“I can’t ask Mark, my fiancé. He’s had people use him for money before and I don’t want him to think I’m doing the same, you know? He thinks I have money. And I do. But I’m a little short right now. And they need the deposit now.” She shrugged. “It’s my mom. Like your dad, she’s never bailed on me.”
Brock rolled his neck. “How much are we talking, V?”
“Fifteen thousand dollars.”
“Where would I send this money?” He ran a hand over the back of his neck.
“Me.” She looked desperate.
He shook his head. “I can’t give you fifteen thousand dollars.” He pushed out of his chair. “I can pay the property management company, but I can’t give it to you.”
“Mark would flip if he found out you paid the deposit.” She shook her head. “Or that I’m here asking you for money.”
“That’s all I can do.” She could be clean. The money could be for her mother. But if it wasn’t… Giving money to a recovering addict was enabling their addiction. He wouldn’t do that. “I hope you understand.”
“Yep. I do.” She nodded. “I really do. You’re not the only one who’s listened to the whole ‘giving money to an addict is like handing someone suicidal a loaded gun’ thing. I understand.” Her gaze darted to his father. “Take care of him. And yourself.”
He felt like an ass. He did. “You, too.”
“I am. I will.” She gave him a quick hug. “See you around.”
He stared at the door a good five minutes after she’d left, second-guessing himself. In the end, there was no way of knowing if she was telling the truth or not. He couldn’t own her recovery or take responsibility for her choices. His choices were his own—and he needed to be able to live with them.
“You all right, Son?” his father asked. “You’re pacing like a caged bear.”
“Hey, Dad.” He smiled. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” He sat up. “I could go for something to eat.”
“Grapes?” Brock asked, carrying the bag to the bed.
“That’ll do.” He stared up at the television. “Game over?”
“You didn’t miss much. At this rate, we’ll be going up against the Miami Raiders or the Green Bay Bears in the Championship Bowl.” He chuckled. “If we get there.”
“You will. You’ve got a fire in you this season.” His father popped a grape into his mouth and leaned his head back against the pillow. “You ever wake up knowing you’re forgetting something?” He stared around the room. “People or places or bits of memory on the edge you can’t quite see…”
Brock looked at his father. “Sometimes.”
“I wonder if I’ll ever see the inside of my home again. And if I do, will I know it’s my home?” He turned to Brock. “Will I remember raising you there? Watching you grow up? Listening to Molly banging around in the kitchen at all hours of the day and night?”
Brock took the hand he offered, incapable of saying a word.
“While I’m here, I figure I should tell you how proud I am of you.” He cradled Brock’s hands in his. “You’ve always gone after what you wanted. Worked hard, fought hard. Never gave up.”
“You taught me that. I’m the man I am because of you.”
“You’re a good man, Brock.” He squeezed his hand. “I love you. Even when my head’s scrambled up, I know I love you. Inside, I know you’re my son and I’m proud to be your father.”
Brock nodded, too damn close to tears to say a word.
“Enough of that.” His father let go of his hands. “How about a donut?”
Chapter 16
Emmy Lou stroked Watson’s back, his little purr soothing. And since Momma had insisted on riding with her, talking the whole time, Emmy needed soothing.
“If I didn’t have my appointment, I would come with you.” Momma had been ecstatic over having her hair done at some exclusive salon. That was the whole reason her mother had accompanied them to San Francisco. “Unless you need me to come with you—because of Brock. Will it be too hard knowing everything?”