Adam snorted. “His ‘magical ways’ involve asking me where I am and me telling him.”
“Hmm. I like his version better. More interesting.” Walt ordered a tap beer from the bartender and nodded toward the drink Adam had been nursing. Adam had lost track of exactly how long he’d sat there. “Drowning your sorrows?”
“Just thirsty,” he muttered, taking an unenthusiastic sip from his glass.
When he’d told Trevor he was taking the day off, he’d added that he’d have a decision about the offered promotion by the middle of next week. In response, Trevor had asked if he was okay. He’d said he understood that Adam was dealing with a lot and he didn’t blame him for needing a few hours to think.
And somehow during that brief conversation, Trevor had pulled out exactly where Adam was going to do that thinking. And had then shared that information with their mutual friend.
“Did Trevor send you?”
Walt shook his head. “No. That was my decision.”
“Why?”
“I needed to see my client. In person.”
“Nothing’s wrong, is it?”
“Other than you being an idiot, you mean?” Walt took a drink of his beer, leaving the question hanging.
Adam scowled. “Don’t rag on me, okay? You wouldn’t understand.”
Rather than taking offense, Walt nodded agreeably. “Yeah, I’d never understand what it’s like to come back from war scarred both physically and emotionally, too messed up to keep a relationship together, too jumpy to attend a Fourth of July fireworks display.”
Grimacing, Adam shook his head. “Damn it, Walt. That’s not what I meant.”
“Maybe I understand better than you think. Just saying.”
They drank in silence for a while before Adam asked, “Did you talk to them?”
Walt didn’t need clarification. “I talked with Maddie. She believes Joanna would prefer that you set up a fund for Simon on your own and contribute to it as you choose. Joanna wants nothing to do with the financial arrangements.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. She’s too proud.” And stubborn and independent and smart and caring—in addition to so many other admirable qualities that she could almost qualify for sainthood, he thought glumly. Something no one had ever said about him.
His friend nodded. “That’s what I said. Maddie agreed.”
Adam glanced sideways at his companion. “You still have a thing for her?”
Walt gazed into his glass. “She’s definitely something. But like I said before, hardly in my league.”
Remembering his early impressions of spunky, smart-mouthed, slick and chic Maddie Zielinski, Adam didn’t try to argue. He couldn’t say that Walt and Maddie were any better a match than he and Maddie’s competently professional yet still happily domestic sister. The sister he’d overheard saying she would like more children, who seemed to have no issues with commitments or parenthood or tangled family ties. “Maddie’s probably too young for you, anyway.”
“She doesn’t seem to think so. At least, not if I’m reading her signals correctly—and I’m pretty sure I am. She’s not exactly subtle.”
“Oh.” A little taken aback, Adam muttered, “I guess I thought she wouldn’t want to be involved with someone who represents the, uh, opposition.”
“The opposition? I thought you were the one who insisted there’s no conflict. Nobody’s trying to make you pay up or sign anything or stay anywhere you don’t want to be.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Just letting you know you have a friend. I fought my demons a long time ago, Adam. Wouldn’t say I won, exactly, but I’ve got the bastards beaten into submission most of the time. Thing is, I didn’t do it alone. You don’t have to, either.”
Again, silence seemed to be the only response Adam could muster. He’d been alone for so long, he didn’t know how to react when told he didn’t have to be. His demons had become part of him a long time ago, and he wasn’t sure beating them into submission was even an option at this point. Still, he appreciated the gesture. He hid his discomfort with another gulp of his drink.
Walt lifted his glass, gazing into it thoughtfully. “My old man liked his beer. He wasn’t a mean drunk. Just the opposite, actually. The drunker he got, the cheerier he became. He was cheery a lot.”
He took a sip and set the glass on the bar. “My father wasn’t perfect. My mom had her hands full trying to raise me and my sister and still work two jobs to keep food on the table. Pop had trouble keeping jobs. But he was my dad and I loved him. We all did.”