When we pull up at the house, I see the car James took to go find Beau is parked haphazardly in front of the steps. But there’s no Range Rover, and when I get into the lobby and find Mum waiting, her face pensive, I know he’s not in a good way. “How bad?” I ask. “On a scale of one to Incredible Hulk?”
“He’s even greener than that,” Mum says quietly. “He went straight to your office after he grilled Rose.”
“Bet that went down well,” I muse, looking toward my office. “Where is she?”
“Running her palm under the cold tap.”
“Oh, fucking hell,” I breathe, heading to the kitchen. I find my wife looking fucking livid. “Hey, baby.”
Glancing up, her lips twist more. “He deserved it.”
I have no doubt. I can only imagine James trying to squeeze Rose for information. “We found Brad.” I see her small exhale of relief.
“Where was he?”
I swerve that question. “So has she?” I ask, going to her. “Been in touch?”
“No, she hasn’t, and even if she had, I wouldn’t tell him.”
I take her hand and check her palm. It’s pink. Ouch. That’s a stinger. “He’s worried.”
“I know, but I don’t appreciate being grilled. He was fucking relentless. Following me from the sink to the cooker to the fridge, around and around, question after question. He was frenzied. I had to snap him out of it.”
I flinch for James. Of course, I know Rose slapping him would never have been because he laid a finger on her. He wouldn’t dare, and not just because of me. He loves Rose.
“Where the hell has she gone, Danny?” she asks, truly worried.
“You really don’t know?” I ask, shocked. She’s not giving us lip service? “You’ve not spoken to her?”
“No,” she mutters, indignant. “Her cell’s off.”
I take a towel and dab her hand dry, wincing at the red mark. It was just a slap, and Rose has delivered plenty of those and come off without injury, but her palm still hadn’t fully recovered from being burned by the damn pan in St. Lucia. “You couldn’t have used your other hand?” I ask, lifting it to my mouth and kissing it.
“If I had taken a moment to think about it, yes. It hurts like hell.”
Mum comes in and gets a pot out of the cupboard, placing it on the stove. “They’re in your office,” she tells me. “Rose, Daniel wants you upstairs.”
“Why, what’s wrong with him?” I ask.
“Something about Barney.”
Barney? My nose wrinkles. “If that kid’s spewed any more—”
“Lies?” Rose cocks her head and leaves the kitchen. “I’m certain Lennox will never allow Barney to see our son again.”
“Good,” I grunt, but immediately feel shitty about it. Daniel didn’t ask for this kind of childhood. I know he loves us, loves everyone, but he’s restrained here in Miami. “What do you think about sending Daniel to school?” I ask Mum out of the blue as she slaps a few spuds on the counter.
“I’m sorry, what?” she asks, not looking at me.
I frown. “School. What do you think? For Daniel.”
“I think,” she says on an exhale, not stopping what she’s doing, “before I give you any opinions on anything, I would like an apology.”
Otto. The fucker. My anger for that particular grievance is renewed. Unfortunately, I have other priorities. “I’m sorry,” I grunt. “But—”
Her knife comes up fast, pointing at me. “No buts, Danny. I am a grown woman, and I am your mother. Do you hear me? Your mother. I take care of you, take care of everyone around here, so you will back the hell off.”
“You deserve more tha—”
“A murdering criminal?”
I scowl. “This isn’t ab—”
“Do I deserve more than that in a son too?” she asks. “Because if anyone asked me to swap you for a more moral version, I’d tell them to fuck off.” She catches a breath, and I step back, alarmed. “Because I love you just the way you are, Danny, and everything you are is because you’re a fucking survivor.”
I recoil.
Fuck.
Me.
Received loud and clear. “I’m sorry,” I say, my tail between my legs.
“Good.”
“So what do you think?”
“About what?” she snaps, impatient, and still slightly breathless from her rant.
“School for Daniel.”
She sighs, her body loosening. “I think it’s a very good idea if we can find the right one, of course.”
A safe one. “Me too.”
“Do you want me to look into it?”
I nod. “But let me speak to Rose first.” Just as soon as I’ve dealt with the other shit. “I’ll be in my office.” I go to my mum, standing before her like I’m asking permission. I suppose I am. She lets a small smile free and gives me her cheek, not surrendering her potato or knife, and I drop a kiss there before leaving her, telling myself I need to shut the fuck up where her love life is concerned. But, I swear, if he hurts her, I won’t hold back.
I pass Pearl and Anya in the hallway, both girls in gym kit, both a little sweaty. “Good workout?” I ask as I pass.
“Oh, you’re back.” Pearl looks straight toward my office. “Any news on Brad?”
Oh? My feet slow to a stop, my body turning toward them. Anya has a nearly undetectable smile on her face as she looks at Pearl out the corner of her eye. What’s this then? “He’s back,” I say, watching her closely.
Her face. It’s shocked, pleased, nervous. Oh fuck. “He is?” she squeaks. “How is he?”
“Grumpy.”
“Standard,” Pearl says over a laugh. “So where’s he been?”
Now . . . do I tell her? This girl is twenty-one. Brad is thirty-four. He was twenty-one when Pops dragged him out of a hotel and gave him a lesson in acceptable levels of indulgence. Pearl was eight when Brad was twenty-one. Jesus. So, yes, I do tell her. She’s young. Delusional. The best thing Pearl could do is hate Brad, so let’s make that happen. “He locked himself in a suite at The Four Seasons and fucked his way through hooker after hooker.”
Her face. Disappointment, hurt, sadness. I take no pleasure from it. But . . . I also know Brad. He values women about as much as the devil values confession. “Esther needs some help in the kitchen.” I get on my way and enter my office to find everyone still and silent. James has his back to me, quietly seething in the chair, Brad’s on the couch, looking a fucking wreck, Otto’s setting up his shiny new laptop, and Ringo and Goldie are on their phones. “Glad to see the party didn’t start without me.” I close the door and go to my desk, assessing James. He really is green. Probably sick with worry. “Where’s Nolan?”
“Gone back to Hiatus,” Brad says. “I’m here for the lowdown, then I’m going.” Escaping. Running away. Because of Pearl. Fucking hell, he can’t stay here because of her. Is she coming on to him? Does he find the redhead attractive? Doesn’t he trust himself?