“What the hell did an eighteen year old know about substance-abuse treatment?” he asked.
She smiled sheepishly. “Not a whole lot, as evidenced by his subsequent positive drug test.”
“My sense is that your caring nature is drawn to wounded people. You attempt to help them just like you tried to help your mother and father with their unhappy marriage. You really sacrificed yourself for your family—attaching yourself to loser men to deflect the attention from your parents’ conflicted relationship. But Sophie, you deserve a man who is healthy and strong, not damaged and dysfunctional. You don’t have to settle for a Mafia criminal who uses you to get what he wants. You deserve a man who can care for himself, and for you, in a loving, honest way.”
Sophie returned Hunter’s gaze, blinking several times while taking in his words. All she could think about was Grant. He seemed caring and loving and healthy on the surface, but there was still so much she didn’t know about him, beginning with his disturbing nightmares and apparent family history of abuse.
Hunter’s words of encouragement circled in an endless loop in her mind. She deserved a good man. Was Grant that good man?
*
Grant removed the headset and placed it carefully in the drawer while Roger powered down the ship engines.
“Madsen, you got yourself a phone yet?”
“They just turned it on this morning,” he replied.
“Good. Joe called last night to check up on you, and I didn’t have a number to give him.”
“Joe called last night?” Grant was pleased.
“Yeah, the fucker’s back stateside for a few weeks, and he was wondering how you were doing.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him you were shacking up with another parolee—”
Grant’s mouth dropped open in protest. “Sophie is living with Kirsten, not me!”
“I also told Joe you have a drinking problem.”
Grant’s eyes widened with shock, making Roger feel guilty for goading him.
“Jesus, Madsen, can’t you take a fucking joke? You are wound so tight, man. Of course I told Joe you’re doing just fine. If I had said those things, you know he would’ve taken the first plane to Chicago and would be here this instant, trying to set your ass straight.”
“Yeah, Joe would have gotten on my case, that’s for sure.”
Roger disdainfully eyed the bag of celery sticks on the counter of the bridge, then grabbed one. “Was the XO tough on you as a kid?”
“Yeah, tough but fair. You could say I did my share of military pushups as a teenager.”
“I can imagine,” said Roger, chomping his celery stick. “His PT sessions at Great Lakes were from hell. He liked to torture us enlisted men.”
“Looks like you could keep up with his physical training a little better now,” Grant suggested, eyeing Roger’s slowly decreasing gut.
“I’ve lost ten pounds so far,” the boss proudly announced.
“That’s great, Rog. You and the veggies are getting along much better these days.”
“Not really.” He frowned. “I still fucking hate vegetables.” He violently gnashed the celery stick. “Tasteless piece of shit. But maybe Joe wouldn’t give me so much crap if he saw me now. Now that I’m super svelte.”
Ignoring Roger’s ridiculous assessment of his fitness, Grant inquired, “Is Joe going to visit Chicago?”
“Maybe. He said he had some stuff to take care of but he might make it up here next week. He wants to be the good uncle who visits his nephew, you know?”
Grant tensed, remembering Ben’s birthday party tomorrow night. Was he going to be the good uncle who visited his nephew? He’d been wrestling with the decision for days.
He took a few steps toward the stern and glanced at the deck, noticing Sophie wiping down the benches with a wet cloth. She was leaning over a bench, which caused her black miniskirt to hike up on her creamy thigh. Grant felt aroused just looking at her.
“… the new place?”
Grant turned around, confused. “What’d you say, sir?”
Eyeing Sophie in Grant’s line of vision, Rog exhaled derisively. “You are so fucking pussy-whipped, Madsen. Christ! I was asking how it was going in your new apartment!”
“Oh.” Grant grinned. “Sorry. It’s good. How’s, um, how’s it going at your place?”
“Much better now that I don’t have fucking employees throwing books on the floor, waking me up in the middle of the night!” After a few moments Roger added, “Hey, you want to grab a bite to eat?”
“Oh, um, well Sophie and I are going out later, but it would be fine if you wanted to join—”
“Forget about it,” Roger quickly interjected. “I’ll pass on being the third wheel.”
“It’s fine, Rog, really.”
“No thanks.”
They awkwardly busied themselves with various clean-up tasks in the bridge before Grant tentatively asked, “I take it you didn’t live with your wife before you got married?”
Roger looked up from his kneeling position by a storage cabinet. “Nah. Nobody did that back then. Didn’t want to ‘live in sin.’ But maybe that would have been a good idea, sort of like a test drive of the marriage. Maybe then I wouldn’t be paying fifteen-hundred bucks a month in alimony.”
“Whoa,” Grant grimaced. “Sounds like things ended badly?”
“Women are the motherfucking devil spawn!”
“C’mon, Rog, don’t hold back. Tell us how you really feel.”
But Roger was in no joking mood. “She cheated on me, Madsen. The bitch cheated on me.”
Grant’s face fell. No wonder Roger always seemed suspicious of women in general and Sophie in particular. “Sorry to hear that, sir.” There was a moment of silence before Grant asked, “But if she had an affair, how come you have to pay alimony?”
“Excellent question. I got royally fucked over by the courts.” Roger seemed pained. “I gotta go,” he muttered. “Do yourself a favor, Madsen. Never get married. And never trust women.”
With that advice, Roger exited the bridge and hustled down the stairs, leaving Grant leaning against the console, staggered by the weight of his boss’ warnings.
He glanced down at Sophie again. She was almost finished wiping down the benches. She’d seemed distant when she arrived for work that morning, but he was starting to notice a pattern of her appearing tired and standoffish following her therapy sessions. He could definitely imagine how rough it would be to discuss family and feelings for an hour straight. Hopefully they could reconnect over dinner tonight.
He was bursting with excitement about something he’d done for her, and he hoped he wouldn’t spill the beans before the surprise materialized. Grinning to himself, Grant removed the key from the ship engine and jauntily descended the stairs.
25. Unexpected Gifts
The next day, Sophie’s mind was on overdrive as she walked home after the last evening cruise. She’d asked Grant where he wanted to go for dinner, which had become their routine, and was summarily dismissed. Now their conversation played over and over as she walked …
“I got plans,” he’d brusquely informed her while stacking chairs on the deck.
“Oh,” she replied, and an awkward silence descended. “What kind of plans?”