7

tabby

 

“Do you need booze?” Jess asked, standing in the open doorway of my office. “’Cause you really look like you need booze.”

The heels of my palms continued to press into my eyes as I groaned. “I don’t need alcohol, Jess.”

“I know you’re saying that, but you really, really look desperate,” she insisted. “You know, my brother smokes weed when he gets too stressed out, and let me tell you, it does the trick. Sometimes getting high is exactly what you need to—”

Dropping my hands to my desk, I stared at her with incredulity. “I’m not stressed.”

Jess pressed a hip into the doorframe and cocked her head, pursing her lips with a dose of her own disbelief. “Yeah. Right. And Alex isn’t a flaming homosexual.”

“Loud and proud, honey!” Alex crowed as he approached Jess, taking a place next to her in the doorway. “Look at our poor little girl. I think cocktails are in order, what do you say?”

“I can’t,” I persisted, shifting my glare from one employee to the other. “I have dinner plans tonight.”

Jess’s jaw flopped open. “Oh my God, tell me you’re going out with Thor.”

“Thor?” Alex asked, pinching his brows.

With a zealous twirl on her heel, Jess pressed her palms against the lavender breast of Alex’s button-down dress shirt. “You missed it. This guy walked in earlier looking for Tabitha. He had to be at least six-two, with a blonde man-bun, gorgeous brown eyes, ink everywhere, and muscles for days. Total panty-dropper.”

“Jeez, Jess,” I gawked with a shake of my head. “Why don’t you just paint a picture for us?”

“Oh, please do,” Alex nodded encouragingly. He dipped his head to stare into Jess’s eager eyes. “Did you happen to snap a pic of this fine specimen?”

An exaggerated pout puffed out Jess’s bottom lip. “I didn’t. I was too busy committing his ass to memory, sorry.”

Alex turned to me expectantly. “But you’re going to dinner with him?”

“I never said that!” My tone jumped an octave and my two colleagues simultaneously cocked their heads. Busted. “It’s not what either of you are thinking.”

“Well, I mean, sex is good at relieving stress too, so …” Jess shrugged innocently while her eyebrows jumped with the suggestion.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. I might’ve adopted a life of reserve and structure, but I’m not dead and I’d have to be to not pick up on Sebastian’s appeal. He oozed of danger and risk—everything exciting—but there wasn’t a single characteristic I’d picked up on thus far that said he was a good idea.

Because he wasn’t.

“Knock it off,” I demanded, my tone hard and serious. “He’s not here for me, okay?”

“Oh?” Jess questioned, crossing her arms to ward off the sting of my reprimand. “Then why exactly would a gift from the Nordic gods be walking into your real estate office in Middle of Nowhere, New York?”

I stood up from my desk with more gusto than necessary, sending my chair rolling toward the wall. “Because he’s Greyson’s fucking father, that’s why. I found his information in some of Sam’s stuff, and asked him to come here to help me with him, okay? There will be no booze, there will be no pot, and there will certainly be no sex. Now, please, I have some shit to deal with before I have to pick up Greyson and then deal with his bullshit before we meet Sebastian for dinner.”

It didn’t take long for the embarrassment to hit me. My emotions were usually so disciplined but lately I could feel the control slipping from my grasp. It wasn’t any surprise that all areas of my life were struggling, and I reminded myself that this was exactly why I had requested help from Sebastian.

Neither Alex or Jess left the office. They just stared with grimaces fixed on their faces.

Clapping a hand to my forehead, I pressed my lids shut. “I’m sorry, guys,” I breathed, voice thick with apology as I dropped into my chair. 

“Honey,” Alex soothed, rushing into the office and around my desk. His gentle hands squeezed my shoulders. “Don’t apologize. You’ve been taking quite the little journey through Hell. We know that, and we understand.”

“I know you know,” I heaved a sigh and let my head droop forward. “But it doesn’t excuse taking it out on you.”

“Hold on just one second.” Jess hurried away from the office door. I listened as she rifled through some things, while Alex’s hands worked expertly at my shoulders. When Jess returned, I wasn’t surprised to find her wielding a mini bottle of Grey Goose. “Here. I was saving this for my next sale, but you obviously need it way more than I do.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I had indulged in a drink, whether to numb the pain or otherwise. Every time I thought I might, something diverted my attention and called me away from indulging in a moment of weakness. Now, staring at that tiny bottle of vodka, I thought about my list of responsibilities for the day. Plot the next move on the Worthington house, return a few phone calls, pick up Greyson, and meet Sebastian for dinner. Every single one of them picked away at my nerves and every one added another increment of unneeded stress.

But there was vodka, and it would help.

I outstretched my hand. “Give it here,” I demanded with the faintest hint of a grateful smile.

Cracking it open, Jess stepped forward, dangling the open bottle from her fingertips. “I will give this to you, but first you have to promise me something.”

“What?” I whined, ready to snatch the bottle away from her.

“You’re taking this weekend off.”

Flitting my gaze from the bottle to her eyes, I scowled and shook my head fervently. “I can’t do that!”

“Yes. You. Can,” Alex insisted, squeezing my shoulders with every syllable. “We can handle things over here. You haven’t taken time off in … well, shit, I can’t remember the last time you took a break.”

There was truth in that. Even throughout the tragedies of the past year, I never took an entire day off work. Between funerals and wakes, I was always stopping into the office and checking on business. Even if it was only to make sure we had enough paper cups at the water cooler. Anything to tear me away from the emotional hell I would never allow myself to succumb to.

“I don’t know, guys,” I sighed, unable to submit that easily.

“It isn’t a suggestion.” Jess shook her head, waving the bottle in front of my eyes. Hypnotizing me with liquid courage. “I don’t care if all you do is binge Outlander and get completely plastered. You’re taking a long weekend to do what you haven’t been doing all year.”

“Oh, it’s a long weekend now?” I grunted bitterly. “And what is it that I haven’t been doing?”

Alex lowered his lips to my ear and whispered, “Taking care of yourself.”

“Fine,” I groused, snatching the bottle away from Jess’s waving hand. “I’ll take the weekend.”

“And you’re not allowed to call,” Jess tacked on, pointing one little finger at me.

With the bottle tipped to my lips, I narrowed my eyes at her. “We’ll see.”

 

***

 

While parked outside of Greyson’s school, I lifted my planner to scan over the scribbled appointments and reminders.

After indulging in the miniature bottle of Grey Goose, sipping it slowly while listening to music with my door closed, I had focused on the Worthington house. During the months I’d spent trying to sell the place, I had become emotionally invested in it. The more I lingered on it, the sadder it made me. When I looked at it and its solid brick exterior, I couldn’t imagine anybody not falling in love with it; I certainly had. Stepping inside, you couldn’t help but gasp at the beauty in every inch of craftsmanship that went into constructing the home from the inside out. From the winding staircase in the entryway to the delicate floral design in the parqueted floors, it was all utterly breathtaking.

Hell, if I had the money, I’d buy it myself.

In real estate though, the problem was always what was hiding within the walls. The weighted sadness hidden in the framework was something you couldn’t fumigate or exterminate. No contractor on the planet possessed the ability to remove the fingerprint of tragedy and history, and I was convinced that every potential buyer could feel it.

Initially, I thought it was just me. Being no stranger to the heavy burden of loss, I picked up on it right away, as I stepped inside from the creaking old porch. I knew immediately that Mr. Worthington had died in that house, joining the other ghosts that dwelled in every groan of a floorboard or squeal of a door hinge. Things like that didn’t bother me. It added history and character, but I soon realized that I was very alone in feeling that way.

I sighed and closed my planner. The perfect buyer was out there. I just wasn’t sure that I was the one to find him or her, and the thought of giving up felt like treason.

Greyson wrenched the car door open and practically threw himself into the passenger seat. Spotting the slip of paper clenched in his hand, I immediately assumed it was another ill-mannered joke from his so-called friends. I wrenched it from his grasp and widened my eyes immediately at the bold black letters printed on the grey paper.

“In-school suspension?” I gasped with exasperation. “Greyson! What happened?”

“Nothing,” was his muffled reply, his fist pressed to his lips as he stared out the window.

“Uh, well, excuse me but this doesn’t look like nothing,” I snapped in reply. “You’re going to tell me right now what you did to get yourself suspended.”

Greyson twisted his neck abruptly, bitterness searing the eyes that suddenly looked so much like Sebastian’s. “I got into a fight, okay? I punched—”

“You punched someone?” My exhale barreled from my chest, leaving me empty and aching. “Why? Why the hell would you do that?”

Greyson wasn’t a violent kid. Never had been. For him to act out physically only meant that he’d been pushed past his breaking point. And I hadn’t seen it coming. How had I not seen it coming?

God, Sam, what the hell am I doing to him?

“Because …” His explanation faded with the crack in his voice. His eyes brimming with tears and lips pinching with the determination not to give in.

“Grey.” I reached across the car, gripping his knee and squeezing reassuringly. “I’m not mad, okay? Just tell me what happened.”

“Jason called Mom a whore.” His whisper seemed to echo through the car’s interior. The muscles in his throat worked as he tipped his head against the seat to stare at the ceiling. “So, I fucking punched him. Okay? That’s what happened.”

Another deflating exhale escaped my tired lungs as I slumped into my seat. Whore was such a harsh word, and the guilt of having accused my sister of being one myself swept over me. Memories of the night she announced her pregnancy plundered my mind with the terrible things that were said. The knee-jerk reactions that came in the form of hurtful insults.

“Greyson …” Volume couldn’t reach my voice past the lump of foreboding emotion. “I hope you know that’s not true.”

“Yeah, well,” he sucked in his emotion, replacing his tears with a face of stone, “she was fucking his dad that night, so I guess he would know better than me.”

I couldn’t help my gasp. I knew Sam had been out with a guy that night, and thanks to the toxicology report, I knew she’d been drinking with him. What I didn’t know was that she’d been with the father of a kid from Greyson’s school, and I twisted my lips with a quick snap of anger. My sister had gotten around, God knows, but she’d always seemed to keep her impulses in check around the school parents.

Lifting a hand to my mouth and clutching my lips in its grasp, I stared out the window toward nothing at all, still gripping the in-school suspension notice in my hand.

“We’ve had one hell of a year, Grey,” I found myself saying, disbelief shaking my head.

“Yeah, no shit,” he mumbled, dropping his gaze to the twisting fingers on his lap.

“I wish I could tell you it was going to get better,” I replied ruefully. “But I have to tell you something.”

Greyson turned to me with the pain of someone beyond his years. “What?”

I reached out with a trembling hand and brushed a spray of blonde from his forehead. I made an attempt at a brave smile only to grimace in anticipation of an outburst that would likely send our world into yet another crisis, and I whispered, “I found your dad.”