Bad Behavior (8 page)

Sophie was fascinated, but still unable to move. “How old was Carlo then?”

“I don’t know—ten?”

“This is the same Carlo who shot Sophie a few weeks ago?” Hunter asked.

Grant nodded. “Anyway, my father and Carlo were both in the house, and Fanocelli shot Carlo.”

Sophie gasped. “Carlo got shot? Where?”

“In his left arm, right above the elbow.” Grant turned to Sophie with a look of wonder. “Exactly where he shot you.”

The three absorbed that bizarre coincidence before Grant resumed, “When my father shot back, he hit Fanocelli’s son. My dad killed him—Tony Fanocelli. H-H-He was only seven.”

“Tony was just one year younger than you then,” Hunter said.

Grant nodded grimly.

“That must have been terrifying to hear that your own father killed a little boy.”

Grant’s knuckles had gone white, gripping the edge of the sofa cushions on either side of his legs.

“What were you told about the shooting back then?” Hunter inquired.

“I’m not sure,” Grant responded. “I do remember that my mom took us to the hospital to visit Carlo after my dad was arrested.”

“She took you and Logan to see Carlo? How did Carlo get to the hospital in the first place?”

“My dad rushed him there.” Grant exhaled with disgust. “Big magnanimous gesture on his part—saving his nephew’s life in exchange for getting arrested right outside the hospital. Uncle Angelo was furious.”

“Your Uncle Angelo blamed Carlo for Enzo going to prison?” Hunter shook his head.

“I think so,” Grant said. “He seemed ticked off at Carlo when we visited him.”

Hunter asked, “Angelo was at the hospital?”

“Yeah. He and my mom had words, and the next thing I knew she packed us up and took us to live with Uncle Joe at Great Lakes.”

“Logan lived with Joe too?”

“No. Logan and Joe were fighting a lot, so Logan ran away to the compound— Uncle Angelo’s house. My mom was really sad.”

Hunter sat back in his chair. “So you were eight years old, and you’d just lost your brother and your home. Not to mention losing your father—and you’d learned your father killed a child your age. It must have been devastating.”

Grant’s throat felt tight. “I missed Logan, and I missed my friends, but it wasn’t so bad. At least Dad couldn’t beat up Mom anymore.”

“And he couldn’t beat you up anymore, either.”

There was silence.

Sophie had listened to the rapid-fire questions and answers in shock. No wonder Grant never wanted to discuss his past.

After a moment, Hunter questioned again. “Did you ever visit your father at Gurnee prior to your incarceration?”

“No, sir, and that didn’t exactly help my cause. My dad was pretty pissed off about me never visiting.”

Grant sighed. He still hadn’t answered the original question, and it
felt
like a nightmare just thinking about telling them what had led to his adult nightmares. Yet he knew he had to. Hell, Sophie had practically figured out the story on her own already.

“As I was saying, my father approached me in the yard, and he told me he’d protect me if I joined him.” Grant grimaced. “Meaning I could never speak to Joe the whole time I was inside.”

Sophie looked horrified. “Your father made you renounce Joe?”

He nodded. “But I refused. Well, I
tried
to refuse, but my dad wasn’t having it. I could either join him or he would let the prison…
wolves
teach me a lesson.”

Sophie’s jaw clenched even more tightly.

Grant sighed again. “And they did teach me a lesson. They came after me, and the next thing I knew I was sitting handcuffed in the warden’s office, being told I would spend sixty days in solitary as punishment for fighting.”

“But that wasn’t fair!” Sophie protested.

“That took incredible strength to stand up to your father,” Hunter said.

“More like stupidity,” Grant scoffed. He hesitated, clearly worried about sharing the next part of the story.

“What was solitary like?” Sophie asked. “I would’ve been terrified to go in the hole.”

Flashes of memories appeared in Grant’s head.
I
was
terrified
, he thought. “It was awful. I, um, I couldn’t see—it was pitch black—and the walls; they were closing in…” Grant’s voice cracked, and he looked down, feeling the heat of a blush on his cheeks and tears prickling at the back of his eyes.
Don’t cry, don’t cry.

A thought dawned on Hunter. “It was just like the closet your father had locked you in when you were four.”

Stunned, Grant lifted his head, blinking away tears. “Y-Y-Yes, sir.”

Sophie resisted the urge to scoop him into her arms as he looked down in shame.

“I reacted just like I was four too.”

She could hear the tears in his voice and was not surprised when a few plopped onto his jeans. She was instantly reminded of Logan crying in her office.

“How did you react?” Hunter gently asked.

“I—I don’t know what happened,” Grant said. “But I woke up three days later in the psych ward.” He snuck a glance at Sophie, dreading her response to discovering her boyfriend was crazy. “The doctor said I’d been catatonic. They, um, they had to remove me from the hole because I hadn’t been eating, and I, and I…” He took his head in his hands and whispered, “I peed in my pants.”

Once he began sobbing, Sophie couldn’t contain herself and launched herself across the sofa to gather him into her arms, murmuring soothing words while stroking his back.

Hunter wondered about the therapeutic value of her hug, which interrupted his story, but he also realized there was no way he could separate them at this point. They clearly needed each other.

“I bet you didn’t know you had a psycho boyfriend,” Grant muttered through his tears.

“You’re not psycho. Of course you dissociated in there, Grant,” she said, still rubbing his back. “It triggered a childhood trauma reaction.”

Noting Grant’s puzzled expression over Sophie’s shoulder, Hunter said, “Sophie, let’s give him some space to understand all of this.”

She nodded and let go, but stayed close on the sofa.

“I agree with Sophie,” Hunter said. “To be locked up in a small, dark place like that must have been very frightening and reminded you of that happening when you were four. It makes total sense that you had an adverse reaction to that situation, and it doesn’t make you crazy. Sophie used the words ‘dissociation’ and ‘trauma,’ and I want to review some of that with you in the next session, okay? You’re not crazy. You’re just suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Grant swallowed hard and nodded, swiping at his cheeks.

“You did well today—both of you,” Hunter added. “This was a tough session, but I think we made a lot of progress.”

Looking again at her shell-shocked boyfriend, Sophie crawled onto his lap, folding her slim body into his. At first Grant seemed surprised, but once she draped her arms over his shoulders, he responded by wrapping his arms around her back. They held each other tightly for several moments.

Hunter noticed that much of their tension was gone. This time their hug was genuine.

Sophie drew back and wiped a fresh tear from Grant’s cheek, gazing into his eyes. They held their stare for over a minute, both trying to steady themselves after what they’d endured.

Eventually Sophie’s face lit up in an evil grin. “Now that I’m on your lap, McSailor, you
better
keep your pants dry.”

Amidst their snickers, Hunter shook his head disdainfully. “Jesus, get a room, you two.” They smiled, and he added, “Let’s make it gentle, clean fun this time, all right?”

Their cheeks flushed pink, and Grant appeared most contrite.

“And,” Hunter concluded, “make sure your live-in teenager doesn’t hear you in action. I think Ben’s had enough trauma, don’t you?”

Uncle and nephew ambled their way across city streets, taking in the dapples of morning sun filtering through the trees interspersed on the sidewalk. Swaying the still-green leaves was a cool breeze, a prelude to the end of summer.

Then Ben broke their comfortable silence. “So, should I tell Rog today or tomorrow?”

Grant was grateful his nephew was no longer grumbling about him insisting they leave early for work. “Tell Mr. Eaton what?”

Ben exhaled with exasperation. “That I’m done for the summer.”

“What do you mean?”

The teenager looked at his uncle like he was incredibly obtuse. “I’m starting school next week! I can’t work anymore.”

Grant’s return stare was equally incredulous. “You get out of school at three fifteen, that’s plenty of time to make the five o’clock and seven o’clock cruises.”

“I don’t wanna work after school! When am I gonna have time to chill with my friends?”

Grant had a sneaking suspicion that these so-called friends were no strangers to marijuana. Besides, he’d really enjoyed having Ben with him at work, and despite the teen’s protests, he knew Ben had liked it too. They’d become closer—talking about school, girls, music, cell phones, and even Logan upon occasion. A conversation about the man who linked them both usually ended abruptly when one of them cleared his throat and changed the subject, claiming the Chicago wind was making his eyes water.

“The cruises only run another month or so, Ben,” Grant patiently explained. “You can hang out with your friends the rest of the school year, but for now I expect you to work after school.”

“Nooo!” he whined, beginning to drag his feet. “This blows. I already told Nick we’d go to ESPN Zone next week.”

Grant stopped walking and turned to look at Ben. “I’m sorry, but the video games will have to wait. Sophie and I are both working in the afternoons, and I don’t want to leave you unsupervised.”

“I’m not some
baby,”
Ben scoffed. “I can take care of myself.”

Grant felt his blood pressure rising, particularly after Ben punctuated his statement with a defiant jut of his jaw.

“I never said you were a baby. But now that you’re living with me, I’m responsible for you—”

“You can’t make me!” Ben blurted, his cool blue eyes flaring indignantly. “I don’t wanna work anymore for that asshole Roger on his stupid, shitty boat!”

Appalled by his nephew’s sudden temper tantrum, Grant felt a heated flush warm his face. How dare he talk about his boss like that? He should be grateful he even had a job, much less a
home,
after all the crap he’d pulled.

“End of discussion, Ben. You’ll keep working.”

“You can’t make me.”

Grant’s straightened his back, pulling himself up to his full six-foot-one height. His voice was ominously soft. “Do you want to try me?”

With a look of betrayal, Ben countered, “Oh, what’re you gonna do? It’s not like you’re my dad or anything.”

“You’re right. I’m not your dad, but as long as you’re living with me, you’re going to follow my rules.”

Grant cringed the second the hackneyed parental warning escaped his lips. His heart pounded as he stared into insolent eyes whose sky blue matched his own. He had no idea what he’d do if Ben refused to obey him.

“This is bullshit,” Ben spat. “I’m
not
going to work next week, and that’s final.”

“Yes, you are!” Grant bellowed. “You’ll do what I say, damn it!”

His scalp tingled and his hands itched. He lunged forward to seize the boy and shake some sense into him, when suddenly Grant froze. Sensing impending violence, Ben’s eyes had widened, and he too seemed paralyzed, gaping at his uncle whose outstretched hands hovered inches from his body.

Swallowing, Grant dropped his hands and turned, walking a few steps away to stare at the sidewalk. Hot fury coursed through him, and he found himself clenching his fists. The overwhelming urge to physically dominate or even harm his nephew horrified him.
This is what Dr. Hayes warned me about
.
This is my father’s blood running through my veins.

After a few long moments, Grant shuffled back to his wary nephew. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I should’ve discussed your plans for work with you first.”

Ben stood still, chewing his lip.

“I’m new at this, okay?” Grant pleaded. “I’m not used to having a teenager live with me, and I’m probably screwing it all up.”

Ben’s eyes welled with tears. “You don’t even
want
me to live with you!”

Grant was taken aback. “Yes, I do! Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because when my mom dropped me off, you said I couldn’t live there!”

Grant frowned. “Look, Ben, Ashley dragged you in there without warning—I was just trying to adjust to the idea. And your mom interrupted a really bad night I was having with Sophie. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Ben listened, standing quietly beside his uncle. At first he hadn’t liked the idea of sharing his uncle with an unknown woman, but Sophie was growing on him. She always made sure he had something to eat, and she didn’t complain about how much food he snarfed down, unlike the nonstop bitching of his mother.

“Are you and Sophie gonna split?” Ben asked.

“No! Why would you say that?”

“’Cause you were fighting the night Mom dumped me at your place.”

Sighing, Grant confirmed, “That was a really bad night, yes.”

“Why?”

Looking away, he pressed his lips together, feeling repulsed by what he’d done to Sophie. Eventually he said, “It was an awful night because I was acting like my father’s son.” Grant immediately began walking again.

That response silenced Ben, and he hustled to keep up with his uncle. Was it wrong to act like your father’s son? Would it be a bad thing to be like Logan Barberi? All his life, Ben had desperately wanted to be like his tough, cool, unflappable father. Was that a mistake?

Ben’s thoughts drifted back to his father’s funeral, when his mother revealed that his dad had forced Uncle Grant to commit robbery. Although Ben initially refused to believe it, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since then. Was his own father responsible for sending Grant to prison?

As the ship appeared just ahead, Ben quietly asked, “Uncle Grant? Um, did my dad, um, did he make you pull that robbery?”

Grant stopped in his tracks. “What?”

Ben tried to stop the trembling in his voice. “Did my dad threaten to kill Joe if you didn’t rob the club?”

A look of dread was etched onto Grant’s face. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Did it happen?” Ben pressed.

Grant exhaled, feeling trapped. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t know if his nephew could take any more. The boy was already a mess. Locked in a moment of faltering uncertainty, Grant reached for Ben and scooped him into a tight embrace.

Smothered by his uncle’s muscular arms, Ben felt a rush of sadness. He knew what his uncle’s silence meant. Maybe it wasn’t so great to be his father’s son.

Ben’s words were muffled: “So it’s true then.”

Grant voice was thick with emotion. “Your dad was a good man—he, he just lost his way. I don’t want you to end up like that, okay?”

Ben nodded, and they let go of each other.

Grant waited until their eyes met, then explained, “That’s why I want you to keep working with me after school. I want you to stay out of trouble, and I want…I want to spend more time with you. Your dad missed out on a lot in your life, and I don’t want to make the same mistake. Will you keep working? With me?”

Biting his lip, Ben considered the question for several moments before attempting a nonchalant “Yeah.”

“Atta-boy.”

Grant heard the familiar sounds of The Eagles, Roger’s favorite band, coming from the ship. He thumped his nephew’s shoulder. “C’mon, we got some cleaning to do.”

***

“You’re going to be fine, Kirsten.”

Sophie’s soothing voice did nothing to quell the butterflies in Kirsten’s stomach. She was minutes away from her dissertation defense, and she was visibly shaking as she leaned one shoulder against the brick wall in the corridor. Kirsten was quite afraid the only “revelation” happening today would be her failing her defense—and likely taking
another
eight years to finally complete her damn doctoral degree.

“Remember,” Sophie assured her as she rubbed gentle circles on her friend’s back, “your committee might be tough, but in the end, they want you to succeed. Why don’t you go in there and make sure your PowerPoint presentation is all ready to go, okay?”

Kirsten nodded. “I wish you could be in there with me.”

“Me too, but you’ll be fine.” Sophie thought of the warm smile of the young faculty member she’d befriended, Tanya Highgate. “Tanya’s on your committee, and then your advisor’s always good for throwing a few softballs. I’m sure David will take good care of you in there.”

“Oh, great. You really think I’m going to fail this, don’t you?”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You must be pretty desperate if you’re saying nice things about David Alton.”

Sophie smiled confidently. “Don’t worry—I’m over him.”

Kirsten arched her eyebrows. “Wow, Dr. Taylor. How did you arrive to such a Zen place? Are you doing therapy on yourself?”

“I’ve actually found a great technique for moving on after painful episodes of unrequited love.” Knowing she had Kirsten’s full attention, Sophie leaned in and explained, “It’s called the McSailor Method. Find a drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend who makes every loser you’ve ever dated utterly
pale
in comparison.”

Kirsten giggled. “The McSailor Method? Sounds quite promising, doctor!”

Nodding, Sophie said, “I’m gonna write a book about it.”

They chuckled again before Kirsten’s mood sobered. “I better get in there,” she said, biting her lip.

“Knock ’em dead, Dr. Holland.”

Hearing her potential new title, Kirsten grinned at Sophie before disappearing into the classroom.

Sighing, Sophie turned down the hallway and headed back to her office, lest she run into David again. She’d been truthful with Kirsten—she
was
over her former crush—but it was still awkward. A smile crossed her face as she considered her book idea. She’d launched into a daydream about Grant when a woman rushed out of an office, plowing right into her.

“Oh!” the woman squawked, grabbing Sophie’s right arm as they tried to orient themselves.

Instinctively, Sophie pulled her still-sore left arm out of the fray.

“I’m so sorry, Sophie!”

Sophie laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Tanya.”

In her ginger-colored blouse, chocolate-brown knee-length skirt, and tall leather boots, Assistant Professor Tanya Highgate was one fashionable lady, managing to look glamorous even mid-collision. She’d joined the department right after Sophie graduated, and once Sophie had accepted the visiting instructor position, they’d clicked instantly.

“Wow, you just can’t
wait
to get to Kirsten’s defense, huh?”

Sophie caught a quick grimace on Tanya’s face before the woman composed herself again.

“Are you okay, Tanya? Uh-oh—didn’t you like Kirsten’s manuscript?”

“Oh, no. Kirsten’s study was great and she’s going to pass, no problem.”

“Phew.”

“I know you two are friends.” Tanya winked.

“So what’s wrong?” Sophie prodded. “What has you running out of your office like there’s a stack of journals on fire?”

Tanya gazed into Sophie’s earnest eyes, trying to determine if she could trust her. Though they’d shared quite a bit, they’d only been acquainted a little more than three weeks.

As Tanya hesitated, Sophie began to worry about hanging out in the hallway so close to Kirsten’s defense. David could materialize at any moment. Sophie backpedaled, “If you’d rather not explain, no worries—”

“Oh, hell.” Tanya backed into her office and gestured for Sophie to follow. Then she closed the door. “I’ll probably end up telling you this anyway, so I should just get it over with.” She grinned ruefully. “That’s what happens when you have a shrink for a friend—you end up spilling all your secrets.”

Sophie smiled and sat in one of Tanya’s chairs as Tanya sat behind her desk.

“I
am
discombobulated right now,” Tanya admitted. “It’s not the student I have a problem with in this upcoming defense. It’s the committee.”

“The committee?”

“Well, one person on the committee, to be precise.” She sighed. “David.”

Sophie felt her chest tighten. “David Alton?”

“Is there another David in this department, Sophie?”

Tanya was quite direct, and Sophie loved her for it.

“No, uh,
one
David’s quite enough, thank you,” Sophie said.

Tanya squinted at her curiously before resuming.

“Anyway, I’ve managed to avoid him for the most part, but when Kirsten asked me to be on her committee, I couldn’t refuse. The poor woman is just dying to graduate, I know.”

Sophie’s interest was definitely piqued. “So why have you been avoiding David?”

Taking a deep breath, Tanya tossed her head back and proclaimed, “God, this is so embarrassing!”

Sophie waited in silence for a few moments before Tanya admitted, “My first year on the faculty, I was fresh out of grad school and I didn’t know anybody, and David sort of took me under his wing. We often went to get coffee—we talked about department politics, he showed me the ropes. He was very charming, and I, I found myself falling for him.”

Sophie’s lips parted but Tanya didn’t notice. She looked at her lap as she mumbled, “I should’ve known better.”

“What happened, Tanya?”

When she raised her head, a soft blush colored her smooth brown cheeks. “You know how David adores Theodore Millon?”

Sophie nodded, recalling how he’d swooned over the “brilliant” personality assessments created by Millon.

“Well,” Tanya continued, “I was at a conference, and I got Millon to sign one of his books and write a little message to David on the inside cover. I gave the book to him, and he absolutely loved it—he did that Richard Gere thing, smiling at me with his squinty eyes, thanking me profusely, sidling up to me, making me feel like I was the love of his life. Stupidly I lost my head, and I went in to hug him, but he, um, backed away…”