She went on tiptoe and spoke in his ear. “If you go in with me, I promise I’ll leave early from the senior dance at the community center. Instead of staying to the end and driving the OGs back, I’ll come to your place.”
Fuck, that was so damn tempting. His blue balls were about to kill him, and getting time alone with Grease Barbie was damn difficult. She was much busier than he’d expected her to be. If she wasn’t at the garage, she had business to attend to in Boston, ordering spare parts and whatnot, or she was on OG duty. Or she was dating.
She must have noticed he was wavering because she continued, her voice even huskier. “You have condoms, or should I stop at the drugstore?”
He had that covered. After the last time, he’d put rubbers in every room in his house. He sighed out loud and began walking. She had him by the balls, literally. And she knew it.
“That’s my Boomer.”
This was such a bad idea. He was going to keep his trap shut and hope for the best—which, when it came to his granddad and him, meant avoiding a screaming match.
“Horatio keeps to himself, but he’s good-natured and polite. No one has problems with him ever.”
Ha. Granddad had created a new life for himself: Horatio Skehan, harmless, quiet, and all-around nice guy. What a fake.
They knocked, and, after a while, Horatio, with his oxygen tank and his walker, opened the door, which meant the nurse who came several times a week wasn’t there. He smiled at Rachel. To Adrian, he just nodded. Then he saw Adrian’s foot in the walking boot. “Are you okay?”
As if the old man gave a rat’s ass. Please. Adrian didn’t even bother answering.
“A little accident,” Rachel hurried to explain, probably uncomfortable at the long silence. “That’s why I’m here, to see if you need something. The sheriff won’t be able to do much more than visit.”
Visit? In her dreams. Adrian let Rachel talk. Safer that way. She asked about Horatio’s health and if he needed them to buy anything.
“I’m okay. The lady from social services came yesterday.” And then Horatio had the balls to invite them in to sit and drink coffee.
“We’re busy,” Adrian curtly answered. “We need to leave now.”
Rachel gave him the evil eye. Whatever. He knew very well what she saw: a sick and frail old man who’d had a bad stroke three years ago. Adrian saw a deceptive asshole who wouldn’t die because the devil himself didn’t want him.
“You can’t have a coffee with your old man?” Horatio asked, tempting the fragile status quo. At Adrian’s lack of response, he turned to Rachel. “Kids, huh? You break your back bringing them up, and it’s all for nothing. They forget easily.”
“You didn’t break your back. You broke ours,” Adrian said, trying to keep himself from exploding. “And the problem is that I didn’t forget, old man.”
Horatio got a very timely coughing attack that forced him to use the oxygen mask. “Kids are ingrates,” he muttered afterward.
Adrian turned around. Enough was enough. No amount of sex could force him to suffer through this.
He heard Rachel excuse them and tell Horatio they really were in a hurry. Once in the car, he waited for her to bitch about his behavior. Instead, she just looked at him. “Sorry. You didn’t want to come. I shouldn’t have insisted.”
He offered her a curt nod and decided to keep silent. Somehow, his mouth had other plans. “My brother and I came to live with him when my parents died in a car accident. He was authoritarian and abusive. Especially when he drank, which, thankfully, wasn’t often. He shouldn’t have taken two kids in, but my grandmother forced him. Great lady. A pity she died a couple of years later, leaving us with that ass, who began drinking heavily after that. He worked and drank, and the more he drank, the more unruly we became. My brother and I ran away when I was sixteen and Ricky fourteen.” They’d known Horatio wouldn’t bother going to the cops, and they’d been right. By that time, they were getting too big for Horatio to hit them, so he wasn’t that interested in having them back.
“We did okay on our own—I made sure of it—until Ricky started messing around with drugs. And hell started again. The rest I told you the other day. I’ve been surrounded by addicts, in one way or another, my whole life. Can’t stand them. They don’t change. Horatio is just putting up a front because he’s too old to show his true self.” He’d been living in Alden for fifteen years. A model citizen, ha! A former drunk who thought apologizing made him squeaky clean. Although Adrian didn’t recall the guy ever apologizing to him.
“People can change,” she said softly, her expression somehow somber.
“Not in my experience, Grease Barbie.”
“The scar across your eyebrow?” she asked in a whisper.
“His doing. Although he didn’t remember afterward. Lucky him, huh?”
“I’m so sorry. Why did you move here when he got sick?” she asked, putting the car into gear.
He wasn’t sure himself. He didn’t see the old man much. Aside from making sure everything was in order and Horatio had food and a nurse checking on him, Adrian didn’t even talk with him. “Maybe kids aren’t the ingrates he thinks they are. But enough about that.” The trip down memory lane hadn’t put him in good spirits.
Asking about what he’d wanted to know since yesterday evening wasn’t going to help either, but he had to, or he was going to spend another night tossing and turning. “How did your date go yesterday?”
She shrugged. “Nothing special.”
He’d convinced her to take her car, so she couldn’t drink. No fucking way was he agreeing to have her shit-faced and in the hands of a stranger. “You’ll never find anyone special on that app.”
“Can’t quit.”
“Why?”
“My grandma felt I wasn’t dating actively enough and offered to knock one thing off the OGs’ bucket list for every date I go on. And speak of the devil…” By now, they had made it to Wilma’s. The three OGs were dressed up and waiting for them in the driveway. “I agreed to pick the ladies up. You okay with it, or do you want me to drop you off first?”
“It’s fine.” Which was just as well, because the grannies were already jumping in.
“Good evening, Sheriff. What are you doing here? Are you escorting us or arresting us?” Wilma asked.
“I came to keep an eye on you.”
“You’re on sick leave,” Greta said accusingly. “It’s all up to Walter and Jensen.”
Right. Wouldn’t the OGs love that. “Bags, ladies,” he demanded, stretching his arm out to them.
Greta’s eyes brightened. “Oh, we’re being frisked, girls. How exciting. We don’t have drugs, Sheriff. Not even a liquor flask.”
“Speak for yourself,” Rebecca muttered. “I’m the one in charge of the alcohol today. And we are carrying drugs, Greta.”
The old lady, looking stunned, glanced at Rebecca. “Are we?”
“Check the pill dispenser,” Wilma explained. “It’s full.”
“True.” Greta turned to Adrian. “We’re carrying drugs. And alcohol. If we can call dibs, we want the happy-hour cell.”