Having no idea how to respond to this order, Angelo sat frozen, so his brother continued speaking, his voice low and tight. “Do you know how fucking miserable it is to be locked up in this shit-dump while my son’s murderer goes free? To be stuck in here while some cocky son of a bitch struts around town, thinking he can pull one over on
me?”
Angelo slowly raised his eyes to meet the belligerent gaze of his brother. “Logan’s murderer did not go free,” he said quietly.
Enzo lunged forward, then sprung back, recoiling as his chains restrained him. “You caught him? You got Logan’s killer?”
Angelo had no choice but to avert his eyes, sickened to be the one to deliver the news. With palpable waves of fury and anticipation coming through the metal grating, Angelo could wait no longer. “It was Carlo.”
A stunned silence blanketed the cage. Enzo had endured some horrendous incidents in his lifetime, but even he succumbed to shocked stupor upon hearing Angelo’s confession. Was he telling the truth? He wouldn’t lie about this, would he? When Enzo could finally speak again, his voice was controlled. “Your son…killed my son? Carlo killed my boy?”
Angelo nodded, still not meeting Enzo’s eyes.
“Look at me, you fuck.”
Angelo obeyed his older brother, finding Enzo seething now, the control in his voice long gone.
“Your son Carlo—the reason I’ve been locked up in this shithole for twenty-two years—he m-m-murdered my son.”
Gulping, Angelo confirmed, “Yes.”
“
Why?”
The one-word question was so vehement, so forceful, that Angelo found himself flinching, despite the protective cage.
“I—I’m not sure. He was always jealous of Logan—you know that.” Angelo sighed loudly, defeated. “There was something wrong with Carlo from the start. I…” his voice dropped off “…I didn’t raise him so good.”
Enzo shook his head disgustedly. “You think just because I saved Carlo once, I won’t retaliate this time? This is my son’s
life
we’re talking about, Ange. You better fucking hope you can protect that little sniveling bastard—”
“He’s already dead,” Angelo interrupted.
“Carlo’s dead?” Enzo asked, his eyes narrowing. “Did you kill him?”
Angelo’s eyes widened. He could never kill his own son! His flesh and blood! His cheeks colored, remembering how he’d detested the reminders of Carlo’s screw-ups, how many times he’d wished his son was gone. Now Carlo
was
gone, and Angelo felt no reprieve. All that was left was remorse.
Finally Angelo answered. “It wasn’t me who killed him. It was…Grant.”
Enzo’s jaw went slack, and his face whitened. He remembered Grant on his first day at Gurnee: dressed in prison blues, his defiant bravado completely failing to hide his fear at facing his father.
Then he flashed back to those big, sky-blue eyes framed by a chubby little face, looking up at him through glassy tears. Half-drunk, Enzo had towered unsteadily over the boy with a folded belt in his hand. Grant pleaded in a small, strained voice,
Please, Dad. Please, no more. I’ll be good. I promise.
Enzo shuddered.
“Do the cops know?”
Angelo nodded.
“Why isn’t Grant back inside then?”
“It was self-defense. Carlo came after a couple of girls, and Grant intervened. They, uh, apparently wrestled for the gun, and it went off. Carlo got shot in the chest.”
This didn’t sound like his younger son at all. This didn’t sound like behavior the fucking pansy Joe Madsen would approve of. “Did Grant—did he know Carlo killed Logan?”
Angelo nodded guiltily. Despite himself, Enzo felt pride blooming in his chest. His son, formerly an utter waste, had exacted revenge for Logan’s death. Grant had taken care of business more expertly than Enzo’s own men, swiftly seeking justice while neatly keeping himself out of prison. Enzo was impressed.
“You give Grant a message from me,” Enzo ordered, and Angelo listened intently. “You tell him I want to see him. I need to talk to him. And if you so much as
touch
him for what he did to Carlo…”
“I already told Joe Madsen I wouldn’t retaliate.”
Enzo’s face flushed a crimson red. “Who the fuck cares about Joe Madsen? You promise
me
you won’t touch my son, and that’s all that matters.”
“It’s done,” Angelo replied succinctly, suddenly overwhelmed by sadness. “Carlo deserved what he got.”
As the announcement blared that visitation was over, the two COs unlocked the cage and hauled Enzo to his feet. “Tell Grant I want to see him,” Enzo reiterated as he was led away.
Angelo tiredly shuffled to the parking lot, Enzo’s parting words ringing in his ears. There’d be no way in hell Grant would willingly visit his father.
As he eased into his car, Angelo glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. Enzo was right. He
did
look like shit.
***
“Is that wind?” Sophie inquired over the phone. “Are you outside?”
“I’m at a construction site,” Will Taylor lied. Glancing around him at the neat rows of headstones, he continued trudging toward his destination.
“At least it’s a warm wind,” she said.
“Yes, the Windy City’s much more tolerable in the summer,” he agreed. “Listen, honey, I know you have to get back to work, but I just wanted to check on you.”
“Dad, I’m fine.”
He bit his lip, and his grip tightened on his cell phone. Unable to control himself, he blurted, “You’re not spending too much time with Grant, are you?”
She sighed wearily. “I just saw him at our PO’s. You do realize we’re living together, right?”
“You know you’re always welcome in my house. You’d have much more room.”
“We’ve been through this before.” Sophie felt her throat tighten. She didn’t want to end this conversation with yelling once again. “I have to go,” she said coldly.
“Okay,” he reluctantly agreed as he arrived at Laura’s plot. They exchanged hasty goodbyes, and he folded his phone. He squatted next to his wife’s grave and tapped the phone to his forehead with one hand. A sense of dread consumed him. “Please, God,” he whispered, bowing his head. “Please keep Sophie safe.”
All he heard was the faint howl of a breeze rustling through the ash trees lining the graveyard. Glancing at her headstone, he spoke quietly. “I’m sorry, Laura. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”
He remained huddled near her grave for several minutes before the shrill ring of the phone interrupted his reverie. When he saw the caller ID, he stopped breathing.
Reluctantly flipping open his phone, he listened for a moment, then nodded grimly. “You’ll have your money,” he pledged. “I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never forget again.”
“Wow, that was fast!” Sophie’s hand shot into her purse as she heard the soft bell indicating she had a text message. “I didn’t even notice you typing.”
Grant smiled proudly. “Ben’s working with me during breaks on the ship. That kid’s texting skills are amazing.”
“How
is
your nephew?”
Grant sighed. “He’s your typical teenager: rude, lazy, and exasperating.”
Sophie frowned for a moment, then giggled as she read his message, remembering the day they’d traded hotdog puns at the baseball game.
Are your buns warm?
Grinning, she leaned in to him and murmured “McSailor’s got mad skills too” before planting a soft kiss on his temple. Grant cupped her chin in his hand and brought her lips to his own. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a blond man step into the room.
Grant straightened up in his chair and nodded to Hunter, who smirked and shook his head.
“I’ve
never
seen so much PDA from a couple in counseling,” their therapist said.
The couple in question rose from their chairs, a soft blush forming on Sophie’s high cheekbones, and accompanied Hunter down the hall.
“But I bet you’ve never seen a couple mandated for therapy as a condition of their parole either,” said Sophie.
“That’s true.” Hunter opened his office door and the three took their seats. “It’s actually nice to see some loving affection, as opposed to partners screaming at each other all the time.” An added bonus was that every time he witnessed Grant caressing or kissing Sophie, Hunter’s attraction dissipated slightly. Grant was undoubtedly heterosexual, which comforted him.
“So we’re doing okay, then?” Sophie asked, turning her gaze to Hunter.
“I’d say your relationship is doing more than okay,” he said, “especially given all of the traumas you’ve gone through.”
Grant felt a rush of relief course through him. He didn’t know why the psychologist’s opinion mattered so much—Grant was still a bit suspicious of this therapy thing—but his relationship with Sophie meant the world to him, and it was quite reassuring to receive the shrink’s stamp of approval.
Nodding toward Sophie’s left arm, Hunter gave her a warm smile. “It’s great to see the sling gone.” He glanced at Grant, who also seemed happy the reminder of the gunshot wound had vanished. “So, how’s it been going?” Hunter inquired. “Have you two been practicing an interdependent relationship?”
A pink color spread on Grant’s olive skin and Sophie emitted a tiny giggle.
“I think you might’ve made a better case for an enmeshed relationship,” said Sophie with a laugh. “At least by Grant’s definition of enmeshed—the partners lying one on top of the other.”
“Sophie!” Grant looked mortified, his cheeks now crimson.
She laughed again. “It’s okay, Grant. It’s okay to talk about sex in therapy.” She looked to Hunter for confirmation. “Right, Hunter?”
“Absolutely.” He nodded, trying to ignore the stirring below his belt as Grant blushed adorably like a schoolboy. He was so damn cute! “Sex is an important part of any relationship.”
Hearing those words out loud, his thoughts drifted to Bradley and the steamy session they’d enjoyed last evening. Suddenly Hunter felt better about his arousal. “Sex inevitably comes up in couples counseling.”
“We have to talk about sex in
here?
” Grant asked, horrified. “With
you?”
“Surely you’ve talked about sex with other guys before,” Hunter reasoned. “You were in the Navy, for heaven’s sake.”
“Well…um, yeah,” Grant stuttered unconvincingly. “But they weren’t…” He squirmed in his seat. “No offense, sir, but they weren’t gay.”
Hunter was taken aback. He desperately hoped Grant hadn’t picked up on his attraction. Flustered, his gaze darted about the room before landing on Sophie.
“I’m sorry, Hunter,” she said in a tight voice. When both men looked at her with puzzled expressions, she continued. “I’m sorry for Grant’s homophobic comment.”
“I’m not homophobic!” Grant insisted. “I just don’t want to discuss my sex life with my damn shrink, okay?”
Hunter was reeling. There were about one hundred potential directions to take this conversation, and he hoped the one he started with would be therapeutic. Still muddled by the very personal nature of his feelings toward Grant, he decided to address Sophie first.
“Hold on, Sophie. You’re apologizing to me for Grant’s comment?”
“Yes, I thought it was very
disrespectful.
” Her last word was directed at her boyfriend, who now appeared rather nervous about her obvious disappointment in him.
“I see. So you’re responsible for the words coming out of his mouth, then?” Hunter asked.
“But—I—he—” She halted, looking flummoxed, then let out her breath in a loud sigh. “Shit. I’m caretaking again, aren’t I?”
Hunter’s grin eased the tension in the room. Grant glanced back and forth between them, trying to keep up. Eventually he spoke. “I apologize if I’ve insulted you, sir.”
“No offense taken, Grant,” Hunter assured him. “You’ve never known a gay man before?”
Grant looked at the floor. “I don’t think so, sir.”
“How’s that possible?” Sophie interjected. Gay men were everywhere.
“It seems
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell
is a rather effective policy,” Hunter responded. “Plus, many kids get the message from their religion or their family that homosexuality is wrong—a sin. I’m guessing a Catholic Mafia family would launch a full-out attack on anyone who appeared remotely gay?”
Fucking faggot.
Grant didn’t remember when or why his father had spit out those vitriolic words, but they immediately popped into his head. He nodded guiltily.
Sophie thought for a moment before admitting, “I guess my dad’s hardly the champion of gay rights either.”
Hunter tilted his head and scrutinized his clients.
Grant turned away until Hunter began speaking to him.
“The good news is that one of the best ways to reduce prejudice is to get to know a diversity of people, which can break through stereotypes. Obviously we can’t be friends since we’ve entered into a therapeutic relationship, but perhaps this’ll be an opportunity to learn a bit about homosexuality, if you like. I’ll certainly do my best to answer any questions you have.”
“How are you so non-defensive about this?” Sophie demanded. “Doesn’t it hurt your feelings that some people refuse to accept your sexual orientation?”
Stroking his chin pensively, Hunter said, “I used to get really riled up about it, and sometimes I still do. But I’ve also learned, after fifteen years of counseling, that people have reasons for what they do. I may not like it when a client has a different way of looking at the world than I do, but fortunately I get a glimpse of understanding. Surely when you were doing therapy you had the opportunity to appreciate what motivated your clients to behave in seemingly bizarre ways?”
She twirled a strand of strawberry-blond hair, contemplating what he said. She’d certainly grasped why Logan was so reticent and mistrustful. His father had simply beaten the trust out of him. “I guess so,” she softly agreed.
“Let’s try to understand each other more, then,” Hunter suggested. “Now that your ridiculous pact is a thing of the past, how about you two ask each other some questions to get to know each other better? Find out what makes the other tick.”
Sophie found herself bursting with questions, and she had no problem being the first to take Hunter up on his suggestion. She turned to Grant, picking up on a comment he made earlier. “So, you didn’t talk about sex much with your buddies?”
He shrugged. “There wasn’t much to discuss.”
“What do you mean? I’m sure you were the big stud. You must have lots of stories.”
Grant’s face colored as he realized the conversation was taking an undesirable turn. He’d be embarrassed as hell if she learned about his lack of sexual prowess. Trying to throw out something, anything to satisfy her, he mumbled, “I, um, I had some girlfriends when I lived on the base, but I didn’t exactly want to deflower the daughters of Navy officers—not if I wanted to live.”
Hunter grinned and Sophie asked, “What about in college?”
Damn.
Apparently she was going to ask more questions. “Uh, I dated one girl in ROTC.”
“What was her name?”
That question seemed safe enough. “Pamela.”
Sophie easily slipped into interrogation mode. “Did you have sex with her?”
Grant’s eyes pleaded with Hunter to rescue him, but the psychologist stayed quiet, sporting a neutral facial expression. He wanted to hear this as well.
Finally Grant responded. “Yes, but we broke up our senior year.”
Sophie considered his answer. “You were both in ROTC—were you ordered to go to different assignments?”
“No, this was before we were deployed. She…” He looked down, nervously clenching his hands together. “She wanted to meet my family. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Oh.” Sophie bit her lip, not knowing what to say. She looked to Hunter, who nodded at her, seeming to encourage her to continue. He liked it when couples talked to each other instead of through him, as long as the communication was constructive. And considering their ongoing trust issues, Hunter believed they needed to put it all out on the table.
“So, what happened to Pamela?” Sophie asked tentatively. “Should I be worried about her?” she added lightly.
Grant didn’t smile. “She’s married. I read about it in the Notre Dame alumni magazine.”
I’d be married too,
he thought,
if only I came from a different family.
“Phew,” Sophie responded, exaggeratedly wiping her brow.
This did bring a slight grin to Grant’s face, though it faded quickly upon hearing her next question:
“How about after college? I bet you had tons of girlfriends.”
Once again he blushed furiously. Unable to speak, he simply shook his head.
Sophie’s lips parted with disbelief. “Grant Madsen, are you lying to me? You’re telling me you’ve only had sex with one woman?”
“Thanks for rubbing it in,” Grant commented ruefully before narrowing his eyes at Hunter. “This therapy thing is
great.
”
“No, I’m not trying to make fun of you!” Sophie protested, suddenly feeling a little nervous about her own more-extensive sexual history. She gazed at him endearingly. “I simply adore that you have no idea how damn hot you are.”
Hunter agreed. He adored Grant’s modesty too.
Bradley, Bradley, Bradley
, he silently repeated, attempting to focus.
She caressed Grant’s strong jaw, eagerly leaning in to him. Facing her on the sofa, he drew her even closer for a loving kiss.
“I also find your lack of experience hard to believe,” she added, her face inches from his, “since you’re so magnificent in bed.” They smiled through their next kiss.
Bradley, Bradley, Bradley…
“And how do
you
know I’m skilled in bed?” Grant retorted, pulling back from the kiss and shooting her an expectant look.
Now Sophie turned to Hunter, hoping for assistance, but he just smiled. “Turnabout is fair play, Sophie.”
She scowled. Grant derived great pleasure from the story of her first boyfriend, Derek Bowden, her father’s former employee who’d failed a drug test at the construction company. “So I’m not the only boyfriend your father’s disapproved of?”
“Oh-ho-ho,” Sophie replied, shaking her head and chuckling. “You’re certainly not alone in that. My father’s disapproved of every single boyfriend I’ve ever had—except the almost-boyfriend he didn’t know about.”
“And who would that be?” Grant inquired.
Sophie realized she’d spoken before thinking. She had no desire to share the tale of falling for her married grad-school professor with Grant, though he’d answered all of
her
probing questions.
She glanced up, finding a hint of amusement in his shining blue eyes. “Well, it wasn’t really a relationship,” she began. “More like a schoolgirl crush on my professor that was very one-sided, as I embarrassingly discovered after confessing my love for him. God, I was such an idiot!”
Grant watched her berate herself, and he wondered how on earth a man could have turned her down.
“He was married,” she finally admitted, examining Grant’s expression for disapproval, but finding only surprise.
Now Grant wondered why such a beautiful, fascinating woman would need to throw herself at a married man.
“He
is
married,” she amended, looking at Hunter. “Did I tell you I have the
pleasure
of working with him now?”
Hunter quirked his eyebrows. “Your professor is still at DePaul?”
Grant felt his stomach twist. Sophie’s former crush was working with her every day? Why hadn’t he heard about this before?
“Yeah,” she confirmed. “David Alton’s still there. He’s Kirsten’s advisor, of all things. And her dissertation defense is coming up, so I’ll be seeing a lot of him, I’m afraid. At least I don’t have to be on Kirsten’s committee.”
Grant’s voice was not as steady as he’d hoped. “Your professor—Dr. Alton, is it?” When Sophie nodded, he continued, “Why did you like him?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know, Grant… It was over five years ago! David just had this suave, older-man thing going on—”
“How old is he?”
“Almost fifty, I think.”
Grant’s jaw dropped. He didn’t want to ask his next question but knew he must. “Do you still like him?”
“No!” She watched his expression carefully. “What are you thinking? Do you think I’m an awful person?”
“No.” His response was just as emphatic. “I’m just trying to wrap my mind around how a woman as beautiful as you would be attracted to these losers.”
His compliment made tears prickle at the back of her eyes, and she didn’t trust herself to speak.
Hunter jumped in. “That’s exactly
my
question, Grant. Do you want to share the insights you’ve learned about your dating life, Sophie?”
She nodded and took a deep breath. “Hunter and I talked about the
losers
I’ve dated—” she aimed a small smile at Grant “—well, except for you, of course, and we figured out that I chose bad boys and older men to try to get back at my father. He’s never approved of me, and I wanted to show him I didn’t need
his
approval by deliberately picking partners he would hate. It’s sick, really.” She shrugged her shoulders in defeat.