by Jane Godman
“How about I finish up here and then come by your place with takeout?”
She looked at him in surprise. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” He patted Maya’s cheek. “You get this little one home and I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Unable to speak because of the lump in her throat, Abigail nodded. His kindness had caught her unawares once again and, as she headed toward her car, all she could think was how nice it would have been to have discovered this sweet side of his nature in different circumstances.
Chapter 4
Griffin had a mountain of reading to get through for a court case. He also had an early start the following day and he needed a good night’s sleep. So why was he bringing dinner over to Abigail’s house, wondering what sort of food she liked and agonizing over whether he should take wine or beer? He knew nothing about this woman. Actually, that wasn’t true. He knew plenty about her—just not about her tastes.
Yet his instinct persisted. He wanted to help and protect her. Damn it. He didn’t even know if she drank alcohol. He added soda to the order on the delivery app he used, then returned his cell phone to his pocket and, having saved his files, closed down his laptop.
He didn’t understand what was going on. His natural caution had deserted him and, in its place there was a fizzing excitement that he’d never experienced before. Even when he should be thinking about other things, Abigail intruded into his thoughts. He’d never had a crush, not one that had lasted more than a day or two, but he imagined it felt a lot like this. Out of all the women he could have been attracted to, he had to choose the most unsuitable one. At thirty-two years of age, he was seeing the emotions over which he’d always exercised such tight control rebel in spectacular style.
He’d sometimes wondered if the timing of his adoption was the key to his feelings of isolation. Although he was still young when he’d been brought into the Colton family, he’d been old enough to already have an identity, a sense of who he was. The sense of difference came from within, not from anything imposed by his adoptive family.
Surely this change was a good enough reason not to go over to Abigail’s place. After spending his whole life feeling like he didn’t fit in, Griffin was always afraid that in his personal relationships he would either be too distant, or that his craving for love would overpower a partner. As a result, he dated, but never allowed himself get close to a woman. This attraction he felt toward Abigail was stronger than anything he’d ever known. Could he rely on his usual self-restraint?
At the same time, the urge to see her again was overwhelming. And, just for once, he wanted to stop being cautious. Just for once, he wanted to act on impulse and see where it led him. Snatching up his car keys, he headed out of his apartment door before discretion took over again.
His apartment was close to the CI headquarters but Abigail lived in a small house near the Danvers University campus where she worked. The drive took about twenty minutes, during which time Griffin grew impatient. Having made up his mind that he wanted to see her, he was in a hurry to get over to her place. She had impressed him earlier with her resilience, but there was no doubt about the tough time she was having. Other than helping with the adoption case, he wasn’t sure what else he could do. But he knew for sure that he wanted to try. If he could lift some of the burden from those slender shoulders and take the haunted look from her eyes, he would.
He knew what his siblings would say. Griffin had always identified with the underdog. Possibly it was why he resented Brody, who had an air of expectation about him. Probably because of his own difficult start in life, Griffin wanted to support those who were struggling to help themselves. Abigail wasn’t weak, but the odds were stacked against her in every part of her life right now. Was that the root of this attraction? Was he drawn to her because of her vulnerability?
When she answered her front door, he almost laughed out loud at the question. In that instant, his feelings for her had nothing to do with her fragility, or her need for protection. They had a lot to do with the fact that Abigail Matthews was gorgeous. Then she smiled, and he got the first clue that this might be something more than a physical attraction. Putting his heart out there wasn’t going to be part of the deal.
“Maya finally fell asleep about half an hour ago,” she said, as he stepped inside a small hall. “She was tired, but she wouldn’t settle.”
“She can probably sense your mood.” Griffin followed her into a small, cozy kitchen and dining room.
Abigail nodded. “She’s had such a difficult start in life. I always try so hard to keep things light, but babies are very intuitive.” Her lip wobbled slightly, and she sucked in a breath. “I’m all she has, so she’s bound to pick up on how I’m feeling.”
“Hey.” He placed a hand on her arm. “Maya is a very lucky little girl. She’s loved. Sadly, I see many instances of kids who are not.”
“Oh, goodness.” Her eyes were troubled as she scanned his face. “That must be so difficult for you to deal with.”
It was almost a shock to realize that she got it. For the first time ever, someone understood, without being told, that Griffin didn’t do a bland nine-to-five desk job. His siblings had an idea about the heartbreak he saw on a daily basis. Otherwise, no one appreciated that he spent most of his time trying to undo tragedy.
For an instant, his throat tightened, and he didn’t trust himself to respond. Instead, he turned the conversation to a safer direction. “I ordered the takeout to be delivered here. I hope you like Chinese food?”
“Love it.” She smiled. “And, in spite of everything that’s been happening, I’m hungry.”
He checked his cell phone. “It should be here in a few minutes.”
“Just enough time to get ready.”
She moved quickly around the kitchen. Reaching into cupboards and drawers, she handed Griffin plates, glasses and forks, which he placed on the small table. Just as Abigail was filling a jug with water, there was a knock on the door.
“Perfect timing.” They shared a smile before she headed to answer it. When she returned, she pretended to stagger under the weight of the brown paper bags she was carrying. “How many people are you expecting?”
Griffin laughed. “My family will tell you that I always overcater.”
“That’s okay. I love leftovers for breakfast.” She hesitated, apparently aware that her words could have held a double meaning. “That is... I don’t know if... What I meant was...”
Griffin came to her rescue. “Don’t count on there being any leftovers. I haven’t eaten all day, and that smells good.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “It sure does.”
They sat at the table and spent the next few minutes opening the various cartons and piling food onto their plates.
“I didn’t know what you’d want to drink.” Griffin indicated the selection of beer, wine and soda.
“I don’t usually drink on a work night—” She gave a little gasp as she realized what she’d said, then shrugged. “But I guess that won’t be a problem, so I’ll take a beer.”
Her attempt at lightheartedness didn’t quite work. As he reached for one of the chilled bottles, Griffin caught a glimpse of the hurt in her eyes. It seemed impossible to believe that if she had been responsible for using the illegal substance in her research, she would be so shocked and hurt at the treatment she was getting.
His head might be telling him to be wary around Abigail, but his heart was giving him a different message. He had been brought up in a family that had a strong emphasis on care and support. It had been one of the biggest motivators in his life. He had come late to being a Colton, but he didn’t walk away from people who needed his help.
“Have you heard any more from your boss?” he asked. “They should move quickly on this Anthrosyne investigation. Keeping you waiting would be unfair.�
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“I had an email confirming the decision to suspend me and outlining the reasons. It didn’t tell me anything that I don’t already know.” Although her expression was gloomy, he was glad to see her scoop up a forkful of rice and start eating.
“And do you have legal representation? I can help you with the adoption case, but I have no experience with employment law.”
“I guess that’s the next step,” she sighed. “I know nothing about this sort of thing. I wouldn’t know where to start looking for a decent attorney.”
“Leave it to me.” He pushed a carton of chop suey in her direction. “My sisters will know someone, particularly Pippa, who is an attorney.”
She bent her head over her plate. “Will this affect my chances of keeping Maya?”
“The fact that you are under investigation for a serious misdemeanor, one that could potentially lead to a criminal charge, is already impacting the adoption process. That’s why we need your employer to get the Anthrosyne investigation completed quickly.” He didn’t want to give her any false hope, but he felt confident in his next statement. “You shouldn’t worry that anything will happen immediately. That fact that you are under investigation will not be enough for Maya to be removed from your care.”
“What—” She fiddled with the label on her beer bottle before taking a slug. “What about RevitaYou? Most people think I was involved in that, too.”
“But you weren’t.” As he said it, he knew he believed it. “Which means there’s no real evidence against you. This is Maya’s home. She won’t be taken away from you over some unfounded allegations.”
When she finally met his gaze, he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Abigail returned to the subject of Griffin’s job. “I would imagine it can be rewarding as well as emotionally draining.”
“It can. There’s nothing quite like that feeling of knowing you’ve helped a child find the right family.”
“What made you choose that career?” she asked.
He didn’t usually talk about his early life. These days, no one ever questioned his status as a Colton. When he was younger, if the subject ever arose, his adoptive parents, Graham and Kathleen, would always reassure him about how loved and wanted he was. And he’d always wanted to believe them...
“I was taken into foster care at the age of seven after my mom was killed by her abusive partner.” He wasn’t sure he’d ever said those words out loud.
“Oh, my goodness.” Abigail reached out and took his hand. “How terrible for you.”
“I listen to people now who speculate about how much a child of that age can remember, and I want to tell them to rip up their books and studies and start over again. Because I remember everything about my mom,” Griffin said. “I know how she looked, how she smelled, and the clothes she wore. I can hear her voice, her laughter. I remember the stories she told me, the songs we sang together. I can still taste her awful cooking.” He laughed. “Do I really remember those things? Maybe not. But I think I do.”
Abigail returned his smile. “She sounds like a wonderful person.”
“She was. But she was also very vulnerable. I never knew my dad. He left when I was a few months old. After that, my mom dipped in and out of relationships with several deeply unsuitable men. I know that now because there were always social workers in our lives. Some of the ‘uncles’ she brought home weren’t nice people.”
“But she wouldn’t have put you in danger, surely?” Her grip on his fingers tightened.
“Not intentionally. I’m certain of that. But she was very sweet and gullible. I imagine the guys she dated promised her the earth.” His lips twisted into a sad smile. “It’s a pattern I see a lot. Then, one night, she left me with a neighbor while she went out to a bar with a new man. She never came home.”
“What happened?”
“There were plenty of witnesses, who all told the same story. They both got drunk. Another guy asked her to dance. She said ‘yes’ but the boyfriend objected. They started arguing and he swung a punch. My mom fell and hit her head on the corner of a table. The bar staff acted quickly but she was dead before the ambulance arrived.”
She shifted in her seat so she was facing him. “What an awful thing for you to face as a child. Did you have any other biological family?”
“No. It had always been just the two of us. My mom had spent her own childhood in a series of foster homes—” He shrugged. “The irony is that she’d been determined to make sure I wouldn’t go the same way.”
“She couldn’t have predicted what would happen.” Abigail sounded almost fierce. “No one could. What about your father? Didn’t he come forward when he knew your mom was dead?”
“My dad was forty-two when he met my mom. She was twenty. He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, receiving a pension from the army following a breakdown during basic training twenty-six years earlier. When I was born, he had been addicted to alcohol and over-the-counter painkillers for most of his life,” Griffin said. “He couldn’t care for himself, let alone a child. When officials from the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services tracked him down, he told them he wanted nothing to do with me. Years later, I read my file. The caseworker in charge commented that, in the circumstances, no contact would be best for both of us.”
Although he was able to look back now and feel empathy for the broken man who had fathered him, his memories of that time, in contrast to those from before his mother’s death, were shrouded in murky terror. The nightmares, the tears, the need to see his mom again, and the ever-present “who will care for me now?” questions were as real to him today as they had been back then. Over time the feelings of abandonment and rejection had subsided, but they’d never gone away. He’d learned to understand that no one had been at fault. His mom had been struggling to do her best against the background of her own problems. Through no fault of his own, his dad had been unable to offer even the basic requirements of fatherhood. Even his mother’s killer hadn’t meant to cause her death.
There was no blame. Only fragments of broken lives. Through the years, Griffin had examined them, tried to understand, but never fully pieced them together to make sense of his life story. By the time he became a Colton, he was already his own person, destined to be forever in the middle of two lives.
“You must have needed so much help. Please tell me you were given the right kind of support,” Abigail said.
“There were certainly people who wanted me to talk to them. But I’m not sure they understood what I needed.” Griffin frowned as he tried to explain what he meant. “I was seven years old. I didn’t want to talk about my feelings. I just wanted my mom.”
“That’s so sad.” She reached for one of the paper napkins that had come with the takeout order and blew her nose. “It must have been the most awful time in your life.”
He was amazed that, with everything that was going on in her own life, she could be moved by his story. Having been brought up from the age of seven in an empathetic family, he was used to people tuning into his feelings. This felt different. It was as if Abigail was so in tune with his emotions, she was absorbing some of the hurt he always carried with him. The thought was comforting and scary at the same time.
“What happened next?” Abigail asked.
“Graham Colton defended the guy who killed my mom.” Griffin scooped up a forkful of noodles and ate them before continuing. “He was charged with murder, but Graham got the sentence reduced to assault.”
“Oh.” She blinked in surprise. “How did you feel about that?”
“At the time, I knew nothing about it. I was protected from what was happening. Now? I guess it was the right outcome. He was a jerk, but he didn’t intend to kill her.”
“I don’t know if I could be as forgiving.” The corners of her mouth turned down. “B
ut you found a home with the Coltons?”
“Yes. Graham told Kathleen about the case, and she was moved by my story. They adopted me soon after.”
Griffin had never encountered anyone with a gaze as a perceptive as Abigail’s. It was as if those hazel eyes were probing his thoughts. “It must have been very hard to adjust to a new family so soon after losing your mom.”
“It was.” Although she was easy to talk to, he now found himself hitting the emotional equivalent of a brick wall. If he got started on what he’d lost and gained when he became part of a new family... Well, he just wasn’t ready to go there. Instead, he held up one of the cartons. “Care to split the last spring roll?”
* * *
As they finished the meal, Griffin steered the conversation toward less personal topics, including a local news item about a spate of thefts from a bakery. Security footage had shown that the perpetrator was the owner’s dog. Although she laughed at the story, Abigail remained shocked by what Griffin had told her about his early life.
Now, it appeared he had retreated behind a barrier as though he was afraid he’d revealed too much. She didn’t want him to regret having confided in her, and she wanted to let him know how much she valued his trust in her.
Would it help if he knew they had something in common? She figured it was worth a try.
“The circumstances were different, but I lost my own mom when I was very young,” she said.
“I know you said she left your dad.”
“When I was ten. I never saw her again after that and she died in a car crash when I was thirteen.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Why would you?” Abigail managed a slight smile. “I’m guessing your research into my family has covered my father’s business activities rather than our personal lives.”
“You’re right.” His expression was somber. “But telling you about my own mom could have been triggering for you. I didn’t consider that.”
