When Lightning Strikes (Whiskey Creek #1)(23)
Author: Brenda Novak

“If he cared he never would’ve lost custody to begin with. A court doesn’t take your children away unless you deserve it.” The way her mother had deserved it. But Simon wasn’t her mother.

“You’re coming on really strong, Dad. Could you just…back off a little?”

The sudden chill told her she’d offended him. And he didn’t forgive easily, even small slights. He’d probably withhold his love and approval for weeks over this call. But she didn’t have the opportunity to apologize or try to make amends.

“You’re making a mistake, Gail,” he said, and hung up.

Gail stared at the phone in her hand. Part of her was inclined to call her father back. She’d always fallen in with his wishes before, and she certainly couldn’t deny the wisdom of his words. But firemen couldn’t avoid a burning building just because it was dangerous. Someone had to rush in and look for survivors.

Simon was standing in a burning building and, as belligerent, sarcastic and aloof as he could be, he didn’t know how to get himself out. He had too much anger and self-loathing working against him. Did she try to help? Risk getting burned herself? Or did she turn a blind eye, walk on and leave the job to someone else?

Who would do it if she didn’t? He had everyone he trusted cowed. And he wouldn’t cooperate with anyone he didn’t trust.

Why was it always someone else’s responsibility, anyway?

It wasn’t. This time she was holding the fire hose and she was going to use it whether her father approved or not. She might live to regret her actions—whenever she crossed her father she usually did—but if she were Simon, she’d want someone to brave the flames.

Taking a deep breath, she redialed.

Her father didn’t answer. He had to teach her a lesson for disrespecting him. But she wasn’t going to succumb to his emotional blackmail. Not today. She had a date with a burning building.

Joe answered. “Hey, Gail. I don’t know if Dad wants to talk—”

“I’m not asking him to speak to me. I just called to tell you both that I’m going to marry Simon,” she said, and disconnected.

10

Simon had had every drop of alcohol removed from his house, including the cooking sherry. He’d canceled all outings and appearances, lest he be tempted. And he’d agreed to have his chef administer random Breathalyzer tests every day for the first week, as a fail-safe to keep him honest. If he screwed up, Ian and Gail would be notified and it would all be over.

Those were extreme measures, and yet he was beginning to wonder if they’d be enough. It was only day three of Operation Desperation, as he secretly referred to it, and already he was having fantasies about gulping down the rubbing alcohol under his bathroom sink—anything to give him a few moments’ peace from the constant craving. He’d let drinking become such a big part of his life, had used it to create a buffer from all the things he’d rather avoid. When he was too bored, he drank. When he was too angry, he drank. When he was too frustrated or disillusioned, he drank. Alcohol even helped him sleep, if he consumed enough of it. Now he had to deal with all the emotions he’d purposely dulled, and he’d never felt more exposed to his enemies, more…raw.

As he glanced around his son’s old bedroom, he suffered a tremendous sense of loss. That was what he’d really been hiding from—his own inadequacies and what they’d cost him.

“Simon? Where the hell are you?”

Hearing his manager in the hallway, Simon stepped up to the window as if he was interested in what was going on outside. He didn’t want Ian to know he’d been sitting here for an hour or more, just missing his kid. “In here.”

The thump of footsteps stopped as Ian came to the open doorway and leaned against the frame. If he thought it was strange to find Simon in Ty’s old room, he didn’t say. His eyes swept over the stuffed animals in the hammock, the portrait of father and son taken a few days after Ty was born, the alligator-shaped rug on the floor and the extensive bug collection hanging on the wall, but he said only, “Holy shit, man. You scared me. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

Simon turned back to the spectacle of a woman with a camera attempting to scale his back fence. “Don’t know where it is.”

“Might be wise to keep track of it for the next couple of weeks, make yourself accessible to Gail and me, don’t you think?”

No, he didn’t. Keeping his phone close by would also make him accessible to his other friends, and he wasn’t supposed to see them, didn’t even want to hear their voices. Although he’d promised himself he’d get control of his life many times in the past few months, now he had no choice. He had to hold the line without a single mistake. Gail had been right when she’d said he was on his last chance. His attorney had called this morning to tell him that Bella’s side had been successful in convincing the judge to postpone the next hearing. He no longer saw that as a bad thing, since it gave him a chance to prove he’d changed. But it was absolutely imperative that the next several months go by “without incident.”

There won’t be anything I can do, his lawyer had emphasized, unless you make this reprieve  work to your benefit….

He got that. He was trying.

“Figured you’d find me if you needed me,” he said.

“You could make it easier. Takes twenty minutes just to go through this damn house.”

Simon preferred not to talk about why he’d been so hard to find. He didn’t want Ian to realize he was hanging on by such a slim thread. Somehow, despite the fact that he’d broken every promise he’d ever made to himself or anyone else since the real problems with Bella began, he’d managed to convince Ian and Gail that he could play the part of a sober, doting husband. Why erode their confidence? Their expectations, their willingness to trust him, were all that kept him going right now. That was why he’d sent Gail the necklace. In his better moments, he could acknowledge that his publicist’s life had been doing just fine until he’d come crashing into it.

He had a habit of bringing people down, whether he intended to or not. The least he could do was compensate her with a nice gift. “How’s the campaign coming along?”

Ian rubbed his hands. “Now that the weekend is over, the news is spreading fast.”

Simon was glad someone was excited about this. He was filled with trepidation and a sense of dread that he’d screw up again. “Good.”