Logan.
Grant rose and turned to face his brother, whom he had not seen since he was twelve, at their mother’s funeral. That was fifteen years ago.
“How did you know I was here?” Grant asked.
Logan grimaced. “We had some guys staking out the airport, looking for somebody, and they saw you come in. You’re kind of hard to miss in that uniform.”
Grant would rather not know who the Mafia henchmen were stalking … probably an informant they wanted to kill. His eyes narrowed as he glared at his older brother. “Have you been tailing me since yesterday, then?”
“Nope. Shit-for-brains Carlo lost you in the airport shuffle. But I figured you’d show up here at some point.”
Grant nodded sadly, stealing a glance at the delicate white-and-pink flowers drooping and wilting in the rain. “You live in Chicago. Do you visit her grave much?”
Logan swallowed hard. “No.”
The younger brother sighed. They’d always been very different people. Grant was quiet and thoughtful, whereas Logan was loud and ill-tempered. They had inevitably chosen sides, one going to their mother and one to their father. Grant hated himself for thinking Logan might actually care about their mom. Of course he wouldn’t visit her grave. He hated himself for that need deep within him, the need for his brother’s love—a need that would obviously never be fulfilled.
“Why are you back in town?” Logan asked.
“I have to do some fitness testing at Great Lakes,” Grant said. If all went well, he would be promoted to lieutenant, though he was not about to share that with a brother who couldn’t care less. Growing weary of their forced conversation, Grant asked, “What do you want?”
Logan looked taken aback. “Who says I want anything?”
Grant looked at Logan with disdain. “Let’s drop the pretense, Lo. I know you don’t care about Mom. And you certainly don’t care about me. What do you want?”
Logan stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “I hate to ask you this. But I need some money.”
Grant looked away. He hated being right all the time. “What for?”
“I had a bad break in a poker game. I’ll get it back. I will. But it was one of Carlo’s associates who ran the game, and now Carlo is all over my ass for the cash.”
“He’s bad news, Lo. Stay away from him.”
Logan sighed, and Grant knew exactly what his brother was thinking: that Uncle Joe was once again filling Grant’s head with all sorts of rubbish about their paternal uncle Angelo and his son Carlo. “Carlo is our cousin. I can’t turn my back on him like you have. Do you even care about our family? Do you even care about Dad?”
Grant’s voice rose with indignant anger and a hint of childish wounded hurt. “Do they even care about me?”
An uncomfortable silence floated between them, the only sound the steady stream of raindrops tapping the leaves of nearby trees. Grant slid his hands into his pant pockets. “How much do you need?”
Crap. Now Logan had to come clean with the embarrassing amount. “Thirty K,” he mumbled.
Grant’s eyes bugged. “Thirty thousand dollars? How much do you think Navy ensigns earn?”
“Any amount you can help with, I’ll take. I’m in deep, man.”
Grant sensed his brother’s desperation and realized Logan had a problem: a gambling problem. Grant had maybe three thousand dollars socked away, but even if he cleaned out his savings, it wouldn’t put a dent in the debt. And who’s to say Logan wouldn’t just gamble it all away?
Grant looked down, feeling pained. “I can’t help you.”
“Great,” Logan spat. “Thanks a lot, bro.”
Stunned, Grant watched his brother turn and stride away. They hadn’t seen each other for fifteen years, and that was how they were going to leave it? Would it be another fifteen years before they spoke again?
Roger paused his commentary and muted his microphone, gesturing to the left. “Watch out for that idiot kayaker off to port,” he warned.
“Aye, sir,” Grant replied, having spotted the small watercraft seconds before, even though he’d been lost in the past.
“Dumbass, kayaking out in this weather,” Roger growled. Turning to glance at Grant, he noticed his forlorn expression. “You okay?”
Grant cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
Roger nodded, flipped the switch on the mic’s battery pack attached to his belt, and resumed his architectural tour of the city. He continued embellishing to accommodate their slow speed.
“For those of you who enjoy gambling, the closest opportunity is the Horseshoe Casino in Hammond, Indiana, about twenty minutes from the city. You can try your hand at blackjack or Caribbean stud poker there.”
After Grant had adroitly docked the ship at the conclusion of the cruise, Roger put away his microphone and asked, “You ever been to that Empress Casino, Madsen?”
“Nope.”
“We should go there sometime,” Roger suggested. “Maybe meet us some chicks.”
Grant paused. He’d already met a lovely “chick.” “No thanks. I’m not much of a fan of gambling.”
“So you don’t drink, you can’t do drugs, and you don’t gamble either? You are entirely too healthy, Madsen.”
“And you are entirely too unhealthy, Rog,” Grant shot back. “How about we get you some green vegetables for dinner?”
Roger made a gagging motion. “I think my body would go into shock if I fed it veggies.” He grinned. “C’mon, let’s grab some pizza.”
Grant shook his head. Roger was hopeless. “Okay, but I’m cutting you off at two slices, boss.” He grabbed his White Sox jacket and trailed Roger off the ship into the cloudy mist. Only one more cruise left tonight, and then Sophie would be joining them tomorrow. He knew she would brighten his day. He’d be willing to bet on it.
12. InSPIREd
Sophie’s mind was full to overflowing with various alcoholic drink ingredients and menu choices.
Although she’d studied the menu for an hour before the first cruise began at one, it was tough to keep it all straight. She felt quite overwhelmed by the time the five o’clock cruise rolled around on her first day. And naturally Dan, the bartender, was out sick, so Sophie not only had to take the drink orders, but fill them too.
She could just picture her Substance Abuse Treatment professor’s disapproving look. She’d spilled a pi?a colada on her black skirt and could currently feel sticky tomato juice all over her hands after delivering Bloody Marys to two passengers. She was literally doused in alcohol.
In contrast to all the sitting in prison, today’s five hours of scurrying around on her feet had left her with some tired, barking dogs. And they still had one cruise to go.