As she began removing items from the grocery bags, she thought guiltily about her father. She hadn’t spoken to him in more than a year, and she wondered how he was handling the death of his wife. Sure, her parents had argued, but over the years, Sophie had come to realize they needed each other in some incomprehensible way. She knew her father had to be taking his grief hard. Shaking her head, trying to elude the tormenting reminders of her family, she gazed down at the jar of Kalamata olives in her hand.
First, she set out the ingredients for the appetizer: olive oil, garbanzo beans, tahini, onion powder, and a garlic bulb; followed by the necessary elements for the salad: hearts of romaine, tomatoes, feta cheese, cilantro, and parsley. Cucumber and pita bread were the next items she extracted from her grocery bag. Finally, she took out the leg of lamb.
Surveying the fresh food in front of her, she gave a satisfied grin. As she turned to the refrigerator, her smile spread even wider. Although Grant had not one piece of artwork on his apartment walls, he’d carefully displayed the note she’d written weeks ago on his refrigerator door.
Her dreamily scrawled handwriting also brought back steamy memories of their first sexual encounter. Perhaps they could ignite that sensual flame again this evening.
*
You should tell Sophie who you really are.
Jerry’s words echoed through Grant’s mind, causing his chest to tighten with dread. How would Sophie react? Would she run from him in fear? Was his family going to ruin yet another important relationship in his life? She was absolutely precious to him—a beacon of light amidst all the darkness—and the thought of losing her made his heart ache.
“Madsen!” Roger hissed, snapping Grant out of his vexed trance.
“Sir?” he nervously questioned, looking around at the bridge and finding his boss glaring at him from the controls.
“Turn off your microphone when you’re speaking to me!” he ordered.
Grant winced as he shut off the headset.
“You’ve been silent for over two minutes, you douche bag,” Roger fumed. “What the hell is your problem?”
Grant’s eyes widened. Wonderful. Now his family was causing him to be derelict in his duty. “No excuse, sir. Permission to continue?”
Roger pursed his lips and nodded dismissively. Grant immediately turned the microphone back on and robotically launched into a description of the futuristic round towers of Marina City. He felt his boss’ angry glare from across the bridge, and he swallowed hard.
Once the cruise had finished, Roger turned to Grant. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said. “What’s wrong with you today? You’re a major space cadet.”
Grant looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“I thought Sophie taking the day off would make your focus better, not worse.”
“I guess I miss having her here,” he admitted.
“Well, you’re the one who got her the new job, right? And you’re already regretting it?”
“I don’t regret it—she was so happy about getting back into psychology, you should have seen her.” A soft smile formed as he remembered her glee. “It’s just … I, well, I had a rough meeting with my parole officer today.”
“Yeah, that guy seems like a hardass. You don’t want to mess around with him.”
“No kidding.” He sighed. “Officer Stone thinks I’m going to hurt Sophie.”
Roger scrunched his eyebrows. “Hurt her? Have you seen the way she looks at you, Madsen? She thinks you’re God’s gift—the fucking cat’s meow.” He scratched his head. “I’m still trying to figure out why she likes you so much.”
Grant chuckled softly, and Roger went on, “You should be more concerned about her hurting you. Remember what I told you about women, Madsen?”
“Ah yes, how could I forget?” Grant said, the lines of worry on his face quickly replaced by laughter. “They’re the devil spawn.”
“Damn straight,” Roger confirmed. “Women: can’t live with ‘em, can’t kill ‘em.” With a huge guffaw, the captain departed the bridge and walked down the stairs, undoubtedly headed off the ship to procure some hated vegetables for an afternoon snack.
*
Ben grinned, high-fiving his buddy, after his virtual player scored a touchdown. He and two friends were engaged in a full-scale videogame frenzy at ESPN Zone, not far from his uncle’s home.
“Ben!” Dylan yelled, causing him to glance away from the game. “Come on. Let’s shoot some hoops, man!”
Nick nodded in agreement, and they slid out of their chairs facing the giant green screen and headed over to ESPN Hoops Hysteria.
“You are so going down, Dyl.” Ben shook his head.
“Oh, yeah? What makes you think that?” the taller, shaggy-haired boy shot back.
Ben smiled wickedly. “’Cause when the pressure is on, Dyl, you freaking crumble.”
Nick snickered. Last week the three had made their first drug deal, accepting two-hundred ecstasy pills from a well-known local dealer, Aaron Caldwell, then selling them to their classmates. Actually only two of them made the deal, as Dylan panicked and hightailed it out of there when Aaron’s huge German shepherd came to the door first.
Hearing Ben taunt him once again, Dylan realized he would never live down running away. Ben and Nick had each come away with a cool one-hundred-dollar profit, and they were already contemplating their next transaction.
“That was just one time,” Dylan mumbled.
“I think it’s a chronic condition, Dyllie-girl. Your freakout was so epic,” Ben said. “But I gotta take a leak before I school you two in hoops. Be right back.”
Ben turned away from his buddies and entered the men’s room. Once he flushed the urinal, he glanced up at the mirror. His jaw dropped when he saw the reflection of the man behind him.
Staring back at him were two deep-blue eyes.
Whirling around to face his father, Ben’s face was trapped somewhere between delight and anger. Finally, he aimed a lopsided smile toward the tall, black-haired man. “Hi, Dad.”
Logan exhaled with relief and smothered his son in a bear hug. Though allowing his father to scoop him up like that was definitely uncool, Ben could not help but feel pleasure and safety in the sure embrace. It had been too long.
“Happy birthday, son,” Logan said, his voice sounding uncharacteristically shaky.
As they shyly stepped back from one another, both immediately adopted more manly demeanors.
“Did you bring me a gift?” Ben asked.
Logan looked down. “Uh, I wasn’t sure it would be safe to approach you, so, um, no.” He licked his lips nervously. “But next time, okay?”
Crestfallen, Ben nodded. His father hadn’t been around for his fifteenth birthday either, and he was slowly learning not to get his hopes up. “You, um, decided it was safe to talk to me? No cops around?”
“I’m more worried about the feds than the fuzz at this point.”
“The feds?”
“They’re watching you, Ben. Don’t you know that?”
“They don’t care about me,” he scoffed.
Logan looked at his son like he was a complete idiot. “Of course they do. You’re Enzo Barberi’s grandson, for chrissake. The feds were parked right outside Angelo’s place last night for your party.”
Ben’s light-blue eyes widened, then quickly narrowed. “You were there?” His tone was wounded. “But you didn’t come inside?”
“Of course not! I would have been arrested on the spot!”