Breaking the Rules

by Suzanne Brockmann

  It’s really not my area of expertise, so I’m going to have you doublecheck me,” Maria said to Dan and Jenn as they sat across from her, with her cluttered desk between them.

  They’d decided to meet here, in the assemblywoman’s tiny office, instead of having dinner, because Danny was still terribly jet-lagged. Of course, Jenn didn’t tell him that that was the reason for their change in plans. She blamed it instead on Maria’s hectic schedule.

  He’d nodded, but he knew. And she also knew that it galled him.

  “But if it comes down to a custody battle, in court,” Maria told them, “yeah, it’s going to send a positive message if you’re in a stable, committed relationship.”

  But of course she was going to say that.

  Maria and Jenn had been friends for a long time, and Maria had been an advocate of the impossible, right from the start. She believed, without doubt, that Dan was perfect for Jenn, and was convinced that they would find their happily-ever-after, despite all of their obvious differences.

  The main one being that Dan was an incredibly handsome, incredibly buff, incredibly hot Navy SEAL, and Jenn was a too-tall, too-heavy, too-awkward geek who worked as chief of staff for an outspoken liberal and progressive politician—namely, Maria.

  “But you don’t think that’s going to look strange,” Jenn said. “Or opportunistic? If, right before a custody battle, we just conveniently get married?”

  “Well, it’s better if you do it significantly beforehand, of course,” Maria said.

  “Dan’s sister, Eden, is married,” Jenn told her friend even as Dan shook his head.

  “I’m not getting Zanella involved in this,” he said.

  Jenn looked at him. Izzy Zanella was already out in Nevada. He’d caught a flight to Las Vegas a full day before she and Dan had left the hospital. If he’d waited, he could’ve caught a troop transport. Instead, he’d paid for the travel himself.

  He’d spent over eight hundred dollars for the flight—just because he wanted to arrive a mere twenty-four hours earlier.

  The man was definitely involved, and Danny knew it.

  “No more than I have to,” he amended his statement.

  Jenn turned to Maria. “If it stands to reason that, if Danny and I got married, we’d be in a better position to gain custody of Ben, then doesn’t that give Eden and Izzy, who’ve been married for nearly a year, an even better shot?”

  “Except for the fact that they’ve been separated,” Maria pointed out.

  “Says who?” Jenn asked. She looked from Maria to Dan. “And I’m not saying that to be a jerk,” she added quickly before either could speak. “I mean, we all know what happened. But I could describe the very same events by saying that Eden went to live with a friend a few weeks after she and Izzy got married, because he was deployed overseas. Nothing wrong with that. An eighteen-year-old bride has a miscarriage and doesn’t want to be alone while her husband is gone? A lot of women would probably go live at home, but Eden’s mother was and is emotionally unavailable, so …”

  Dan was shaking his head. “I’d rather just get married.”

  “And I’d rather not,” Jenn shot back, and her vehemence surprised him.

  Across the desk, Maria was trying to be invisible.

  “Wow,” Jenn said. “I’m sorry, that came out … far more strongly than I’d intended. I just—” She stopped. Took a deep breath. “I’m absolutely willing to do it. I said I would, and I meant it. But I want it to be the last resort. We’re talking about three years of my life—whether it’s here or in San Diego. And I’m not saying part of it wouldn’t be great. We both know it would. But part of it would be awful—and I’m talking soul-crushingly hard, if you want to know the truth.”

  “I do,” Dan said quietly as he looked up from his perusal of the floor and into her eyes. “I always want you to tell me the truth. Even when … especially when it involves soul crushing.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t want to help you with this,” Jenn repeated what she’d told him earlier. “I’m here, Dan. I’m going to be here for as long as you need me. But before we go to Plan Z, let’s consider A through Y first.”

  “I’d recommend,” Maria said gently, “that you go to Las Vegas tomorrow and talk to Dan’s mother, see if you can’t convince her to allow Ben to live with you—no custody battle necessary. That’s, by far, the best way to go. Parents of teenagers frequently give permission for their kids to live with other family members. It’s not that uncommon.”

  “That was the plan,” Jenn said. “But I think we’re both a little worried that not only will Ivette be influenced by her husband into saying no, but that they’ll put Ben into immediate danger by sending him away to a conversion therapy camp—you know, one of those lockdown prisons where they ‘pray away the gay’ while depriving him of sleep and food and God knows what else. They’d already made plans to send him to such a place in June, after school got out.”

  Maria sighed. “How old is he?”

  “Fifteen.”

  She nodded as she reached for her computer mouse, pulling her computer screen closer to her and clicking a file open. “That’s a little young for him to go to court to declare himself an emancipated minor, but that could be worth a try,” she said as she gazed at her computer. She clicked her mouse again, and her printer whirred to life. “I’m going to give you the contact information for a family law attorney, out in San Francisco. I’m pretty sure she practices in Nevada, too—if not, she’ll be able to give you the name of someone who does. She specializes in LGBT issues. She’ll know exactly what to do.”

  She handed the printout to Jenn, who glanced at it. Linda Thomas … “Wasn’t she …?”

  “A friend from college,” Maria said. “I’ll send her an e-mail, tell her you’ll be calling.”

  “Thanks,” Dan said.

  “So … Izzy’s back with Eden?” Maria asked.

  “He went to Las Vegas to see her,” Jenn told her friend. “As soon as he heard that’s where she was.” She turned to Dan. “Have you heard from him? Did he call or …”

  Danny shook his head. “Last time I spoke to Eden, she didn’t mention him.”

  “He was crazy about her,” Maria said. “He and I talked about her, back in February. A little bit.”

  “He’s a moron,” Dan said. “The crazy is all hers. She’s freaking nuts, but he doesn’t see that because he’s staggering through life, blind to truth and reason as he follows his genitalia.”

  Maria smiled at that. “Most of us stagger through life, blind to what’s right in front of our noses. We all see only what we want to see. At the risk of overstepping my role here as dispenser of friendly and free legal counsel, I’d suggest that if your mother doesn’t immediately send Ben to his room to pack his bags so he can go live with you, you might want to sit down with Eden—and Izzy, if he’s willing to help, and I suspect he will be. See if you can’t work through your differences and come to some sort of cease-fire, so you can act as a unified team in order to help your brother.”

  Dan was silent.

  “If there is a custody battle,” Maria continued, “there will be input from social services—a visit from a social worker—and if you’re at war with one another, believe me, they’ll be aware of that.”

  As Jenn watched, Dan forced a smile and forced himself to respond. “Please don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I really do appreciate this information. I’m just having trouble imagining it being even remotely easier with Eden and Zanella in the mix.”

  “Maybe not for you,” Jenn said quietly. “But Maria’s thinking of Ben. Danny, look at it from his perspective. He’s just done this amazing, courageous thing by coming out. That’s hard enough when you have parents who support you. But Ivette and Greg’s reaction was to tell him he’s broken and needs to be fixed. And maybe it’s Greg who’s pushing this conversion therapy thing, but Ben’s own mother is at the very least acquiescing, and that’s got to hurt. A lot.

  “So he
re you come, with this big plan to yank him away from his home—just assuming that he’ll be fine with going to live with a brother who’s a stranger, who left home, what? Over ten years ago? Which means the last time he’s lived with you was when he was in preschool. He doesn’t really know you. How does he know you won’t be worse than Greg? Talk about scary. And baby, I know that you and Eden haven’t gotten along very well in recent years, and I know that spending time with her will be—at best—really uncomfortable for you. But as imperfect as she is, she’s Ben’s sister, too. And having her around could make all the difference in the world for him.”

  Dan was nodding now. “You’re right,” he said. “Of course you’re right. Jesus, I’m a selfish shit not to have seen that.”

  “You know how you said love makes people blind?” Jenn told him, taking his hand and interlacing their fingers. “Well, families make us blind and stupid. You should see me trying to deal with my brothers. I turn into a complete idiot.”

  “I doubt that,” Dan said. “So, okay. I guess what I should do now is …” He exhaled hard. “Call Eden.”

  LAS VEGAS

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 6, 2009

  Eden’s cell phone rang, the sound shrill and sharp in the tomblike stillness of this house, where her stepfather was no doubt napping to preserve his strength for another night of prayer—followed by some serious drinking.

  Despite her brave words to Ben, she was freaked out and she didn’t want to go too far inside. So she was standing there, right by the crappy, warped front door in the crappy little living room, in this crappy little house where she’d spent the hell that had been her high school years.

  The tattered sofa was the same one she’d slouched on, watching Lost and Gilmore Girls and Buffy reruns, whenever Greg was too drunk or stoned on the prescription painkillers he took for his back to order her to turn it off.

  The coffee table was chipped and stained with rings caused by beverage sweat—marks that hadn’t been there when someone from the church had donated it to the Katrina survivors who’d just moved into town, looking for a fresh start. The dishes from Greg’s breakfast and lunch were scattered across the top—the man was apparently still incapable of cleaning up after himself. In all the years since he’d married Eden’s mother, Eden had never seen him wash a dish or empty an ashtray.

  She had seen him in a sanctimonious rage, nearly foaming at the mouth as he screamed at her for a long list of sins. Dressing like a whore, acting like a whore, looking like a whore, talking like a whore—the whole whore thing was definitely a personal favorite topic for him. Talking back, or not talking when spoken to—either one could result in punishment. Working too many hours at her after-school job, or not working enough hours—whatever she did, the other was better. Not cooking dinner for her hardworking mother, or making a mess in the kitchen because she had cooked dinner for her mother …

  There was no way to win with Greg—Eden could only lose.

  But the worst was when he preached at her for not going to church as often as he wanted her to, and for not kneeling beside him every night to pray.

  The truth of the matter was that the man used his god and his prayer as an excuse to touch her, to get much too close.

  None of which her mother noticed as she self-anesthetized.

  Which wasn’t exactly new for Eden.

  She’d had to lock her bedroom door at night against her sister Sandy’s husband, Ron, when Sandy and her family had lived with them back in New Orleans. And so she did the same with her latest stepfather, going as far as making a trip to the hardware store and buying and installing a deadbolt because the lock on the regular doorknob was too easy to pop.

  She’d also made darn sure she didn’t get up to go to the bathroom at night unless she absolutely had to.

  Because there wasn’t much that was more hideous than opening the bathroom door to find Greg staggering around in the hallway stinking of gin and naked as the day he was born, mumbling about the way she was going to hell, even as he waggled his disgusting dick at her.

  Yeah, and she was the one who was going to hell for wearing her skirts too short. Right.

  The dead last thing she wanted was to see him again—ever—and as her phone rang, Eden grabbed for it, fumbling it out of the pocket of her jeans, to silence it before it awoke the sleeping monster.

  Come on, Ben. Give her the signal that the police car was gone …

  But he didn’t and he didn’t, and she heard movement from the master bedroom, and then Greg’s reedy voice.

  “Who’s out there? Who’s in my house? Benjamin, is that you?”

  And Eden opened the door, because maybe she could fool the cops into thinking she was going to drag Ben around to the back of the house for some punishment yardwork.

  But as she opened the door, Ben was standing there, opening the screen, and hallelujah, the police car was driving away, turning the corner down at the end of the street.

  As she stepped outside, she said, “Run,” but Ben was staring up and over her shoulder and the expression on his face was one of such shock, she turned, half expecting Greg to have morphed into a real monster like one of the demons from Buffy.

  But he hadn’t. He was still ugly old Greg—a little uglier and a little older than he’d been the last time she’d seen him, all those long months ago. His T-shirt was stained and his chin was unshaven and his greasy hair was matted and clumped on his head—all of which were horrifying, but a whole lot less so than the fact that he was holding a nasty-looking handgun.

  And he was aiming it right at Eden.

  “When did you get a gun?” she asked, even as he said, “You! I should’ve known you were back, stirring up trouble.”

  She tried to back away, but Greg ordered, “Freeze—the pair of you delinquents!” and Ben was there, next to her, keeping her from retreating farther.

  “It’s probably not loaded,” Eden said to her brother as she looked down the street. Didn’t it figure? Now that she could have used a little police backup, the police car was out of sight. “He probably doesn’t have any ammunition. Let’s just get out of here.”

  “He does,” Ben said as Greg ordered him, “Into the house, young man. Now.”

  “Even if he does, he’s not going to shoot me.” Now it was Eden’s turn to try to hold Ben back, because he clearly believed that that gun gave Greg the upper hand. “He’s not going to shoot anyone. Seriously, Ben, let’s just turn around and run!”

  “Get into. The house,” Greg said to Ben.

  “He lives with me now,” Eden said.

  “Benjamin, I’m counting to three …”

  “I would think you’d be happy,” Eden said, “to no longer have the responsibility and expense—”

  “He is my responsibility,” Greg said. “And I owe it to him and to God to undo the damage caused from all those years of living with you.”

  “Yeah, right,” Eden scoffed. “Like I made you touch my boobs, every chance you got. Like you weren’t going to try to sell my baby to the highest bidder—”

  He looked at Ben. “One …”

  “Don’t you dare go into that house,” Eden ordered her brother.

  “Two …”

  “He’s not going to shoot me!”

  “I will,” Greg countered. “A trespasser, breaking into my home—in the company of a stepson who recently attacked me? Oh, I’ll shoot and I’ll shoot to kill, and it’ll be your word, Benjamin, against mine—and my vast array of bruises.”

  “He’s not going to do it,” Eden said, holding tightly to Ben’s arm.

  “Just watch me,” Greg said, using both hands to steady the weapon that he had aimed at Eden’s chest.

  And Ben obviously thought Greg capable of murder because he pulled away from Eden and headed up those stairs, even as he started to cry. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Boo-Boo,” Eden said, trying to pull him back, “don’t do this!”

  But he jerked himself out of her grasp and went past
Greg through the door and into the house. And when she tried to follow him, Greg refreshed his grip on that pistol, aiming it now at her face.

  “Don’t tempt me,” he snarled.

  And didn’t that sum up the two awful years that Eden had lived in the same house as this broken wreck of a man. In his eyes, she’d tempted him. Just by existing, by breathing, by being alive. And he’d relied on his god to lead him from temptation, putting too much faith in the misguided belief that God would do all the work for him. Surely God would have stopped his straying hands if God really wanted to …

  Eden now froze, because part of her did believe he just might pull that trigger, because her mother’s fourth husband had never been able to resist temptation before. So she stood there and watched, helpless and filled with anger and frustration, as Greg stepped back into the house and slammed the door in her face.

  Izzy had just woken up from a seven-hour nap in the parking lot of a McDonald’s and had finally left the outskirts of Las Vegas proper when Dan Gillman called.

  “Where are you?” Gillman asked, no Hey, how’s it going? No nothing. Just boom. Demanding question, delivered with typical Gillman whatever you’re doing it can’t be as important as what I’m doing attitude.

  “Why the hell should I tell you?”

  If Gillman noticed the hostility and frustration in Izzy’s voice, he didn’t comment. Of course he probably didn’t notice, because he didn’t see Izzy as anything more than a royal pain in his ass. He didn’t give a shit about what Izzy might or might not be feeling.

  “Because if you’re in Vegas,” Gillman said, “I could really use some help. I was just on the phone with Eden—the shit’s hit the fan with Ben and Greg. Greg’s got a weapon—sounds like some kind of small-caliber handgun—and he threatened to shoot Eden if Ben didn’t do what he said.”

  What the fuck …? Izzy turned his steering wheel hard to the right as he hit the brakes and pulled off the road in a spray of gravel and dust. And okay. Maybe what Dan was doing was more important than what Izzy was doing.

  “I’m close enough to turn around and be back in town in minutes,” Izzy told the other SEAL as he pulled a youie and reversed his tracks, pushing the little rental car way up over the speed limit. “In fact, I’m already on my way. Is she all right?”