Aware of her surroundings for the first time in hours, Sophie looked around, trying to discern her location through a veil of tears. She noticed large homes with ornate facades, lush landscaping, and gated entryways. She’d stumbled into the richest section of Chicago: the Gold Coast.
It was probably time to return to Kirsten’s and attempt to pick up the pieces of her shattered life. Reaching for her handbag to find cab fare, she inhaled sharply. She did not have her purse. She’d left it at Grant’s in her haste to get the hell out of there. Now what was she going to do? She had no money, no phone, and no energy to walk all the way home.
Sighing wearily, a new batch of tears cascaded down her cheeks. She fought the urge to collapse on the sidewalk and never move again. But then another idea entered her mind.
Tonight had been a complete disaster. Did she really want to risk adding to the pain and rejection she’d already endured? But Hunter’s pesky encouragements nagged at her, and she found her feet moving, as if they had a mind of their own.
The streets looked more and more familiar. She attempted to quell the butterflies flitting about in her stomach by telling herself no matter what happened, things could not get any worse for her tonight. She’d already lost one man she loved, why not go for two? She might as well get it over with.
Entering the code on the keypad, Sophie sighed with relief when the heavy metal gate clicked open. He had not changed the pass code in the past year. Was that a sign?
She trudged forward, her feet throbbing from walking miles in high-heeled shoes, and paused in front of the opulent cherry door. Taking a deep breath and shaking her hair out a bit, Sophie pressed the doorbell. She closed her eyes and waited, detecting dead silence from within.
She was not wearing a watch but figured it had to be after midnight. Was this really the way she wanted to see him again after all this time? Would he be angry with her for waking him? Biting her lip, she pressed the doorbell again and fidgeted as she waited.
Finally a light flipped on inside. She swallowed hard as the deadbolt unlocked and the door slowly opened, revealing a man in his early sixties with graying brown hair and intense blue eyes. His expression became shock and concern once he saw her tearstained cheeks.
“Daddy?” she choked out.
“Oh, Sophie,” he said, swiftly gathering her into his arms. As she clutched her father, Sophie bawled with utter relief. At least one man she loved would not hurt her tonight.
29. You Only Realize What You’ve Got When It’s Gone
For the first time since his mother’s death, Jerry Stone did not feel immensely sad. He had actually fallen asleep quickly the previous evening, and even more miraculously, he had awoken before his alarm this morning. There was a slight bounce to his step, and a strange optimism that maybe he could help at least one of today’s parolees stay out of prison. He didn’t know how to explain this break in the dark cloud hovering over him for the past five days, but he welcomed the reprieve.
Turning the corner inside the courthouse, he noticed a con already waiting for him, though it was a full twenty minutes before his day began. Parolees were never this early for their dreaded appointments. As he got closer, he recognized Grant’s lanky physique and midnight-black hair.
“Did you get your days mixed up, Madsen?” he called. “Today’s Thursday—”
He stopped short once he got a good look at the purple bruise blooming on Grant’s left cheek. “Where’d you get that shiner?”
Grant ducked his head. “May I talk to you, sir? Do you have a couple of minutes?”
Apparently, yesterday’s almost-arrest hadn’t scared the parolee away for long. Intrigued, Jerry unlocked his door and held it open, gesturing into his office, “After you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Grant stepped inside.
After they were both seated, Jerry asked again, “What happened to your face?”
Grant took a deep breath. “You remember how you told me to stay away from my family?” His full lips formed a sad smile. “I didn’t listen very well. Logan Barberi visited me last night.”
Jerry scrunched his bushy eyebrows. “Madsen, are you telling me you’ve been associating with criminals again, violating your parole?”
Sighing, he replied, “Yes, sir.”
“Why are you telling me this when you know it can land you back inside?”
“I was up half the night worrying about what happened, and I already ran along the lake and did pushups this morning, but I couldn’t get my head straight. I had to get out of that apartment. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go. So I asked myself, what would a member of my family do in this situation? What would Logan do if he had broken the law? And I tried to do the exact opposite.” Grant shrugged. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Because your brother, Logan, would never report himself to a police officer like you’re doing now.”
“Precisely, sir.”
“Logan gave you that shiner?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I hope you gave him something in return.”
Grant’s only reply was a slight smirk.
“Do you know the whereabouts of your brother, Madsen?”
“No, sir.”
Jerry had no choice but to believe him. They sat in silence as Jerry tried in vain to understand the parolee sitting across from him. Grant finally spoke up.
“Aren’t you going to arrest me, sir?”
“What about Sophie? Won’t you miss her if you return to prison?”
Hearing her name made Grant flinch, and he struggled to compose himself. “That was another reason I wanted to see you, to let you know I followed your advice to tell Sophie who I really am. Well, Logan showed up before I had the chance to tell her myself, but she knows now all the same. She knows the truth.”
“Taylor knows Logan Barberi is your brother?”
“Yes, sir,” Grant said. “And I, um, now I know why you wanted me to tell Sophie who I was. Now I understand Logan’s involvement in Sophie’s arrest.” Grant looked sickened. “I finally get why you seemed so freaked out when you discovered my real identity.”
Jerry studied the young man sitting ramrod straight, fighting to maintain self-control. Grant radiated such melancholy and resignation that the parole officer felt strangely protective of him. Every fiber of Jerry’s being strained against the idea of throwing him back in prison.
“Your real identity?” Jerry gently inquired. The parole officer reached his right hand across the desk and held it out expectantly.
Confused, Grant stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before grasping it in a firm handshake. “I know your real identity,” Jerry said, looking Grant in the eye while continuing to clasp his hand. “You’re not Grant Barberi. You’re Grant Madsen.”
Grant felt a lump form in his throat. He had to pull his hand back from the older man’s grasp lest he start crying, and he clenched his teeth to keep the tears at bay.
“I’ve lost her,” he said in a heartbroken voice.
Jerry leaned forward on the desk. “You don’t know that for sure. What did Sophie say when she found out?”