After The Fire (One Pass Away Book 3)

by Mary J. Williams

  Gaige shut the suitcase with a loud snap. Deliberately, he put on his jacket. He checked to make sure that he had his plane ticket and the few dollars he had managed to save working part time at the local garage. Then, one last time, he turned to his father.

  “Take a good look, old man. Because whatever happens, I will never set foot in this apartment again.”

  It hadn’t been a difficult promise to keep. Gaige returned to New York exactly three times in the past four years. Twice with his team when Yale played a local team. And last December. To pick up his Heisman Trophy. He hadn’t gotten close to Brooklyn. Or the little apartment where he grew up.

  The taxi drove past his old haunts, leaving his memories exactly where he liked them—in the past. They turned at the corner, stopping in front of the Brooklyn Medical Center.

  Gaige paid the driver. He had packed light. One small carry-on bag. It would be a short trip. He needed to check on his mother and make arrangements to pay all of his father’s medical bills.

  He felt obligated to take care of the woman who gave birth to him. As for Don Benson? It pained him to admit, but Gaige shared his DNA. He would make sure the son of a bitch wasn’t a financial drain on the state of New York. If he were lucky, he wouldn’t be here for longer than a day. Two maximum.

  “Excuse me.”

  The woman at the check-in desk was busy. She had a phone balanced between her shoulder and ear while she simultaneously typed furiously on the computer keyboard and answered questions. Her dark hair was pulled into a long braid down her back, her lipstick a little smudged. Gaige estimated her age to be over sixty. Closer to his grandmother than mother.

  “If you aren’t dying, take a number.” Exasperated, the woman looked up. Her eyes widening.

  Gaige recognized the reaction, taking it in stride. Women tended to notice him. He smiled, adding a little sugar to the pot.

  Gaige leaned closer, reading her nametag. “I know you’re busy, Connie.” The waiting room was crammed to capacity, but when he lowered his voice, it created a sense of intimacy. “Could you please tell me where to find Don Benson? He was in a car accident yesterday afternoon.”

  Automatically, Connie hit a few keys, then scrolled through the names on her computer screen.

  “Room 306.” Suddenly she remembered hospital protocol. Smiling apologetically, she asked, “Are you a family member?”

  Gaige lowered his eyes, hoping he looked appropriately somber. “He’s my father.”

  “Oh, you poor dear.” Connie patted his hand. “Take the elevator to the third floor. Turn right. His room is right down the hall.”

  “Thank you, Connie.” Gaige sent her another smile—this one much sincerer.

  The elevator was filled with visitors and patients. It was a familiar sight. Gaige visited the children’s ward of a local hospital at least once a month. He had to admit it was for himself as well as for the kids. The adoration on their faces when he showed up in his Yale uniform stayed with him for days. Some of them were fans. But most were happy just to have a visitor. The fact that he always brought signed t-shirts didn’t hurt. As soon as he settled in Seattle, Gaige planned on keeping up the tradition.

  Following Connie’s directions, Gaige exited the elevator, turning right. He hadn’t gone five steps when he heard his mother call his name, her voice tinged with a familiar quiver.

  “Gaige? Oh, thank goodness you’re here.”

  Wynona Benson collapsed into his arms, tears streaming down her face. Tall, her frame always ran toward thin. What Gaige felt was a rack of bones dressed in a faded blue cotton dress. At forty, she looked closer to fifty. Her light brown hair streaked with gray, her face lined with the weight of playing punching bag to a man she claimed loved her despite his temper and propensity for ending up in other women’s beds.

  Breathing deeply, Gaige took in the scent of vanilla. He loved his mother. She was a gentle soul. Too gentle. But he couldn’t respect a woman who wouldn’t budge from a nightmare no matter how many times she was given a clear and easy way out. Gaige offered to send her anywhere she wanted to go. She could take her sister with her and live in a little house with a garden. His mother refused.

  “What would your father do without me?” she always asked.

  Gaige had a dozen responses, but he kept them to himself. She had heard them all before and enumerating his father’s many flaws never helped. But he kept offering. He always would, hoping one day her answer would change.

  “Come and sit down.” Gaige led her to a small waiting area.

  Wynona didn’t argue—it wasn’t in her to question anyone’s command. She took a seat, fresh tears filling her eyes.

  “You have to stop them, Gaige. They say it’s Don’s fault, but it was an accident. Tell them, Gaige. Make them go away.”

  “Slow down and take a deep breath.” He went to the vending machine and purchased a bottle of water. “Here. Take a few sips then start at the beginning. Who is they?”

  “The police.” Hands shaking, Wynona picked at the label on the bottle. “Your father hit a girl, Gaige.”

  “Son of a—” Gaige felt his temper rise, but unlike his father, he didn’t let his anger take over. He breathed deeply, finding his center. He could hear Terrance Aldridge’s voice telling him to channel his emotions—use them. The ability to focus his energy in a positive way was one of the reasons he was such a successful quarterback. Nothing fazed him on the football field. It wasn’t always as easy in real life.

  “They arrested him at our home, holding him down like an animal. He was injured and they didn’t care, Gaige. He was,” Wynona swallowed. “They say he was drunk. But it isn’t true. It was raining and dark. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

  That might be true, Gaige thought. But if someone told him his father purposefully ran the girl down, he wouldn’t have doubted it. Don Benson was a nasty bastard. Mean—to the bone.

  “Is Aunt Marjorie with you?”

  “She went to the cafeteria to get something to eat.”

  “Is she bringing you back something?”

  Wynona shook her head. “I couldn’t. Please, Gaige. Speak with the police. You’re famous. They’ll believe you.”

  “Are the police here in the hospital?”

  “They are in with your father. He wouldn’t speak with them until he had a lawyer.”

  “A public defender?” It was a silly question. His father couldn’t afford anything else.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” He took his mother’s hand, drawing her to her feet. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to take you to the cafeteria. You’ll sit with Aunt Marjorie and eat something.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “A bowl of soup. While you’re doing that, I will speak with the police.”

  “Promise?” Her voice was weak but held a thread of hope.

  “I promise.”

  Gaige made sure she was settled with a steaming bowl of potato chowder before making his way to his father’s room. It turned out he could have found it without a number. The police officer posted outside the door was a dead giveaway to the location.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” The stocky officer shifted his stance, blocking the door, as Gaige approached. “The prisoner isn’t allowed any visitors at the moment.”

  “I understand. I’m Gaige Benson, Officer Llewellyn.”

  Use a person’s name whenever possible—another tip from Terrance Aldridge. He will appreciate you making the effort and your chances of getting your way increase exponentially. The first thing Gaige had done when he had the chance was look up exponentially. He then used the word, and the advice, every chance he got.

  The policeman shook Gaige’s outstretched hand.

  “Your father?”

  Gaige could hear the sympathy in the man’s voice.

  “Yes, sir. My mother called me last night and I just got in from Los Angeles. Is there anything you can tell me? She said my father had been drinking.” That was the opposite of w
hat she had said. But Gaige knew the truth, even if his mother refused to face it.

  “It’s pretty cut and dried, son. His blood alcohol level was well over the legal limit. He’s already been arrested. The charges are in flux depending on what happens with the girl he hit.”

  “Is it bad? The girl? Will she be all right?” Gaige swallowed hard, dreading the answer.

  “She’ll survive. But her injuries might be permanent.”

  “Was she paralyzed?” Jesus. It made him sick thinking of the possibility.

  “I’ve said too much, son.” The officer nodded toward a chair by the opposite wall. “Why don’t you wait over there? As soon as Sergeant Wilcox and Inspector Prescot are finished, you can see your dad.”

  Gaige had checked his watch before he sat down. He thumbed through a copy of Sports Illustrated that someone had left behind. Inside was an interview he had given after being chosen first in the NFL draft. It was standard stuff, veering away from any in-depth questions about his family. His agent steered the press away from that subject, and so far, his wishes had been honored.

  Once his father was convicted of whatever he was charged with, that was bound to change. Gaige had to prepare himself for the inevitable firestorm. Until now, he was the anointed golden boy. The press had treated him with kid gloves. Word would travel fast, and the gloves would come off.

  Gaige tossed the magazine aside. He would deal with that when it happened. Right now, he was worried about his mother. And the poor girl whose life his father had done his best to ruin.

  The door opened twenty minutes later. A man in his forties and a woman at least ten years younger exited the hospital room.

  “I have been on the job almost twenty years. Twenty years!” The man shook his head. “I’ve dealt with some assholes but that guy takes the cake.”

  “He’s going away, Charlie. Just keep telling yourself that.”

  “But blaming that poor girl? She had the nerve to cross his street. So what if he ran the red light. So what if she had the right of way. I wanted to punch the smug smile off the bastard’s mouth. Why the hell was he smiling?”

  “Got me.”

  “Uh, Lieutenant?”

  “What is it, Llewellyn?”

  “That fella over there? That’s, uh…”

  The plainclothes officers looked Gaige over. Neither had a welcoming expression.

  “Jesus. Spit it out. Who is he?”

  Gaige stood, pulling his shoulders back. “I’m Gaige Benson. The asshole’s son.”

  DOING THE RIGHT thing could be a major pain in the ass. And the back. And create a headache the size of the Grand Canyon. Dealing with the police had been a breeze. They were professional and sympathetic to his mother’s plight. They offered to explain the situation to her one more time, but as much as Gaige would have loved to dump it into their laps, he knew she wouldn’t listen to them or believe them. As far as Wynona was concerned, Don Benson could do no wrong. No matter how many split lips or black eyes she suffered through—it was always someone else’s fault.

  Gaige hadn’t bothered to speak with his father. He knew the confrontation was inevitable, but for today, he couldn’t face the whining, the contempt, or the lies. He wanted to get his mother home and settled for the night. Then find a dark, anonymous bar where, fingers crossed, nobody knew his name, and enjoy a solitary shot of whiskey. Maybe two.

  “Why are you staying in a hotel?” his mother asked for the third time. “There’s plenty of room here at home.”

  Home? Gaige wanted to inform his mother that 265 Birdside Ave, Apartment 6B, had been anything but that. It had been a prison. A place of fear and pain. Somewhere to lay his head for a few hours. But home? Never.

  It was difficult enough standing in the tiny kitchen. The walls seemed to be closing in on him. He didn’t want to wait for the tea his mother insisted on brewing. But he wasn’t a kid desperate for escape. He had made it out. An hour visiting with his mother wouldn’t kill him.

  “I have some business in Manhattan. It’s easier if I make it my base.”

  Wynona carefully arranged some cookies on a blue plate with a flower pattern circling the rim. She didn’t have many nice things. The china passed to her from her mother was her pride and joy. She kept the set in an out of the way cupboard, away from her volatile husband and his propensity for breaking things. But having her son at home, no matter the unfortunate circumstances, was a cause to take out a piece or two.

  “I should be at the hospital. What if your father asks for me?”

  “Sit down, Wy.” Marjorie Campbell took the cookies from her sister’s nervous fingers. “Let the nurses deal with Don for a few hours. At least they get paid for it. All you get is—”

  A slap in the face? Gaige thought. But Marjorie loved her sister too much to say it. She met Gaige’s gaze and shrugged. What was the point? After years of begging Wynona to leave the bastard, he had taken care of that all by himself. Don Benson was not coming home. Hopefully, not for a long, long time.

  “Gaige.” Marjorie grasped onto a more pleasant subject. “Are you excited to start your professional career, or are you sorry college is over?”

  “Both.” He smiled when his aunt set a cup of tea in front of him. “College was great. I learned a lot. Met some amazing people. But I’m ready for the next step.”

  “Seattle.” Wynona sighed. “It’s so far away. We’ll never see you.”

  In the last four years, Wynona had seen her son exactly twice. Both times at Marjorie’s apartment on Staten Island. Yale wasn’t far away, but Gaige might as well have lived three thousand miles away.

  “My offer still stands. Move to Washington. There are some wonderful little towns around Seattle. Aunt Marjorie has retired from teaching. She can come with you.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t.” Wynona sent him a horrified look. “What about your father? He needs me.”

  “Mom.” Exasperated, Gaige tried to temper the tone of his voice. “He’s going to prison.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Mom. It will happen. He hit that girl while driving drunk—without a license. And he took off. He didn’t stop to see if she were okay. He didn’t call for help. She could have died. Do you understand? This time, it isn’t about you refusing to press charges. He will stand trial. The only question is how long the judge will give him. With his past DUIs, it doesn’t look like he’ll be out any time soon.”

  “He needs you to stand behind him, Gaige.” Wynona pleading eyes met his. “He’s your father.”

  That argument stopped working when Gaige was eight years old. A little boy could hold onto the belief that his father would somehow become a good man. There comes a moment when that belief turns to despair. Gaige had all the hope beaten out of him long before his ninth birthday.

  “You get some rest.” Gaige kissed Wynona’s cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I’ll be at the hospital first thing,” she called after him.

  “At the hospital then.”

  Gaige closed the apartment door. He breathed in deeply. The hall smelled of boiled cabbage with an overlay of urine. It didn’t matter. Anything was better than the stench of lies and delusion he had left with his mother. It would never change. She would never change.

  But he had. He got out. And nothing would drag him back.

  Gaige trotted down the front steps, searching for a cab. Luck was with him. He hailed the yellow taxi just before it passed him by.

  “Where to?” asked the cabbie.

  “Anyplace but here.”

  “I get it, buddy. But I need an address.”

  Gaige rattled off the address of his hotel, then sat back with a sigh. One more day. Two at the most. He chanted the mantra all the way to Manhattan.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ONE WEEK LATER Gaige wondered if life was playing some elaborate joke on him. Or was it karma? He had been too happy. Too certain his dream had finally become a reality. And now he was paying the price for letting
his guard down.

  “Why the hell are you still in Brooklyn?”

  “This isn’t Brooklyn, Walter. It’s hell.”

  Gaige had taken refuge in the men’s room two flights up from where she was keeping vigil at his father’s bedside. How embarrassing was that?

  “Is that an echo?”

  “I’m hiding from my mother.”

  “In a tunnel?”

  “In a stall in a public bathroom. They have a psych ward on the seventh floor. A few more days of this and you’ll need a doctor’s permission to speak with me. Padded cells and straitjackets, here I come.”

  “Shit.” Gaige could picture Walter running a hand through his thinning hair. “I’ll be on the next flight. Brooklyn. Did you hear that? I shuddered at the thought.”

  “Save yourself the aggravation. They say my father is well enough to be transferred to Rikers Island. He’ll be arraigned day after tomorrow. No chance he’ll get out on bail. Even if the judge sets a price, no one will pay it.” Though his mother would plead, Gaige wasn’t spending a dime to let Don Benson see the light of day.

  “Three more days? That’s set in stone?”

  “If you don’t see me by the end of the week, send in the Marines.”

  “You joke, but I might just do that.”

  Gaige was still chuckling as he walked toward the elevator. Speaking with Walter always lifted his spirits. He could vent his frustrations without worrying about hurting his agent’s feelings. It seemed no matter what Gaige said to his mother, it was the wrong thing. Walter had the hide of a rhinoceros—nothing penetrated it.

  “Damn it. Hello? Is anybody there?”

  Gaige slowed when he heard a woman’s voice calling from a nearby room.

  “Hello? Come on! I’ve been pushing this stupid buzzer for the last five minutes.”

  Looking through the open door, Gaige didn’t know what he would find, but he was surprised to see a body hanging precariously over the side of the bed. Her leg was in a cast resting on a bed of pillows. Her arm, also set in plaster, stuck straight up in the air.