"I'm older than you. When I was your age, I did my share of stupid stuff."
"But no drugs."
"No." He hadn't wanted to try drugs. He'd only wanted one thing when he was a kid—to prove to his old man that he could make it. He'd worked his tail off, gotten an academic scholarship, joined the military, gotten hired by the Bureau, and had a family. Dad still wasn't impressed. "I did my share of stupid things. I was lucky."
"How so?"
Details. The kid wanted details. Fine. "I was lucky no girls turned up pregnant. I was lucky I never got in a wreck. I drove like a madman back then." Even Garrison's rebellion had been designed to elicit some sense of pride from his father. Look at all the girls who like me, Dad. I like cool cars, too, Dad. Not that he'd realized it at the time. No matter how many times his father let him down, Garrison had never quit hoping.
Lot of good that had done.
"Girls, huh?"
Figured Aiden would latch onto that. "Don't follow in my footsteps." He'd warned Aiden against that when they'd had the talk, but who knew what the kid did for fun these days? Obviously, he didn't have a lot of moral qualms about anything. "Girls just mess with your head. Trust me."
Aiden didn't offer any insight into his own choices, and Garrison didn't ask. They had enough to deal with right now.
"I didn't drink when I was a kid," Garrison said, "because my father drank. A lot. And he was a mean drunk."
"Grandpa? I can't picture him drunk. Or mean."
"He had a hair-trigger temper back then, worse when he drank. So my mother tiptoed around him, didn't ask him to do anything when he got home from work, and trained us to not make waves. The only things my dad cared about were his job, his car, and football. He'd throw the ball with me all the time. I wanted to try out for quarterback, but Dad said no. Thought I had good hands and trained me to catch. And if I missed, if he'd been drinking..." Garrison didn't finish, didn't need to tell Aiden all his father's faults. Or his mother's, for that matter.
"I can't picture him like that."
"He quit drinking years ago. I think maybe Mom got fed up. I never knew the whole story, but your aunt Nadine hinted that Mom threatened to leave at one point. I guess they worked it out."
"Lucky them."
Garrison blew out a long breath. "I wish your mom and I could have."
"Do you, really? Because you and Sam..."
He gave his son time to voice his concern, but Aiden clammed up.
"I didn't meet Sam until March. And we're just friends. She had nothing to do with what happened between your mom and me."
"What did happen?"
"Not a chance, son. I know it sucks for you. You were the victim of our stupidity. Still are, I guess. But that doesn't change the fact that our marriage is our business."
"Mom tells me stuff."
The anger flashed like hot oil and a lit match. Charlene would poison his relationship with Aiden for sport, and who cared how it hurt their son as long as it also hurt Garrison. He closed his eyes, imagined the anger burning itself out. Opened his eyes again. "That's her prerogative."
"She makes it sound like everything's your fault."
"I wasn't perfect."
"But you tried, right? You guys went to counseling and stuff. And I remember..."
After a moment, Garrison said, "Remember what?"
"I overheard you guys talking. You were trying to get her to go to counseling one time, and she didn't want to. She was just, like, I don't know. Like she didn't care."
Garrison had enough anger directed at Charlene for both of them. Aiden didn't need to carry any of it. "I think I was too late," he said. "I should have left the Bureau years earlier. I should have been home with you guys."
"At least you tried. I never saw Mom do anything but...but hate you. And take pills." Aiden dropped that bomb, then went back to his food and drink like it was no big deal.
"I don't want you to think of your mother that way. Before she started abusing drugs, she was a great mom. When you were a kid, you remember how she used to be? How she always cooked your favorite meals for supper, how she always had some kind of homemade cookies in the jar?"
"Yeah. And for special occasions, she used to make those muffins that were covered in cinnamon and sugar."
"And butter. Those were delicious."
Aiden nodded, paused, ate a bite of his sandwich. Sipped his Pepsi. "I remember that."
"She was a good wife," Garrison said. "And a good mom."
"Until she discovered painkillers."
Garrison didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The truth was like a monster snarling in the corner.
"Anyway," Aiden said, "I just wanted to tell you I'm, like, sorry for all of this. And I know I need to quit. I just think I can do it, you know, without having to go to rehab. So, like, if we could look at other options...counseling or whatever."
"Your mother tried outpatient therapy, and it didn't help at all."
"But she didn't really want to quit. I think I can do it myself."
"Do you really want to quit?"
"Yeah." Aiden swallowed. Shrugged. "I mean, I want to want to."
"Well, we need to get you to actually want to."
"I can get there. I just need to keep doing what I'm doing. Stay sober. Quit hanging out with certain people. I can do it."
Garrison wasn't falling for that again. Aiden had made promises before—and broken every one. "There's no shame in getting help."
"Really, Dad? Because I never see you asking for help."
"I was on the phone half the weekend—"
"Trying to fix me. Not for you."
"I'm not the one addicted to drugs."
"Right. I know." Aiden heaved a big sigh. "I'm just saying, you're totally independent. You don't need anybody for anything. I thought I was like you."
Garrison opened his mouth to respond, but what could he say? Aiden was right. Garrison was terrible at asking for help. He'd rather go it alone—and do it wrong—then admit he needed anything from anyone. And all that independence had gotten him right here—with a son who needed rehab and refused to go so he could be like his old man. His stupid, independent old man.
He angled toward Aiden. "I have a problem trusting people. You're like me in a lot of ways, but you don't want to be like that."
"You want me to be needy?"
"Nobody's completely independent." How had this conversation gotten so offtrack? "We all need each other. And if I've shown you otherwise, I'm sorry. I need people."
"Who? Who do you need?"
Samantha's image filled his mind. He'd grown to need her. He didn't like the feeling.
"I need you to be healthy and happy."
Aiden leaned back on the sofa. "Whatever."
"I'm sorry," Garrison said. "I don't know what you want from me. I can tell you that when I was your age, I wasn't independent, and you're not either. And if you ever want to hold down a real job, pay your own bills, have a life, you need to quit using drugs. And that's going to take rehab. I don't want you to go, either. But as hard as it'll be on you, it's your best chance. You go, get it over with, graduate with your class, and then live your life with this in the rearview mirror."
Aiden looked at his empty plate, took a deep breath. "Yeah. I guess that makes sense."
"You're saying you'll go willingly?"
Aiden shrugged.
Garrison stood, pulled his son off the couch and into a hug. "You're a smart kid, and you're making a wise choice." He patted him on the back, wanted to hold onto him forever. "I'm so proud of you."
Aiden sat, wiped his eyes quickly, and clicked on the TV. "Wanna watch a movie?"
He wanted to sleep, desperately. But he settled on the couch and said, "Sure. See what you can find."
Chapter 22
Aiden peeked at his father, snoring on the couch beside him. He snatched the blanket from the chair where Dad had laid it that morning and draped it over him.
Then he sat again, ke
pt watching the movie, but his mind was not on the screen.
Dad was serious this time.
He'd half-heartedly suggested rehab in the spring, more as a threat than a real possibility—"You need to quit, or you'll be looking at rehab."
Aiden hadn't taken him seriously then. He should have, though. Should have quit before the need got this big. Before it got so hard.
The visit to rehab, the talk tonight. Dad was serious.
There'd been a moment when he'd considered actually going to that place. When Dad was talking about Mom, when he told Aiden about some of the stupid stuff he did as a kid, when he told him he was proud of him.
But now, in the quiet, he knew he couldn't go to rehab. Couldn't even make it to rehab before he got high again. Because as peaceful as this place was, the truth was screaming in his mind. And he had to shut it up.
Three days sober is nothing.
You know you'll never quit.
Think of all the fun you're missing. Partying, laughing, dancing, girls. They're out there, having a blast, and you're here, doing nothing.
The voices were getting louder, more insistent, and he knew he'd listen. He'd known all along there was no chance this would work. He didn't even want to get sober. Not now, not yet. There was too much fun to be had out there. When he was an adult, then he'd get sober, get a job, be responsible. This time of life was made for fun.
He'd go home, settle into his old life. His old man would give up and go home, and either he'd let Aiden move back in on Aiden's terms, or he wouldn't. That would be fine. He'd just live with his mother. She'd let him do whatever he wanted.
Assuming she'd have him. But when Dad had filed for full custody, Mom hadn't even contested it. Just told him he'd better do what his dad said. She'd keep a bedroom for him for weekends. Except, half the time, she cancelled their weekends together.
No. She'd want him. Of course she would. He was her son.
How would she react when he showed up on her doorstep? He forced an image of her happy face, but it didn't stick. Maybe she'd send him back to his dad.
So maybe going back to New York wasn't the answer.
He didn't know, couldn't think straight, couldn't make any decisions feeling like this. The need was too big to fight.
He glanced at the clock. Eleven-thirty. That place Caro told him about closed at midnight.
Dad was still snoring quietly. Aiden lifted Dad's cell phone off the coffee table, clicked it to silent, and turned it on. He'd watched Dad put in his passcode a few times that day. He pressed the numbers, and the screen came to life.
He peeked at Dad again, stepped into the kitchen, and found the address to the Nuthouse. A long walk, but just a ten-minute drive.
Did he dare?
He looked into the living room where the images on the TV cast a bluish glow over everything. The keys were resting beside where Dad's phone had been.
Aiden pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He hadn't opened it since before the party Friday night. Did he have any money left? He checked, saw a couple of bills and his bank card. Worst case, he'd hit an ATM machine for some cash.
Would this work?
Aiden could go, get what he needed, and be back before Dad ever woke up. And if he did wake up, Aiden would just tell him he went for a drive. Dad wouldn't believe him, but whatever. Dad didn't believe anything Aiden said anymore.
He just had to get a few pills, maybe some pot. Anything to take the edge off. Then he'd figure out his next step.
Just thinking about it had his hands trembling.
He gently lifted the keys and pocketed them. Then he waited, watched his father as the seconds ticked away.
He slipped his father's phone in his pocket—that's what he got for taking Aiden's—and walked to the front door. Froze. Nope. A window would be better.
In his bedroom, he messed up his bed as if he'd been sleeping. Then he opened the window and climbed out.
Chapter 23
Garrison rolled over, tried to get comfortable, but his too-tall frame didn't fit on the too-short sofa. And the lumpy furniture had not been designed for sleeping.
The TV was still on, but Aiden wasn't in the chair. Must have gone to sleep.
Garrison couldn't handle another night on the sofa. He'd sleep in the master tonight. After the talk they'd had earlier, Garrison believed Aiden was willing to get clean. He allowed the thought to settle as he stood and flicked off the TV, leaving the room in darkness. He headed down the hall toward his bedroom, stopping at Aiden's closed door. He twisted the knob, peeked inside. The bed was empty.
He checked the bathroom. Empty. "Aiden?" His shout reverberated off the walls.
No answer.
Garrison's whole body trembled as he checked his room. Then he pushed out the back door and called again. "Aiden?" His voice carried across the still lake and echoed back to him, mocking.
He jogged toward the shore and called again. Maybe Aiden would answer. Maybe he'd just gone for a walk.
Maybe Garrison was an idiot.
Garrison had the sudden urge to bang his head against a tree. How could he have been so stupid? He'd told himself for days to hold onto his suspicion. Told himself to not believe a word the kid said. Then he'd let himself get sucked in. Why? Because he'd wanted to believe. He'd always wanted to believe the best about his son, so unlike the way his father had always treated him.
You think you're so smart, kid. His father's voice boomed in his head. Like those stupid grades make you smart. You don't know anything.
Dad had been right. Garrison didn't have any idea what he was doing. He had no idea how to parent his son, this boy bent on destroying his life.
Garrison lumbered back to the cabin. Part of him longed to climb into bed, pull the covers over his head, pretend none of it was happening. If he didn't try to rescue his son, then he couldn't fail. And fail he would, Garrison had no doubt. He would try, he would pour his heart, his life, into rescuing Aiden, and Aiden would reject him, reject sobriety, reject freedom. And end up...
How to describe the unthinkable?
He reached the bottom of the porch steps, paused, and gripped the railing. Took a deep breath. Blew it out.
He just needed to know what to do right now. Then he'd figure out what to do next.
Right now, he'd look for his son.
He stepped back in the cabin and flipped on the light. Where had he left his keys? He glanced at the kitchen counter, but no. He'd come straight in and sat on the sofa. Exhausted. Which meant the keys and phone should be on the coffee table.
They were both gone.
Garrison yanked open the front door and peered at the empty driveway.
The kid had taken his car. He had half a mind to report it stolen.
Not a bad idea. Except to do that, he'd have to call the police, which meant Brady and Eric, the guys from the cookout that night. Did he really want their help? Things hadn't gotten that bad yet. Garrison could be overreacting. It was possible Aiden had taken a drive. Took Garrison's phone so he wouldn't get lost.
Yeah, right.
He returned to the coffee table, sat on the floor, and reached under it. Aiden's phone was still taped to the underside where Garrison had left it. He'd known the kid would dig through every drawer and cabinet looking for it, but he didn't figure he'd think to check here. At least about one thing, Garrison had been right.
The phone was nearly dead. He plugged it into his charger in the kitchen and dialed his own phone. It went straight to voicemail.
He flipped open his computer, navigated to the right website, and searched for his phone's location. He'd used this app enough to track his son's phone. Just lucky he could also find his own.
Except the phone was offline. Either Aiden had shut it off or he'd turned off the location tracker.
He dialed Sam's number from memory. A moment later, she answered, her voice scratchy from sleep.
"I'm sorry to wake you," he said.
She cleared her th
roat. "What happened?"
"Aiden took off. I wouldn't bother you, but he has my car and my phone. I thought I'd get an Uber to your house and borrow your car."
"I'll be there in twenty minutes."
Sam was coming. The thought made him feel better. Then it made him feel worse. What kind of man needs to call a woman in the middle of the night to rescue him?
For the second time that night, his father's words echoed in his brain. Too scared. Too weak.
Weak. He'd never wanted to believe it, but he felt it right now. Weak and afraid, relying on others for help. He'd been there enough to know where that would get him.
Problem was, he had no idea what else to do.
Chapter 24
Sam dressed quickly and yanked her hair into a ponytail. It was not quite two a.m. How long had Aiden been gone?
The despair in Garrison's voice had broken her heart. She knew how it felt to fail the one you loved, and she knew that was exactly how Garrison saw this. Never mind that he'd brought Aiden hundreds of miles away from his friends and the drugs. Never mind that he planned to send him to rehab, at a cost that had taken her breath away. Never mind that he'd done all he could to connect with Aiden, to make this trip not just helpful but enjoyable for both of them. Aiden had rejected his father and snubbed his nose at all his efforts.
The boy was practically an adult, and, whether Garrison wanted to face it or not, Aiden was the one making these choices.
But Garrison couldn't see that. And Sam understood how he felt.
She closed her eyes, prayed for guidance, prayed for Aiden, and prayed they'd find him.
Her heart broke for that boy. She was angry at him, but how lost and troubled must he have felt? And how did he feel now that he was gone? Did he feel free? Because running back to drugs was going to bring a lot of things, but it wouldn't bring freedom.
She slipped on her shoes, grabbed her stuff, and bounded out the door.
When she reached the cabin, Garrison was in the driveway, pacing. He yanked open her passenger door and folded his frame inside.
Generous Lies Page 14