by Mari Carr
Sean looked around at the kitchen, chuckling as he acknowledged the fact that absolutely nothing was on the stove. He shrugged and said, “So order pizza.”
Gavin dismissed the idea. He’d promised to make a meal. Pizza felt like cheating.
The two of them grabbed a seat at the small table in Erin’s kitchen. Gavin had initially had some reservations about moving in here with Erin and Oliver, but he had to admit, the three of them had fallen into their new living arrangements quite easily.
Sean leaned back in the chair. “Actually, I was hoping to get you to myself. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, but between the fire and all the rebuilding plans going on at work, it’s been tough to steal you away.”
“What’s going on?”
Sean took a long swig of his beer, and Gavin got the sense that whatever his foster dad wanted to say, he wasn’t finding it easy. “Aaron said he told you about your mom getting out of the psych hospital.”
Gavin nodded, somewhat surprised to learn that Sean knew. He wondered if he was upset with Gavin for not telling him himself.
Of course, in his defense, he’d been so busy this past week, he hadn’t had time to give his mother’s release more than a passing thought or two. He still hadn’t even told Oliver that she was walking around a free woman.
“She called the house last Friday afternoon. Day of the fire. Spoke to Lauren.”
Gavin wasn’t sure what he’d expected Sean to say, but it sure as fuck wasn’t that. “Why would she do that?”
“She’s had our names for years, knew that we took you in after she was committed.”
“She’s looking for me.” Gavin wasn’t sure why, but the thought of his mother calling and talking to Lauren upset him more than he would have thought. He never—never—wanted his mother anywhere near Sean, Lauren, or Chad.
Sean nodded. “And I can see by the look on your face that pisses you off. I figured as much, but, well, your mom—Lauren,” Sean clarified.
“Lauren is my mom,” he admitted softly. Gavin was always touched when Sean and Chad referred to themselves as his dads and Lauren his mom. God knew that was what he considered them, even if he’d never been able to call them by those names.
It was still difficult for him to understand, to accept, their unconditional love. Not that they ever stopped trying to get him there.
Sean reached over and patted his hand. “Maybe one day you’ll give those mom and dad titles a spin. I mean, I don’t mind you calling me Sean, but, well…Dad has a nice ring to it too. Should have made that offer a long time ago, but…”
“But I never gave you the chance,” Gavin finished for him. “I know I was a giant pain in the ass during those early years, pretending like I didn’t give a shit about any of you, making your lives hell. Can’t believe you didn’t kick me to the curb.”
Sean was the most fun-loving of Gavin’s three foster parents, while Lauren and Chad, both psychologists, were more serious. So it was strange to look at Sean now and not see that permanent smile on his face. “We were never going to send you away, Gavin. That’s not what family does. We love each other through all of it—the good and the bad times. When you walked into our house that first time with Margie, that badass smirk on your face, I knew in an instant you were meant to be my son. Never saw a stronger kid. The shit your mom put you through would have broken a lesser man. Hell, it would have broken me. But not you. Jesus, son. How you grew up in the midst of all that pain and uncertainty with that big heart of yours still intact, I’ll never know.”
Gavin swallowed hard, afraid to speak, knowing it would give away just how close he was to the verge of tears.
“So I’m just saying…I know you’re a grown-ass man now, but if you want to drop the Sean thing and move over to Dad…that works for me. Just know, if you call me that, you have to call Chad Dad too. He’s a jealous son of a bitch.”
Gavin laughed. There wasn’t a jealous bone in Chad’s body, and Sean knew it, just as he knew exactly how to lighten the mood with a joke. He’d known for years Sean and Chad considered him their son. Maybe they didn’t share the same blood, but that didn’t matter to either of them.
When Gavin thought about all the things Sean had given him over the years—both material and emotional—none of it made him as happy as this offer.
“We planned to tell you about the call last weekend, but then…with the fire…”
“It’s okay.”
“Lauren didn’t give your mother your number. She refused to tell her where you were until we talked to you. You want to see her?”
Gavin hesitated, unsure how to answer. He’d known this was coming, knew she would seek him out, that she would want to see him. But his feelings about that reunion were just as fucked up as they’d been last week. Hell, maybe more so. This week, after the fire, he’d been running on fumes, his emotions raw.
Finally, he shook his head. “Not yet.”
Lauren and Chad had given him books about dealing with childhood abuse, in addition to talking to him about his feelings toward his mother. In the past few years, as he’d gotten older, Lauren had begun to share some online information about what it meant to live with a sociopath.
Every single description had been textbook of the life he’d lived, of his mother’s pathology—her lack of empathy, her disregard for right and wrong, her aggression, her ability to manipulate him to get what she wanted. If there’d been a checkbox next to each description, he could have ticked off every single one.
And it was that information that had him hesitating to schedule a reunion. Regardless of the fact he now understood why she did the things she did, he also knew himself. Knew his personality—his compulsion to take care of someone he loved—didn’t mesh with hers. Not at all.
Not to mention, he was still eaten up with guilt for not going to visit her. Whether that feeling was right or wrong didn’t matter. It was still there. Always in the back of his mind.
He’d never completely opened up to his foster parents, never told them everything that had happened to him, but he’d always listened to them, to their reassurances that he wasn’t alone, that he was stronger than the things he’d suffered. He’d soaked in their words, drank them down like a man dying of thirst.
Gavin realized that unlike him, most kids never got a clean slate, a chance to see parenting from a different perspective. While some might consider fifteen too old to save a kid, Gavin had been saved. Sean, Lauren, and Chad had taught him to love—not only others, but himself as well.
“Fine. If she calls back, we’ll tell her you’re not ready. But, Gavin, if she’s determined to find you…”
“It won’t be that hard. I’m still in Baltimore, working with you, living with Ollie. It’s okay. If she finds me, I’ll deal with it.”
Sean reached over and placed his large, strong hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “I’m proud of the man you’ve become.”
Gavin gave him a wobbly smile. “Thanks.” It was on the tip of his tongue to add Dad, but the word got stuck in his throat.
They stood up at the same time, Sean pulling him close for the quintessential man hug, giving him two hard slaps on the back.
“Well, I’m heading home. Layla’s brothers are coming down from Philly on Monday to look at the pub.”
In addition to trying to replace all the shit they’d lost, he and Oliver had spent the better part of the last three days with Sean, Justin, Killian, and a huge construction crew, gutting the pub and restaurant, reinforcing the structure, pulling out all the burned furniture, shoveling tons of soot and ash, taking the interior down to bare beams. There was still a lot of work to do, but with each passing day, he felt more and more certain they could bring the place back to life.
“What time’s the meeting?” Gavin asked. “Wouldn’t mind stopping in to say hello to those guys.”
Over the course of the past two years, the Moretti brothers had made more than a few trips to Baltimore—they really were overprotective when it came
to Layla and Erin—and as such, they’d been absorbed into the Collins clan. He’d thrown back quite a few pints with Tony, Joe, Luca, and Gio in the pub, and he was grateful for their willingness to help restore it.
“Around ten o’clock. We’ve been pulling together as many pictures of the pub and Sunday’s Side as we can find, to help them once our construction crew puts the bones of the place back together. At the rate we’ve been going, we can start drywalling in a couple of weeks. Tony assures us they can make it look exactly the same.”
“That’s good. Riley doing okay?”
Sean shrugged. “She’s been better. She’s still blaming herself. I was hoping the fire inspector would come back with something other than electrical fire, but…”
“I knew what caused it the second Riley mentioned that outlet. I’m so sorry I didn’t…”
“Don’t you start too. No one is to blame. It was an accident caused by old as shit wiring. If it hadn’t started behind the walls, the sprinkler system might have knocked it down, but…oh fuck it. Lots of buts that don’t change a damn thing. We’re rebuilding it and it’ll be better than ever. That’s all that matters.”
Gavin nodded, letting Sean’s words sink in. He’d had a hard time shaking off his own guilt over his part in not preventing the fire, but Sean was right. It was time to look ahead instead of crying over what-ifs.
“Guess I should start dinner.”
Sean shook his head. “Order pizza.”
“I promised—”
“Dammit, Gavin. You had two pretty big life-altering shocks these last couple of weeks. Take the Boy Scout hat off for a night and give yourself a break.”
Gavin rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Fine.” His foster family had dubbed him the Boy Scout, proclaiming the caregiver gene ran strong inside him. He’d never bothered to tell him he was pretty sure it wasn’t nature but nurture that had created his need to take care of others.
He and Sean said their goodbyes, and Gavin walked back to the refrigerator, determined to figure out dinner. He’d just about convinced himself pizza really was his best bet—he was in no mood to cook—when Erin got home.
“Guys?” she called out.
“In here,” Gavin replied.
Erin appeared at the entrance to the kitchen. “Hey,” she said tiredly, looking around. “Ollie not home yet?”
Gavin shook his head. “Went to visit his Pop Pop. Long day?”
She sighed heavily. “Yeah. I’ve had better. You haven’t started dinner yet, have you?”
He gave her a guilty grin. “I was going to suggest we order pizza.” Then he realized she had a grocery bag in her hand. “But…you have something else in mind?” He gestured toward the bag.
“Yes. I need comfort food. My mom’s comfort food.” She walked into the kitchen and started unloading the groceries. “Homemade lasagna.”
“Damn. That sounds good. But I feel bad. You cooked last night.”
She pierced him with a haughty glare. “Oh, I’m not cooking alone. You’ve just be recruited as my kitchen help. And you’re going to clean up the mess. I’m warning you now…it will be substantial.”
He chuckled and saluted. “Fine. Tell me what to do.”
She tossed the cellophane-wrapped package of mushrooms at him. “Wash and slice those for me. And never,” she waved a box of lasagna noodles in the air, “tell my mother I used store noodles in her recipe.”
Gavin nodded solemnly. “I’ll take your secret to the grave.”
The two of them worked in silence for a few minutes as he chopped the vegetables she kept tossing his way, while she assembled and cooked the sauce.
“Want to talk about work?” he asked, when it was clear she wasn’t going to broach the subject on her own. It was rare for him to have to prod her for a story, which told him today really had been rough on her.
She lifted one shoulder, staring intently at the sauce. “A little girl was brought to the E.R. in an ambulance. She’d been riding her bike. Hit by a car.” The story was coming out choppy. “It was bad. Really bad.” Her voice broke.
“Is she okay?” Gavin asked quietly.
“It’s still touch and go. Brain trauma. The thing is…it was her brother.”
“What?”
“Her older brother had just gotten his driver’s license. He didn’t see her. He was the one who hit her.”
“Fuck,” Gavin muttered.
“Yeah. Spent the afternoon watching that poor mother fearing for her daughter’s life while consoling her son. I…I just don’t know how she was holding it together like that. She was…so strong. I think if I’d been her, I would have been in a fetal position in the corner.”
“I doubt that,” Gavin said, stepping next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. “You do one of the toughest jobs there is, Erin. Constantly surrounded by pain, suffering, even death. And you always do it with a compassion, a kindness, a strength most people will never possess.” He kissed the top of her head. “You’re an amazing person.”
She looked up at him, smiling, though her lashes were wet with unshed tears. “Thank you. God…” She wiped at her eyes. “You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better.”
“The little girl will be fine. I’m sure of it.”
Erin nodded, letting his reassurance soak in. “Yeah. She will.”
She picked up the heavy wooden spoon to stir the sauce once more but lost her grip. It dropped into the pan, splashing sauce all over one of his new white shirts. “Oh my God, Gavin! I’m so sorry. Here.” She reached for the hem of his shirt and started to lift it before he realized her intent. “Give it to me. I’ll soak it right away.”
Gavin stepped back, quickly tugging the material back down.
Erin looked at him, confused. “We have to wash the sauce out immediately so it doesn’t stain.”
“It’s okay,” he said, his fingers tight around the hem of the shirt, holding it down when she reached out once more, determined to take it off him.
Her brow was furrowed for just a moment or two before he saw realization dawn. Erin had never seen him without his shirt—and she was only just now comprehending that.
“Gavin,” she started, her confusion turning to concern. Which meant he was doing a piss-poor job of shielding his panic.
“I’ll go change. I have some stain stuff I can use.”
He started to leave, but Erin blocked his path. “Take off your shirt.”
He frowned. “No.”
“Why not?”
“What?”
She crossed her arms and repeated herself slowly. “Why. Not?”
He wondered if she hadn’t had such a shitty day, if her emotions hadn’t already been too close to the surface, if she would have pushed him. Then he decided she would. She had a habit of pushing, and for some reason he let her get away with it, when with others, he pushed back harder and walked away.
“Let it go, Erin,” he said, adopting a tone that would have warned off most people.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, genuine apprehension in her gaze.
“No.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck. No. I’m fine.” Then, because he didn’t know what else to say, he pointed at her shirt. “You got sauce on you too.”
She glanced down at her top—she was still in her scrubs—and sighed. “So I do.” Holding his gaze, she reached down and pulled her top off, her hair falling over her bare shoulders as she stood before him in just her bra.
It belatedly occurred to him that this was the second time in a week he’d seen her in some state of undress. It hadn’t registered until just this minute that she’d been completely naked the night of the fire. That he’d been the one to dress her.
Shouldn’t the two of them have felt some sort of unease over that? He didn’t. And given the fact she didn’t hesitate to take her shirt off now, it was clear she wasn’t uncomfortable with it either.
Gavin wasn’t sure how to feel about anything these days. He closed his
eyes briefly, not opening them until he heard her stepping away, the water of the sink running.
Gavin took two steps toward the door, ready to make a quick, cowardly escape.
She stopped him when she said, “You know, I tell you everything.” Her voice was soft and sad. “You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Talking to you always makes me feel better. I hope…” She paused, and Gavin swallowed hard, bracing himself for the rest. “I hope someday you’ll trust me enough to let me in.”
Gavin gripped the doorframe, fighting to leave as hard as he was fighting to stay. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Erin scrubbing the stain out of her shirt with a vengeance. She didn’t look in his direction when he turned back toward her.
She straightened when he tossed his T-shirt over her head, into the water with hers.
But he gripped her shoulders before she could turn around. She struggled for a second, and he held her tight, stopping her with one word.
“Don’t.” His tone dark, harsh, even to his own ears.
Erin froze.
“My mother isn’t dead.”
“What?”
“She didn’t die. She was committed…to a psychiatric hospital.”
Erin tried to turn around again, but he stopped her again. “No. Don’t move.”
“Gavin—”
“My mother was brutally raped. That’s how she got pregnant with me. I have no idea if…if that attack changed her into the woman I knew. Or if she was always so… She’s a sociopath and a drunk, Erin. A mean, abusive one. She started…hurting me when I was six. Not sure what snapped in her at that point, or if she just decided I was suddenly old enough to be her whipping boy.”
“Gavin—” she started again.
“When she was drunk or in one of her black rages, she beat me, told me I ruined her life. I was never sure if it was me she was punishing during those times or if…if in her twisted, sick mind, she thought I was the man who’d hurt her. And then, when she was sober, she’d beg for my forgiveness, always promising it was the last time, that she’d get better, swearing she loved me, telling me I was all she had.”
