On Best Behavior (C3)

by Jennifer Lane

  She made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat. “I wouldn’t do it.”

  “And I won’t either. I will say I agree that Grant isn’t responsible for his mother or his nephew. But from what I hear, he’s choosing to try to honor them. It’s a powerful motivation for him. You may disagree, but this is the best way he knows to move forward. It’s a way to take back the reins of his life.”

  “Yeah, what he said,” Grant added.

  She sighed. “I hate when you men double-team me.”

  “Grant’s also been in the hot seat once or twice in here,” Hunter said.

  Grant scoffed.

  “Grant, you’re making tremendous progress,” Hunter added. “You express yourself much better now than six months ago.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He ducked his head, but Sophie could tell he was pleased. “I hope Ben starts making progress too.”

  “He’s trying,” Hunter said. “It’s difficult for teenagers. They don’t have a vocabulary for emotions, especially when they’ve gone through trauma. And Ben’s been through more than most boys his age.”

  Sophie glanced at the clock. “Is it time for his session?”

  “Just about.” Hunter rose to pick up a chart on his desk. “You two want to stay for the first part of Ben’s session, like we discussed earlier?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll make sure Ben talks.”

  Hunter shook his head. “It’s not like that, Grant. Ben doesn’t know me all that well yet, and trust takes time to build. Just have some faith in the process. It’s worked for you, and it can work for him too.”

  Grant stood and walked toward the door. “I’ll see if he’s in the waiting room?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Your praise meant a lot to Grant. Thank you,” Sophie said once the door had closed.

  Hunter sat back down. “I’m glad. Does this mean you forgive me for picking on you today?”

  “Maybe.” She smiled as she clasped her hands around her knees. “I just worry about him, you know.”

  He nodded. “It’s hard when we can’t change or control our partners. It’s tough to accept them as is.”

  “Is that difficult for most couples? Like with you and Bradley?”

  Hunter’s eyes widened.

  “Whoops, didn’t mean to pry. Forget I asked.”

  He leaned in. “Control’s a huge dynamic in any relationship. Don’t even get me started about Bradley.”

  They shared a grin as Grant led Ben into the office.

  Hunter and Sophie stood, and Hunter extended his hand. “Good to see you, Ben.”

  Ben mumbled something unintelligible as they shook.

  “You shouldn’t call him Hunter, Ben,” Grant said. “He’s Dr. Hayes.”

  He fidgeted as he looked down.

  Hunter offered, “Sometimes my clients call me Dr. Hunter. Would that work for you, Ben?”

  He shrugged. “I guess.”

  Sophie tentatively held out her arms. When Ben stepped into the hug, her shoulders sagged with relief. Since she’d embraced him in the police station last November, thanking him for saving her life, she’d made a habit of greeting him with a hug. Each time she worried he’d stop letting her. “You’re getting taller every time I see you,” she said.

  Grant wore a proud smile as she looked at him over Ben’s shoulder. Then she gestured for Grant to join her on the sofa while Ben slouched in the chair opposite Hunter.

  “Ben, we discussed this last time, but I wanted to check in again,” Hunter said. “How do you feel about your uncle and soon-to-be aunt being here for the first ten minutes or so?”

  “It’s cool,” he said.

  “But you’re not okay with your mom being part of the session?” When Ben nodded, Hunter asked, “What’s the difference?”

  “Dunno…maybe it’s ’cause Grant and Sophie have to do therapy too, so they know how sucky it is.”

  She felt Grant bristle, and she jumped in before he went off on his nephew. “We don’t have to be here, Ben. We choose to keep coming.”

  He sprawled out on the chair, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “Why?”

  “Get your shoes off the table. Show some respect.”

  Hearing Grant’s sharp tone, Ben complied, sitting up a bit.

  “We come here to make our relationship better,” Grant said. “Get things out in the open, try to understand each other more, learn how to deal with the painful parts of life.”

  Ben peeked at Hunter, who sat quietly observing, then looked back at Grant. “So you get things out in the open…like secrets and stuff?”

  Sophie glanced at Grant, wondering if he was also thinking about the Logan bombshell.

  “Sometimes,” Grant said.

  Hunter asked, “Do you have some secrets you’re thinking about?”

  “Nah.” Ben looked down.

  Hunter studied him. “You had a swim meet on Tuesday, right? How’d it go?”

  Grant smiled. “He did great.”

  “Not really,” Ben said. “I died at the end of the one-hundred fly.”

  “You just have to pace yourself a little better next time,” Sophie offered. “Breathe more the first lap.”

  Ben shuddered. “I hope there won’t be a next time. Butterfly’s the worst event—I don’t know why Coach keeps sticking me in it. It’s so unfair.”

  “He must think you’re strong. You just have to train more, kick off the walls longer. You’ll get it.” She winked at him. “Butterfly’s the best stroke, by the way.”

  “Then maybe you should swim it for me.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No, I’m serious.” Ben leaned forward. “You’re giving me all these stroke tips…Why don’t you come practice with me one day? Show me how great your butterfly supposedly is.”

  “I haven’t been in a pool in almost twenty years!”

  Ben shrugged. “That’s okay if you don’t think you could cut it.”

  “What?” She folded her arms across her chest. “I could cut it. I would dust you in the hundred fly.”

  His eyes lit up. “Saturday. Let’s test it out.”

  “I don’t know about this,” she said. “I don’t want to embarrass you or anything.”

  Next to her, Grant smothered a laugh.

  “Getting scared?” Ben taunted.

  She uncrossed one arm and pointed her index finger at him. “You should be the scared one, little man.”

  Grant grasped her hand. “Okay, okay, you two. I had no idea you were so competitive, Bonnie.”

  “Sorry. Swimming kind of brings that out in me.”

  “Don’t apologize.” He leaned in, lowering his smooth voice. “I like it.”

  “Gross.” Ben made a face. “Get a room.”

  “So I’ve totally lost control of this session,” Hunter said. Sophie turned to find him smiling. “I’m very curious how this pool showdown will turn out.”

  Grant nodded. “Me too.”

  Hunter looked at Ben. “Before Grant and Sophie leave, is it okay if I share with them the recent conversation I had with your mother?”

  Ben squirmed. “You don’t have to.”

  “But it’s good news,” Hunter said.

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  “Hey, buddy.” Grant rested his hand on Ben’s knee, halting his fidgeting. “What’s going on?”

  Ben glanced at Hunter. “You can tell ’em, I guess.”

  “Ashley agreed to administer random drug tests to Ben,” Hunter said. “And the results of the first test came back yesterday.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Negative.”

  A smile flashed on Grant’s face. “Way to go, Ben!”

  “It’s not that big a deal,” he muttered.

  “Yes it is.” Grant patted Ben’s knee, waiting until he looked up at him. “I’m so proud of you.”

  She watched Ben blush then avert his eyes. He didn’t seem very proud of himself. “Ben? Is there anything else you want to share with us?”
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  He quickly shook his head.

  After a few moments of silence, Hunter said, “Well, I guess Ben and I will continue on our own now.”

  “Okay.” Grant reached out to shake his hand as he and Sophie stood. “Thanks, Dr. Hayes.”

  “Yes, thanks, Hunter,” she added.

  “See you both next week.”

  At the door, Grant turned to his nephew. “Keep up the good work, Ben.”

  ***

  Once they left, Dr. Hunter was quiet for a moment. Ben stared at the floor.

  “What do you think has helped you stay away from pot?” he asked.

  Ben shrugged. Thirty seconds ticked by. “Nick’s parents made him go to drug rehab.”

  “Nick’s a friend of yours?”

  “Yeah. But he didn’t join the swim team with me and Dylan.”

  “Do you think swimming has helped you avoid smoking?”

  “I guess.” He felt a slight smile form. “I’ll have a better chance against Sophie without that crap in my lungs.”

  “True. I think that’s a great thing you did, by the way.”

  “Huh?”

  “Inviting Sophie back to the pool,” Dr. Hunter explained. “She’s dealing with some stress, and exercise is a great way to cope with it.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose.” He thought for a moment. “She’s the one who got me thinking about joining the swim team, so I had to pay her back. That hundred fly is evil.”

  Dr. Hunter chuckled.

  “Are you sure we have to do this drug test thing?” Ben asked.

  “I am sure. Your mom’s insurance doesn’t cover drug treatment, but now that there’s the technology to do home tests, we can at least include that part of treatment in our counseling. Drug tests are an effective deterrent.”

  Ben glared at him.

  “I know you feel like it’s a punishment, but we’re trying to help you. You have a lot of risk factors for drug addiction.”

  “Like what?”

  “There’s evidence that addiction is biologically based, running in families. As I understand it, your grandfather’s an alcoholic.” Dr. Hunter’s voice softened. “And your father was a gambling addict.”

  Ben tightened his fists and looked away, jaw clenched.

  “You’re feeling angry right now?”

  Ben exhaled. “No.”

  “You kind of look angry.”

  “I shouldn’t be mad at my dad. He’s dead.”

  “How about focusing less on how you should feel, and more on how you do feel? Anger’s a normal part of grief.”

  “It is?”

  “Absolutely.” Dr. Hunter waited a beat. “What makes you angriest?”

  He skimmed his teeth across his lower lip. “He was such a hypocrite. Telling me how to live my life, when he’s out there destroying people. What a joke.”

  “Destroying people? Like Grant and Sophie?”

  Ben nodded.

  “So maybe you’re okay with Grant and Sophie attending the session because you feel indebted to them somehow, for what your father did?”

  “Maybe. My dad messed up my mom’s life too. She’s never gone out on one date since they split when I was a baby.”

  “You feel indebted to your mom too?”

  “She had to take care of me all by herself. And I’ve been a massive screw-up.”

  “I don’t think you’re a screw-up, Ben. You’re smart, you’re caring, and you’re working very hard to improve your life.”

  Ben stared at him. Does he know me at all?

  “And you’re not responsible for your father’s actions, or your mother’s. They’re both adults who make their own choices. You can’t control them.”

  Ben tapped his fingers on his jeans, wondering if it would be okay to ask the next question. After a few moments, he decided to go for it. “You said addiction runs in families. Does, um, being a criminal—does that run in families too?”

  Dr. Hunter sat back in his chair. “That’s an excellent question. Some criminals have antisocial personality disorder, and I’m thinking their children have a higher risk for that because of the whole nature and nurture interaction. Kids might start with a genetic vulnerability then learn behaviors through watching their parents. You worry you’ve inherited the criminal gene?”

  Ben chewed on the inside of his mouth. “Did my dad have that antisocial thing?”

  “I can’t diagnose him—I never met him. I do know that people with antisocial personalities can’t really feel empathy. They don’t tend to feel remorse for their actions. That doesn’t sound like your father to me.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “Grant and Sophie gave me permission to share some things we’ve discussed, just like you’ve done with them. Ben, do you know your father used to try to protect Grant from Enzo’s beatings?”

  Oh my God. Ben’s eyes widened.

  Hunter’s tone was gentle. “You didn’t know that.”

  “Grandpa b-b-beat them?”

  “Sadly, yes. He was out of control when he drank. Grant’s had a long road to recover from the abuse.”

  “I feel so bad for him.”

  “I do too.”

  “Did he beat up Grandma too?” Ben tensed, waiting for the answer.

  “I believe so.”

  Ben thought he might barf.

  “From what I understand, your grandfather was also abused by his father. That’s another thing that can run in families: abuse. Ben, this is wild speculation, but sometimes I wonder if your father wasn’t part of your life because he was scared he’d hurt you. He had no idea how to be a good parent to you. As much as you missed out on him being around, I wonder if he thought he was helping you.”

  Ben looked at the floor. “I wish he would’ve tried.”

  “You’re hurt and angry he made that choice for you.”

  Ben nodded.

  “You know, we’re focusing on all the negative traits that can be passed down through families. But you’ve inherited some good stuff too. I never met your father, but I know your uncle. Grant’s intelligent, kind, a hard worker—just the way I described you earlier. He’s got a lot of integrity. He’s honest, and he tries to do the right thing. You’re headed in that direction yourself.”

  Ben dared to look up at him. “Really?”

  Dr. Hunter smiled. “Really. Now let’s talk strategy for beating Sophie in the hundred fly.”

  4. Consternation

  NEW INMATE ANTHONY “Tank” Tanketti strolled along the fence line of the prison yard, dirty snow crunching under his boots. He tugged his scratchy woolen hat over his ears.

  After spending two months stuck indoors at the county jail while he waited for a transfer, Tank was grateful the Gurnee guards believed in putting the prison cattle out to pasture. He sighed. If only the cattle’s unfettered access to each other out in the open didn’t place him at risk for slaughter.

  But maybe his connection to the Barberis would keep him safe. He caught a glimpse of two of Enzo’s men across the yard, but saw no sign of the don. If Enzo was still in solitary, he’d be one enraged son of a bitch when he got out. He could only hope Enzo never found out about his role in Logan’s murder. Grant said he’d kept his mouth shut, but something about the boy scout seemed less than trustworthy.

  He recognized Jules “Jewels” Monroe, one of Enzo’s men. He’d met Jewels five years ago at a poker game at Angelo’s club. He’d just decided to approach the craggy-faced man, when a blond inmate stepped in his way.

  He looked down at the boy’s elfin features, figuring him for no more than nineteen. The boy grinned up at him, his green eyes slanting with menace.

  “Outta my way, Pink Taco,” he growled.

  The boy stepped in closer, and Tank’s hand balled into a fist.

  “Don’t you touch my boy.”

  The foreign voice came from his right, and he turned to see a muscled blond smirking. He tried to place the slight accent—German maybe? He certainly had a Nazi sneer.
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  Blond Hitler’s icy blue gaze started at Tank’s shoes, slid up his legs, languished below his belt, seemed to appreciate his sizeable pectorals, then arrived at his face with a challenging stare. “Tank’s a good name for you, I think. Wouldn’t mind you mowing me down one day.” His eyes lingered suggestively.

  Another young, blond, ponytailed inmate next to him snickered.

  Tank felt the presence of Elf-Face at his left hip, and he contemplated his odds in three against one. Placidly he asked the leader, “Who the fuck are you?”

  Blond Hitler gave Elf-Face a look of wonder, then looked back at him. “You have not heard of me? I’m insulted. Ricker Mullens, at your service.”

  “That’s Mr. Mullens to you,” Elf-Face contributed.

  He fought the urge to backhand the little leprechaun and kept his eyes on Ricker. “How’d you know my name?”

  “I make it a point to know Enzo’s men.” He sauntered closer, and Ponytail followed. “I especially like the tall ones.”

  As they neared, Tank reached out to squeeze Elf-Face’s shoulder, and Ricker’s face darkened. The boy squirmed as he dug his fingers into his collarbone. “If you like the tall ones, then why keep this gnome around? You takin’ his picture for Travelocity or somethin’? Filling your prison scrapbook?”

  Ricker’s voice was a low growl. “Watch your mouth.”

  When he crowded Tank’s personal space and diverted his attention, Elf-Face managed to shrug out of his hold.

  “Barberi’s still in the hole,” said Ricker. “Been there two months already.”

  “Why the fuck should I care?”

  “Because he’s not here to protect your bubble butt. Not that he would have your back anyway. You’re nowhere near as pretty as the last one of his goons he protected.”

  He realized Ricker was talking about Grant—of course Enzo had protected his son. It had nothing to do with Grant’s looks. How could they not know Grant was Enzo’s son? He wondered if these three wolves had given him the same treatment on his first day at Gurnee.

  Ricker leaned in, and Tank smelled powdered eggs on his breath. “Why is Barberi in the hole?”

  He bribed a corrupt politician to try to get a pardon. Tank glared at him, saying nothing.

  Ricker inched closer. “Tell me why Enzo is in the hole, or bending over to pick up the bar of soap will be an entirely new cleansing experience.”