Accidentally Family

by Sasha Summers

  “Huh?” Nick groaned. “What?”

  “You think you can walk?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Nick answered, sitting up—and sliding over the other way.

  With a sigh, Braden reached in and pulled out her way-drunk nephew. Without complaint or disapproval, he lifted Nick and carried him to her car.

  “Hey, Sheriff Martinez,” Diana said, scooching across the back seat for Nick. “How’s it going? Just another night on the job, huh?”

  “Diana.” He grunted, depositing Nick.

  “I’ll buckle him in,” Diana offered, leaning across to pull the belt into place.

  “You do that,” Braden said, closing the door and turning toward Charity. “You need help getting him home?” His gaze bounced from her to his squad car, then the moon overhead.

  “I’m not sure I can carry him—”

  “You can’t.” He frowned. “He can sleep it off in the car.”

  “I was kidding,” she offered, oddly touched by his concern.

  One brow rose, then settled—unreadable once more.

  “Thanks again.” She knew how big a break he was giving Nick. She only hoped her nephew understood. When he sobered up, that was.

  Until then, she had to figure out what to tell her sister. Because, even with her limited parenting instincts, Charity knew this wasn’t the sort of thing you hid. Crap.

  He nodded. “You be safe getting home.” He didn’t look at her, just walked back to his car, got inside, and drove off.

  …

  “Oh God.” Honor waved her hand in front of her face. “Your breath.”

  “Sorry.” Nick’s mumble was thick and slurred.

  “Snap out of it—we’re home.” With a tug, she helped him from the car and waited while he steadied himself. Aunt Charity had yet to reveal what the hell had happened tonight, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know it was nothing good. Her brother was fall-down drunk. Again. At the cemetery by their dad’s grave.

  What had he done?

  How had he even gotten there? No way Granddad and Mimi had brought him. And the sheriff was there. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t arrested him or anything, but still…

  It was like he’d mind-melded with Diana recently.

  “You look like shit,” Diana offered, peering up at Nick with narrowed eyes. “You and drinking. Not a good combination.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered, swaying back and forth.

  “She’s right.” The edge to their aunt’s voice was surprising. Aunt Charity didn’t get mad. Ever. One look told Honor she was mad now. Big time. Good. Maybe he’d listen to Aunt Charity. Hopefully he would. What was wrong with him?

  “Can you make it to your room without your mom figuring out what’s going on?” Aunt Charity asked. “Because, Nick, I’m not sure what to say to her yet. And honestly, I don’t know how much more your mom can deal with right now.”

  His head hung—hopefully with regret but more likely from alcohol.

  “Harsh,” Diana mumbled.

  “Honest,” Honor shot back. Sometimes Diana just didn’t get it. Like now. They didn’t enjoy torturing their mom—they loved and respected her. Well, she did. With Nick’s latest stunts, she wasn’t sure she knew who her brother was anymore. And it hurt. Deeply.

  They’d been a team forever. Now more than ever, she needed her brother. Not some irresponsible, self-absorbed child bent on making decisions that could only lead to bad things, but her brother—and her best friend.

  As far as she was concerned, there had been enough bad to last them all for a long time. They were all due some good. Preferably a lot of good.

  Like Owen. He’d been popping up in her thoughts often. Now, however, was not the time to get warm fuzzies over him.

  At least Dr. Murphy’s car was still here. That was good news for her mom. Well, it was until they burst in on them with her drunk son. She sighed.

  “What’s the story?” Diana asked. “We need to get our stories straight.”

  “The truth.” Honor glanced at Nick, hoping he’d agree. Whatever had happened tonight, Sheriff Martinez knew. Considering the way Pecan Valley worked, word of Nick’s antics would probably be common knowledge by morning. If their mother found out about this through gossip… No, it wasn’t right.

  “I’m thinking it can wait until morning.” Aunt Charity was worried.

  Honor frowned. “Mom has always been honest with us. She might be disappointed, but she’d rather hear the truth than find out later we lied to her. And we will all be lying to her—by keeping this a secret.” She saw the guilt on her brother’s face and squeezed his hand again.

  “Okay,” he whispered.

  “Okay.” Aunt Charity didn’t sound remotely okay.

  “Well, chances are it would come out anyway.” Diana pointed at her father’s car. “My dad will know. He’s got like this built-in radar for alcohol. Or pills. Or pot. Well, you get it. He’s going to know.”

  “Why is he still here?” Nick snapped, his head popping up—before he groaned.

  “Why shouldn’t he be here?” Diana snapped back. “Geez, chill out. They’re two consenting adults—”

  “Would you knock it off already?” He pushed off the car, stalking up the path. “They’re friends. Period.”

  “Sure, friends.” Diana snorted and ran past him to wait on the front stoop.

  “Diana,” Aunt Charity called after them. “Nick. Let’s all try to keep a cool head. Okay? This is going to be hard enough.”

  Honor followed them up the path, already bracing herself for whatever would happen. She’d done that a lot over the last month. Just when she thought there was nothing left that could knock her off her feet, she was flat on her back again. Not that she was the only one whose new normal meant a constant state of preparing for the worst. Her family was right there with her. But at times that made things worse. How could she turn to them knowing they were in the same position she was in? She couldn’t. Even if she really, really needed someone to talk to.

  Diana didn’t bother knocking on the front door. “Everyone decent?” she called out, smiling sweetly at Nick. “We’re back.”

  Honor shook her head and closed the door behind them. Like her mom and Dr. Murphy would be having sex. She paused. And if they were—well, what was wrong with that? At least someone was enjoying their evening.

  Still, she couldn’t help but wince at the idea.

  “Sit,” Charity said to Nick, pointing at one of the overstuffed leather recliners in the living room. “Honor, can you get him some water?” Her eyes narrowed. “And some pain reliever. And I am in serious need of some antacid.” Her aunt’s sad smile reflected the defeat churning in her own stomach.

  “Sure thing,” she mumbled, taking another glance at Nick before pushing through the swinging wooden door into the kitchen. “Mom?”

  Her mother looked up from the pecan pie she was cutting. She seemed…different. For one thing, she was humming. Her ponytail was off-center and loose. And she was smiling. A really big smile.

  She was happy. Really happy. Because she hadn’t walked out of the kitchen and seen Nick.

  “Having a nice evening?” Honor asked. She didn’t want to think about Diana’s suggestion, but the seed had been planted. Her mother rarely had a hair out of place. Or creases in her shirt. Or a look like this.

  “Yes.” She smiled. “Graham and I have the nursery done, mostly.” She glanced down, her hands running over her shirt, then going up to tackle her messy ponytail. “What happened to the movies?”

  “We cut it short,” Honor said, a lump taking up residence in her throat.

  “What’s wrong?” Her mother waited. A deep line formed between her brows, and she gave up on trying to smooth her hair.

  Honor sighed. “I need to get some antacid for Aunt Charity.” She pull
ed a glass from the cabinet. “And some pain reliever for Nick.”

  “Nick? Is he sick? I would have gone to get him so you girls could enjoy your night. Granddad and Mimi didn’t call—”

  She faced her mother, medicine in hand. “I don’t think they know he left, Mom.”

  Her mother’s shoulders slumped, and her expression faltered. “Oh.” She took the pills and water from Honor. “I see.” Her smile was tight as she pushed through the kitchen door and left Honor alone.

  The silence was broken by the ringing of the house phone. Probably Mimi—freaking out over Nick’s disappearance.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “This is Robert Klein. I’m looking for Felicity Otto-Buchanan?”

  Honor rested her forehead against the kitchen cabinet. “I’m sorry, Mr. Klein, she’s sort of tied up with something at the moment. Can I take a message for her? This is her daughter, Honor.”

  “Honor?” He chuckled. “You’re the reason I’m calling. I’m your father’s lawyer—I’m sure your mother has mentioned me.” He paused. “Even though your mother has agreed to adopt Jack, we need to get your signature on two papers transferring your guardianship to her—since you’re eighteen and a legal adult. I should have caught that when she was here. It won’t take long at all…” He kept talking.

  But she didn’t hear anything else he said.

  Or understand a word he was saying.

  “Transferring guardianship” seemed to repeat and grow. Over and over. Louder and louder. Transferring guardianship? She was transferring guardianship of Jack? To her mother?

  “Excuse me, Mr. Klein, can I just clarify something?” she asked, surprised by the calm in her voice.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “What happens if I don’t sign them?” she asked softly, dreading the answer.

  There was a long pause. “Well, your father and Amber designated you as Jack’s guardian—since you are his next of kin—in the event that your mother was unable or unwilling to adopt Jack. But, as you know, your parents agreed the night of the accident that she’d take Jack. In the hospital.” He cleared his throat. “She was quite adamant about it when we met to go over the details of the will.”

  The night of the accident. The night of the accident? She remembered every single detail, from her father’s shattered face to the resignation in his eyes. She remembered his sweet words—and his request for a moment alone with their mother. In some delusional place in her mind, she’d thought he was apologizing to her for all the horrible things he’d done to them.

  But he hadn’t.

  No.

  Instead he’d asked her mother to take Jack. He’d asked, knowing she’d never, ever say no. Honor slumped against the counter, torn between defeat and rage. “I see,” she murmured.

  “Honor.” He cleared his throat again. “You were aware of this, right?” An awkward chuckle. “Otherwise, I’ll feel terrible—”

  She interrupted. “Of course I was. We don’t keep secrets.”

  “No. I didn’t think so.” Another awkward chuckle. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  Honor wrote down the time and place and hung up. She didn’t know what to do. What to think. What to feel. But the shouting on the other side of the door made up her mind for her.

  Her fingers were shaking as she texted, Can you meet me? and hit send.

  Owen’s response was immediate. Where?

  You tell me. Leaving now. She hit send, took the keys to Amber’s shiny convertible—parked and covered in the garage—and left.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Felicity almost dropped the glass of water she was carrying when she walked through the kitchen door. Nick was standing, swaying, inches from Graham, the threat in her son’s posture making her stomach flip.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m pretty sure I know what’s been going on.” Nick glared at her, shaking his head.

  She waited, the charged atmosphere going thick.

  “You missed a button,” Nick ground out.

  Graham’s buttons. Once they’d started dancing, fixing his shirt was forgotten. But now, with Nick glaring at the both of them, looking pointedly at Graham’s misbuttoned shirt, she realized the conclusion her son was making. He was shaking with rage.

  “You said you were just friends.” Nick sounded hollow. “You said you weren’t ready to date. Sleeping with someone isn’t dating?”

  It was like a slap to the face.

  “Nick—” Graham’s voice was razor-sharp.

  Nick faced Graham again. “I’m not talking to you.”

  She was between them, a hand on each chest, restraining Nick, drawing support from Graham. It sickened her. “Enough, Nick. I don’t know what happened tonight, but respect isn’t optional, no matter how bad you feel.” It took effort to stay calm, but she did it.

  Until she caught the scent of alcohol on Nick’s breath. “You’ve been drinking?” Panic lodged in her chest. “What happened, Nick?”

  Nick’s lips pressed flat. His jaw muscle clenched tightly.

  “Graham, you and Diana should go.” As much as she appreciated his willingness to champion her, having him here would make talking to Nick impossible. And, clearly, her son wasn’t okay.

  Seeing Graham hesitate said so much—meant so much to her. He wanted to be here. He loved her kids and hated seeing them hurt. He cared about them. All of them. “He needs to stay hydrated,” Graham said, slipping into the cool, impartial doctor mode with ease. “Keep a close eye on him.”

  She nodded.

  Graham’s light-brown eyes met hers, so warm and tender that it took everything she had not to beg him to stay. She could do this on her own—she knew that. But she didn’t want to. “If you need anything—”

  “We’re good,” Nick ground out.

  “Thank you.” She’d had so much to say before. In his arms, there’d been a glimmer of possibility that things could be good between them. But now, with Nick, all of that would have to wait.

  With a nod, Graham headed for the door. “Come on, Di.”

  “Guess we’re not going on that vacation together now, huh? That sucks.” Diana had been sitting on the floor, both cats piled in her lap, watching with wide-eyed interest. Now she stood. “Are you guys going to be okay?” she whispered, her too-skinny hand gripping Felicity’s forearm. “You will be, right?”

  Felicity nodded, patting her hand. “We will. Families fight, Di. It can be a good thing. As long as things don’t get mean, that is. You hang in there, work things out, forgive and go forward, stronger than before. That’s what fighting should be.”

  Diana shrugged. “If you say so.” Her kohl-lined eyes bounced to Nick. “Remember, you and drinking, not a good mix.”

  “Says you,” Nick bit back.

  “Hey, I can hold my alcohol.” With a cocky shake of her head, she led her father outside. The front door closed, and the room went silent.

  “What happened?” she asked. “You said you wanted to go with Granddad.”

  “People say things all the time. Doesn’t mean anything.” He was hurt. Angry. And he wasn’t going to hold back. “Like you saying you and Dr. Murphy were just friends.”

  “Nick.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” He shook his head. “You also said sex is supposed to mean something—remember that? It’s special. Emotional. All that bullshit?” His eyes narrowed. “But I guess being alone and sad makes sleeping around okay, too?”

  “Sleeping around?” she snapped. He was going for the jugular. “I didn’t lie to you, Nick.”

  “About you and Dr. Murphy? Or about sex being special?”

  “That’s not fair, Nick.” Charity was up on her feet. “She has every right to be happy.”

  “Because Graham Murphy would make her happy? How? By letting Mom raise
his fucked-up kid along with Dad’s baby?” He stared at the ceiling. “Ever think he’s latching on to you because he knows he can’t handle Diana alone? She’s seriously messed up. A walking nightmare. You want him? Then you get her, too. How can you want that here—all the time?” He rolled his head. “Amber and Dad didn’t factor that into their whole let’s-give-Jack-to-Felicity master plan.”

  “Enough, Nick.” He’d hurt her deeply, but he’d also pissed her off. How dare he throw Matt and Amber in her face or suggest Graham was using her? She hated this. All of it. “You want to lash out at me? Fine. You’ve done that.” She was shaking. “You’ve been drinking, clearly. Sit down before you fall down and tell me exactly what happened.”

  He pressed his lips together but sat.

  “Well?” she asked, staring down at him.

  Listening to Nick recount his evening hurt her heart. He didn’t say much—just the facts, the actions—his voice almost devoid of emotion. And that, his flat tone, made it even worse.

  Felicity sifted through the words spinning in her head. This was Nick. Not Diana. Nick. Her son. Her son had snuck out of her parents’ house, hitchhiked into town, broken into the cemetery, damaged Matt’s headstone, and been so inebriated that he passed out. He was having a hard time sitting upright now. Did she yell at him? Did she hug him? “How much did you drink?” she asked. “What did you drink?”

  “Vodka,” he answered and finished the glass of water. “Not a full bottle, but I emptied it.”

  “A bottle, Nick?”

  “He threw up on the way here,” Charity volunteered softly. “A lot.” She paused. “A lot—lot.” There was definite emphasis on the last word.

  Hopefully most of the alcohol was out of his system. “Can you get him more water?” She held out his empty glass to Charity, and she hopped up, hurrying into the kitchen.

  Nick stared at her, red-faced from vodka and anger.

  “Do you know how lucky you were tonight, Nick? You could have…” She didn’t want to think about what could have happened. “You could have been hurt. Hurt someone else.” Her gaze searched his face. “You’re my son, Nickie. No matter what, I’m here for you. I hate that you’re hurting like this.” She sat on the ottoman in front of him and took his hands. “If there were a way to make it better, I would. You know that, I hope.”