this place, not after growing up in the chaos and busyness of New York.
Sure, Nutfield was a wonderful place—safe and secluded. But Garrison didn't long for safety like Sam did.
Garrison wasn't a hider. He'd never stay in Nutfield.
And she'd never be able to leave.
Which was why she was alone and always would be. And wasn't that a perfectly reasonable explanation for spending her life in solitude?
She needed to shake off silly thoughts would take her nowhere good. She wasn't alone. She was surrounded by friends and family who loved her. It should be enough. It was enough.
The narrow road that ringed this edge of Clearwater Lake was protected by a canopy created by trees along both sides. Cabins were nestled on small lots all around—wood-sided, painted, aluminum-sided, and log, they were all different shapes and sizes, most built decades before by families searching for an escape from their busy city lives. Those families had mostly held onto their lakeside cabins, enjoyed them with kids and grandkids and friends, passed them down to the next generation.
Investors had come along when the market dipped and the value of vacation homes plummeted. Samantha had bought her first when she was only twenty-four years old. Not even a decade later, she owned sixteen cabins out here, and she was hoping to buy another one or two in the off-season. Late spring, summer, and fall were the high seasons for renters. Most folks would wait until after foliage season to put their houses on the market so they could get one more good weekend out of the place before they had to say goodbye forever.
She hated to capitalize on other people's hardships, and she'd even tried to help a couple of families hold onto their homes. But repairs and routine maintenance were tough when you didn't live nearby. Frankly, it seemed most people felt free when they finally sold the cabins, which had turned from places of refuge to burdens of debt. Now, when a lake home came on the market, Sam looked at it as an opportunity to make a deal that benefitted both parties.
She turned into the driveway of the two-bedroom cabin, which sat a good half mile from the main road. This cabin was tiny, yes, but it was very secluded, with thick trees on three sides and the lake on the fourth. It would be a good place for Aiden to recover and for Garrison to try to reach his son. Maybe here, they could reconnect. If not here, then Sam didn't know where they could.
She parked her SUV and peered up at the roof. It looked perfect, as she'd known it would. This was one of the few cabins she hadn't updated yet. After purchasing it the winter before, she'd hoped to make a little money off it before she poured cash into it. Fortunately—aside from the roof—the place had been structurally sound.
The sight inside the front door brought a smile. She hadn't been here in a while, and she'd forgotten all the brown. The walls were covered in knotty pine paneling. The kitchen cabinets matched. The furniture had come with the house, and, with the wood tones, practically blended into the space. Even the floors were hardwood. The fireplace...that was a different story. It was spectacular. Flanked by tall windows, the stacked gray stone went all the way to the tip of the cathedral ceiling along the back wall. What would have been just rustic and woodsy was chic because of that fireplace. This winter, she'd make the rest of the little place match that one grand feature.
Every surface was covered with dust. After ensuring the electricity and plumbing were working properly—no reason they wouldn't be, but it never hurt to check after a big project like a new roof—she headed back to the car for her cleaning supplies. The place would be ready before Garrison and Aiden arrived, and with luck, she'd have time to make a run to the grocery store for them.
That wouldn't be too forward, would it? Buying them some supplies?
No, it was the right thing to do. She'd do it for Reagan or Brady, Nate or Marisa. Garrison was a friend, just like all the rest, and she'd support him however she could while he was in Nutfield. She knew what it meant to need a friend, so that's what she'd be. And she'd be satisfied with that.
Chapter 4
Garrison shifted in the fake leather chair by his son's bed. Aiden was still sound asleep and didn't look to be waking up any time soon. There was no time to sit here and watch his kid sleep.
He needed to locate his car. Fortunately, the keys and Aiden's phone had been in his pocket when he'd been brought in the night before. Garrison had taken both. Now he just had to figure out where the party had been.
He took his phone into the hallway and dialed the local police department. After explaining what he wanted three times, he finally managed to get an address.
He checked on Aiden—still sleeping—and summoned Uber for a ride to his car. The Camry seemed fine, so that was something, especially since Aiden had left it unlocked again. The least of Garrison's worries. He swung through the Dunkin' Donuts drive-through on his way back to the hospital and picked up a large coffee, a breakfast sandwich, and a dozen donuts.
By the time he returned to the hospital, Aiden was awake.
"Hey, kiddo. How you feeling?"
Aiden turned his face away from his father's, but not fast enough to hide the moisture in his eyes.
Garrison clasped his son's shoulder. "You gave me a scare."
"Sorry about that."
He squeezed the shoulder gently. "We'll talk about it later. Right now, I'm just glad you're okay."
Behind him, a woman with the raspy voice of a chain-smoker said, "We looked for you."
Garrison turned as a new nurse, not the gentle one from the night before
, walked in and gave him a hard stare.
"Went to get the car, so I could take him straight home."
"You shouldn't leave your son in the ER alone. He's a minor."
She was right, of course. On the other hand... "Seemed safer to leave him alone here than to leave him alone later while I searched for my car. And he was sleeping. And he's seventeen years old."
"Mmm-hmm." She didn't say another word while she checked Aiden's blood pressure and temperature. Finally, she turned to leave.
"Any idea when we can go home?"
"Be patient, sir." It had to be some kind of skill to put so much disrespect in three words. "He's not our only patient." She left the room and slammed the door.
"Geez, Dad, what'd you do to piss her off?"
He turned back to Aiden. "Just being my normal charming self."
"That explains it."
Garrison chuckled as he sat beside the bed. The laugh died quickly, and the room filled with tension as thick as peanut butter.
He had food on the brain. "Are you hungry? I have donuts in the car."
"No."
"Okay."
Aiden closed his eyes.
What should Garrison do? For all her faults—and they were myriad—Charlene would know how to handle this. What to say, what to do. Later, she'd salve her pain with a couple pills, but in the moment, she'd be top notch. Garrison—he didn't have a clue. He wanted to touch his son again, to hold him like he had when he'd caught Aiden and Matty on the roof throwing rocks at passing cars. They'd been, what, nine years old? Ten?
Garrison had sent Matty home after a call to his mother, then reamed Aiden out for the utter stupidity, the selfishness, the danger.
He could still remember the boy's wide, teary eyes, that trembling lip, the uttered, "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."
When Garrison was sure Aiden had gotten the message, he'd pulled his boy into his arms and held him like a toddler, patted his back, reminded him how much he loved him.
Now, Garrison longed to gather this man-child in his arms. But would Aiden push him away like he'd been doing ever since Garrison and Charlene had split?
Generous Lies Page 2