Hold On (Page 22)

“That’s appreciated too.”

“Never ends for her,” Tanner observed. “The legacy of bullshit that asshole laid on her.”

“Nope,” Garrett agreed.

“Her ex had problems, we’ll find somethin’,” Tanner assured.

“I hope so,” Garrett replied, then asked, “You and Rocky gettin’ any sleep?”

This was also a valid question since his sister and brother-in-law gave him a niece, still a baby, though growing up, and she was a big fan of daytime naps, but she’d never been a fan of nighttime sleep.

“CeeCee’s determined to be a night owl.”

Thinking about his beautiful niece, Cecelia, and the fact that she was a product of the love Tanner and Rocky had for each other, Garrett grinned into the night as he took another drag.

“Listen, Garrett,” Tanner continued. “Heard about Mia. Was deep in it with some work with Ryker. Didn’t have time to seek you out. Called, but you didn’t—”

Garrett interrupted him. “I’m good.”

“Brother,” Tanner said low, not believing him.

Garrett inhaled again, and on the exhale, he stated, “I’m good, Tanner. Did it smart, timed it right, threw a few back when Cher was on.” He felt one side of his lips tip up. “She had a few words with me the only way Cher knows how. But the woman has wisdom.”

Tanner still sounded disbelieving when he asked, “What’d she say?”

Since it all came out, the fact that the Merrick family was still dealing with the murder years ago of Raquel and Garrett’s mom, Cecelia Merrick, that shit being ugly, nearly shredding Rocky, Garrett didn’t hold much back from Tanner Layne.

Rocky would have come undone if Tanner, his mother, his sons, and his friend/mentor Devin hadn’t held the tatters together. And it might not have happened—a lot might not have happened—if Garrett had given his sister what she’d really needed in the years since their mother was murdered.

He’d held back in the past, thinking he was protecting Rocky, doing what she told him she needed, looking after his sister, his family.

Tanner was family. Garrett and his father’s silence about the demons that plagued the Merrick clan after Cecilia had been tortured and shot to death had nearly torn their family apart (again).

Shit had gone extreme.

Now he no longer made that same mistake.

So, right then, Garrett didn’t hesitate in giving it to Tanner.

“Difference between you and Rocky and me and Mia is you got a shot at gettin’ your woman back, you took it, and you stood by her when the bad hit. I have that same bad shit. A different way, but I got it. Mia knew it and didn’t give that back.”

“Fuck. Never thought to turn that table, but Cher’s right.”

She was.

For years, Garrett never turned that table either.

Mia was it. The one. Tormenting his mind. Owning his heart.

He’d been happy with her. She’d been happy with him. It had been good. Beyond good.

They’d had it all.

Then he’d ended it, and he didn’t even know why he did it until Rocky came apart that day—Rocky, having done the same thing to Tanner years before, deep down into her bones terrified that happy would vaporize like it had the night Cecilia stood strong to protect her daughter, her husband’s work, then lost her life doing both.

He also never would have guessed that the day he lost Mia for good was the day he’d see things for what they were.

Tanner and Rocky had it. Colt and Feb. Cal and Vi. Dusty and Mike.

Garrett might have it, he didn’t know.

What he did know, now that Cher had pointed it out, was that Mia didn’t.

Getting that knowledge from Cher, it was like he’d been yoked, that yoke heavy but also invisible. He didn’t even know it’d hung around his neck, dragging him down.

And then it was just gone.

And now he was free.

“Good to know you’re doin’ okay,” Tanner said.

“Yeah,” Garrett muttered.

“Now, brother, CeeCee’s down, so Roc and me got about five seconds of alone time and, no offense, I wanna spend that time with my wife.”

Garrett grinned into the night again and replied, “Then I’ll let you go. Later, Tanner.”

“Later, Garrett.”

They disconnected and Garrett stared into the parking lot, wondering what it would feel like to have an actual yard as he finished his smoke.

He turned and bent low to the crappy-ass, cheap, white plastic table that sat between two crappy-ass, cheap, white plastic chairs in order to stub out his cigarette.

He did this thinking back to if he’d ever smoked in front of Ethan.

Friday night, Cher had come out with him twice as they were getting hammered so he could have a smoke, standing in front of him on her high-heeled shoes, shifting from foot to foot in the cold, while he told her to get her ass back inside and she gave him all kinds of shit for smoking.

But Ethan? No. Garrett wouldn’t do that. He’d never smoke in front of any of his friends’ kids. Not when they were Ethan’s age. Not when they hadn’t already learned better.

He turned, pulled the sliding glass door open, and shut it behind him, intending to go to the fridge and get a beer.

He didn’t get a beer.

He looked at the living room/dining room/kitchen part of his condo, all of it easy to see because it was condensed into as few square feet as a builder could design those three spaces.

He had crappy-ass balcony furniture.

The furniture inside was only a shade above crappy-ass, but it was still shit.