“I never argued with my dad,” Grant said, feeling his cheeks redden with shame.
A frightened look ghosted his handsome features, and Sophie remembered the awful stories Logan had shared about their father. Grant was free of prison but evidently not free of his past. She hoped eventually she could help him heal.
She hooked her right arm into his left, attempting to distract him. “Time to go home?”
“Definitely. But do you mind if we make a stop first?”
*
The sunlight bounced off the rolling green waves of the Chicago River as Sophie and Grant sat on a bench by the dock, his arm protectively draped over her shoulders.
“You’re sure he’s on the ship?” Sophie questioned.
“Yeah, I had the police officer call my apartment from the station, and he wasn’t there, so I bet he’s helping Rog again. I don’t know where else he’d be.”
On cue, an awful sound hit their ears. They could make out a raspy, off-key shouting, like nails on a chalkboard, and to Grant’s horror he realized Roger was singing. Or rather he was trying to sing, croaking out the ugliest, most abrasive Frank Sinatra interpretation known to humankind. The ship slowly chugged into their line of vision.
“Oh my God, what is he doing?” Sophie wondered, also aghast. Roger sounded like a dreadful karaoke Elvis.
“This is bad,” Grant agreed, shaking his head. “If this is his kind of town, I don’t want to live anywhere near it.”
“Join in, everyone!” Roger called gleefully over the microphone as the ship began docking. His encouragement was met with stunned silence, the passengers cautiously glancing at each other, having no idea what caused the auditory assault on their eardrums.
Just as he eased the ship alongside the dock, Roger realized there was dead silence onboard. He nervously cleared his throat. “Thank you for choosing Eaton Tours! Please come back soon.”
Once the ship had docked, passengers streamed down the gangway as if they could not disembark fast enough. Watching the melee, Grant and Sophie shared a bewildered smile. “Sounds like Rog missed you,” Sophie smirked.
“Grant!” Joe’s thrilled voice filled the air, easily audible over the din of the chattering passengers.
Grant popped up off the bench, finding his uncle leaping over the gunwale and rushing toward him. Meeting him halfway, Grant launched himself into his uncle’s awaiting embrace and they thumped each other on the back soundly.
“You’re out! What happened?”
“They dropped the charge to consorting with known criminals while on parole, and I got an additional year of parole, that’s all.”
Joe could only smile, the creases of worry lining his face finally smoothing away. “You don’t have to go back inside with your father,” he said, feeling liberation from the vice grip of the Barberi family.
Grant met his uncle’s clear blue eyes and felt overwhelming gratitude. “I’m already with my father,” he said.
Joe finally noticed Sophie standing a few feet behind his nephew. Grant turned to bring her forward. He rested his arm across her shoulders while she wrapped hers around his waist, and they faced Joe together.
“So, she’s the one, huh?”
“Yes, sir,” Grant nodded, nuzzling in to sneak a kiss on her cheek.
Joe’s smiling eyes found Sophie’s. “I’m glad you’re here to take care of him, because I have to get back to my captain in Norfolk. We’re shipping out soon.”
“I’ll try to keep him out of prison for you, Joe.”
“Hey,” Grant protested. “You’re on parole too.”
“Yeah, but I’ll be done long before you will,” she teased.
“Holy fuck!” A voice rang out from the deck, and all three immediately knew who it must be. Roger stood at the ship’s railing, hands on his hips. “The parolees busted out! It’s about damn time!”
“How are you doing, Rog?” Grant asked, boarding the ship with Sophie in tow.
“Just trying to keep afloat,” he replied. “Since you left me in the lurch, you asshole, I’ve had to take back the reins as docent.”
“So I heard,” Grant said. Desperately attempting not to laugh, he tried to avoid Sophie’s gaze. “You’re, um, you’re singing now too, huh?”
“Yeah,” Roger smiled proudly, puffing out his chest. “I thought I’d do a little Frank Sinatra myself. He’s more from my generation than yours, anyway. How’d I sound?”
“Uh …”
Sophie cleared her throat, glancing at Grant. “I’ll take this one.” Looking back at the captain, Sophie began, “You know I love you, Rog, and I’m very grateful that you gave me a job. But if you sing again, your business will go straight down the tubes.” Her brown eyes were warm but her message was firm. “Rog, please promise me, never sing again.”
His face fell, and Sophie immediately felt guilty. “But you do such an awesome job navigating, um, running the business …” She quickly tried to cover.
“Is she right? I’m not a good singer?” Roger pointedly asked Grant and Joe, who exchanged nervous glances.
Joe attempted a placating tone. “Rog, um, Sophie is a very wise woman. Her father is a successful businessman. Maybe you should take her advice.”
Just then Grant noticed a teenager in navy-blue coveralls emerging from the lower deck. “Ben?” he called.
The boy appeared startled. “Uncle Grant!”
“What are you doing here?”
Joe answered for him. “Ben wanted to make some extra money before school begins, so he’s helping out on the ship.” The two exchanged a knowing glance.
The truth was Ashley had hit the roof once Joe informed her about Ben’s drug habit, and she’d threatened to cart him off to rehab immediately. Ben had screamed that he’d run away before he went to rehab.
Somehow, Joe had helped them forge a compromise: Ben would see a local therapist and work on Roger’s ship for a month, and if his subsequent drug test was clean, he wouldn’t have to go to rehab.
Grant went over to rest his arm on Ben’s shoulders. “So, you’re chief toilet cleaner now!”
Out of earshot, Roger glared at Joe. “I’m gonna go check the shitters. He better have actually cleaned them this time or he’s getting an earful.”
Joe stifled a grin. “Give him a few days. He’ll get on board with the program, Rog.”
Once the ship’s captain headed aft, Joe and Sophie were left alone while Grant and Ben chatted nearby. Joe cast a worried look at Sophie’s sling. “How’s your arm feeling?”
“Sore,” Sophie admitted. Her right hand reached into her pocket and she felt the folded check. Pulling it out, she offered, “I uh, have some money for Grant’s attorney fees. Will ten thousand cover it?”
Joe looked shocked. “Where does a parolee come up with ten grand?”
Her cheeks reddened. “My father gave it to me.”
“Your father?” His eyebrows arched skeptically. “I find that hard to believe. He didn’t seem to be Grant’s biggest fan.”