12. Grayson

Grayson

P ulling up to the large house, I turn in my seat. George has fallen asleep during the drive, his face peaceful in the dim light filtering through the car windows.

"Wake up, bud," I say softly.

Georgie's eyes flutter open, and his excitement is immediate. "Are we here?"

I smile and unbuckle. "We are. Are you gonna be good today? No sneaking powdered sugar?"

Georgie gives a wide-eyed nod. He was grounded from his tablet all last night for the mischief he caused the day before. Although the pictures that Henrietta sent didn't exactly encourage punishment. Seeing my son and three other little boys covered in white powder and naked? Let's just say my sense of humor got a workout. But the photo will certainly be going into his high school graduation slide show.

I get us both out of the car and stride to the front door with George in my arms. The scent of ocean air and blooming jasmine fills the morning breeze as I ring the bell and wait.

A man, even bigger than me, answers. His bald head shines with sweat, though it's still early.

"Name?" he asks, like he's the bouncer at a club. What is all of this, then? Did Henrietta hire some sort of bodyguard?

"Erm, Grayson and George."

"Come in." The giant steps to the side, lumbering like a tired bear.

Behind him, an older woman wearing bifocals and a robe stands. "Georgie! How nice to see you! I see you met Mack, my bodyguard." The woman, Henrietta, who is Tommy's mother, pecks me on the cheek as I walk inside. This is only the second time I've left my son with her, but I'm already glad I did. George gets to play with his cousins all day while someone I know and trust keeps him safe.

My jaw is practically unhinged. "Bodyguard?"

"Well, Tilly had some concerns."

I set George down and level her with my meanest stare. "Seems some cop called to warn her about some things."

My fingers go to my face to pinch the bridge of my nose. "Maggie?"

"Yes, that's right. So, I asked Mack to come for a visit from Tahoe. He loves the sunshine anyway."

Mack doesn't react, only sits on the couch and scrolls through his phone. The twins are already stomping around the front living room, toys scattered everywhere. The sound of laughter and clattering toys echoes off the high ceilings. Since I was uncomfortable with leaving George at a daycare, Tommy's mother offered to watch him. Though she has a nanny that comes by, she still does most of the work hands-on. I have never met someone like Henrietta. She seems to thrive in chaos. Especially with the boys. There is always one of them here, and by the amount of smiling she does, I know she loves it.

"Maggie's being safe. She met George and might be a little attached."

A twinkle sparks to life in her eyes. "Oh? And this is the disaster date woman too, right?"

So she spoke with Tommy too. What a momma's boy. I roll my eyes. "It wasn't a date. It was a meeting at a restaurant."

She quirks a brow, and I feel the urge to tug on my collar. I have a suspicion that people don't often fib to Henrietta. Or even try to. I've done it this once and not only do I regret it completely, but have the odd idea that I need to apologize profusely. "I would like to date her, but she's…."

"Stubborn." She says and helps Georgie out of his coat before ushering him off to play. "And that's good. She'll need it to be a good stepmom."

Both my hands go out, waving like a fool. "That's not what I'm looking for."

"And why not? Shouldn't every woman you have an interest in fit that bill?" Well, damn. She's got me there. While I contemplate things, she walks up to me and smooths something off my sweater vest. "Darling baby, be confused, that's okay. But don't give up on the family life. If this Maggie person is too stubborn, look elsewhere." Her close proximity is making me nervous. I didn't exactly have any sort of nurturing as a kid. My brother and I were raised by Tia in a house full of assholes. Wondering where my parents are? Me too. There was never a father in the picture and my mother passed when I was nine from cancer, supposedly. Though I never saw any evidence of her getting ill. Another in a long line of questions I won't ever have the answers to. Most of the people that would know are dead or in jail hating me.

So motherly attention is…strange. "You're a good boy, Grayson. Someone will see that and pin you down. Trust me," she gives a little wink and turns to Mack. "Did Georgie eat?"

Since I'm still a little stunned by her words, it takes me a second to respond. "Uh, yes. He already had breakfast, and I want him to take a nap today. No matter what he says."

"And you? Have you had breakfast?" She's already on her way to the kitchen. I haven't but don't get the chance to say it. "Have a muffin," is all Henrietta says as she tosses me a warm blueberry pastry. A dog trots over at the motion. I didn't see him yesterday. "Uh, hello," I say, awkwardly. The fluffy husky sits and licks his chops.

I look at the muffin and back at the dog. "Um, do I give him some?" I ask.

Henrietta claps her hands. "Murphy, stop that." Murphy lays down, but his sad eyes are still on me as I unwrap my breakfast. The aroma is sweet and my first bite taste even better. "Sorry," I say softly to the dog. He whines once but doesn't get up. Meanwhile, Henrietta is already going back to her crossword puzzles. She waves the hand with her pencil at me. "Eat in the car, or you'll be late."

I start back toward the door, a chuckle escaping despite the long day ahead. Henrietta is quickly becoming one of my favorite people.

"I'll be late picking him up today, if that's okay. I have some work at the Embarcadero store." Henrietta waves me away again without looking up. I smile.

"Nice to meet you, uh, Mack." The man gives a stiff nod but doesn't speak as I walk out and shut the door behind me.

On the way to the Embarcadero, I listen to the news. Bombings, looming government shutdowns, and natural disasters all have me seething by the time I arrive waterside. The world seems to be burning, and there's a hopeless feeling that accompanies it.

I need to limit my intake of news. Already, I'm planning which music to listen to on my way back. It's a long drive to Henrietta's seaside mansion in La Jolla, but it's also free childcare with someone I trust. Far be it for me to complain about that.

Inside the store at the Embarcadero, I'm met with sleek modern furniture and recessed lighting. The place is as different from the surf shack as could be. Where the surf shack sees disorganization and rust, the tour company is a splendid display of success. Probably because Miranda has been in charge of it. She doesn't settle for anything less than the best. I shouldn't be surprised that she's designed this place to mirror that.

Miranda strides out from her glass-walled office. "Morning, Grayson."

"Morning. Is coffee on?" She nods and heads straight to the front desk. "Have you seen Roger?"

I shake my head. Our tour guide is proving disastrous. The man can't be on time if his life depends on it. But he's admittedly great at everything else and has a knowledge of San Diego that is faultless. Just doesn't seem to own a pocket watch.

"I'm firing that asshole. We have a Japanese tour group here in five minutes," she says.

"Fire him, and you'll be the one carting these tourists around," I remind her. I fill my mug and head to my office. If I can help it, I won't go to the surf shack. I much prefer the quiet solitude of Sanderson Tours and Rentals. The glass-encased space Miranda gave me here is perfect. Everything has its place, even the framed photo of me and George at the beach from last week. A soothing peace washes over me as I sit in my leather chair. It's comfortable, sure, but more importantly, it doesn't squeak. Nothing gets me in a fouler mood than a squeaky chair. Sipping my coffee, I unlock my computer and begin checking the morning's account balances. Sanderson Surf is currently at $1.8 million while Sanderson Tours is at a pretty $2.6 million. Seeing those numbers makes my lips twitch into a grin. The name on the building might be Sanderson, but Tilly has been the one to capitalize on their free publicity and expand. She's done a damn fine job. It might be time to grow again. Adding a second yacht for tours would be a very worthy investment.

I close the accounts tab and pull up a ship refurbishing company. I'm happily scrolling options to present to everyone when I hear the front door open and see Roger stroll inside. The man is dressed in pressed khakis and our navy-blue polo shirt. His dark hair is slicked back, and his gold wristwatch glints as he lifts a Starbucks to his mouth.

"Morning all," he says.

I watch as Miranda stomps by. "Roger! You're half an hour late, and for what? Fucking coffee?"

"Line was long," he says with a shoulder shrug.

"Then leave earlier! We still need to meet with the captain and—"

"Relax. I texted Cap'n Rex on the way. Everything's fine, babe."

I cringe. Roger has made two very fatal mistakes. Telling Miranda to relax and calling her babe? The man will surely be fired and probably punched if I don't intervene. I snap out of my chair and rush out to where they're standing in the lobby.

"Roger, you should let us know if you'll be late. But it sounds like everything is running smoothly. Miranda, can I see you in my office?"

Her chest is rising and falling in quick bursts, her face beet red, but she doesn't say a word as she strides into my office. I close the door behind her.

"I swear I'm going to kill that man."

"Later. We need to talk PR."

"What?" she snaps as she takes a seat.

"I think we can spend more here and less at the shack. Can you come up with some marketing campaigns? I'm thinking radio ads in LA might really flood us with business."

She takes a calming breath. "Yes. I'll do it today, but this guy—"

I hold up a hand. "Is good at his job. Maybe a douche, but the tourists love him."

She starts fidgeting like she wants to argue further but only gets to her feet. "One more time, and I swear I'll do it." I almost laugh. It's fairly clear to me that she's fighting something akin to attraction and hate with Roger.

The man is flashy and a know-it-all. Almost in the same way that Miranda is. In my mind, they're probably perfect for each other, even if Roger is a few years older. But far be it for me to give Miranda any sort of advice. Her terror would probably be turned on me.

She leaves, and I go back to scrolling through ships. After a few hours, my phone rings. The number is blocked, but I answer it anyway.

"Hello."

"G-man, it's Kip." Kip is an old warehouse worker for a Cardenas shipping company. One I didn't particularly like when I knew him back in the day. Probably because he was doing small deals outside our delivery door. But hey, can't really complain when the criminal you hire to help orchestrate your crimes does his own crimes.

"Hey Kip, how's it going?"

"Not great, man. Still running. You know how it is," he says. I know a few of the former employees chose to run rather than be arrested. Kip always had ties to the local gangs, so I'm not surprised. His name was on a list that I turned over to the police. If he's calling and sounding happy about it, he does not know. That's good news for me, even if it does make me feel a little guilty.

"Two years is a lot better than running," I say.

"Yeah, easy for you to say. The two years are already up." I chuckle a bit. "But listen, man, I heard something, and I wanted to warn you."

"Warn me?"

"Someone has it out for you bad. 50 g's bad." I can read between the lines. Fifty thousand dollars to whomever eventually kills me.

"Any particular reason why? I went to jail just like everyone else."

"No idea, dude. Axe offered it to me since I owe money to my bookie, but I turned it down. I like you, man. Just maybe buy a gun or something."

"All right, Kip. Thanks, I guess," I say. We both say our goodbyes, and I set the phone down. I stare at the dark screen as I process the information. If Kip had heard I was the rat, surely he would have just taken the job. No one likes people who inform. It's a rule of the game.

Two thoughts quickly run through my head. The first is the more pressing; George is now in danger. After the shooting, I thought it wasn't safe at our condo. But the police assured me they would increase their patrols and that the shooting was a one-time thing. An outlier. I remember that specifically because I'm an accountant. Nothing bothers me more than outliers. In statistics, it's something that we write off as unexplainable. A data point that doesn't follow the trend.

When dealing with the safety of my son, I don't like things that are unexplainable. Kip and Axe are in with gangs, they always have been. And the shooting was gang-related. At least that much I agree with the police on. Kip has unknowingly fixed my data point problem. The shooting wasn't an outlier. It was the trend. Meaning, it will happen again. The gangs are trying to fulfill the contract on my life. A part of me has always known that, but I've been fighting the truth. I don't want to send George away. I want to live this life we've had for the past two weeks. It's been busy and a little chaotic, but I've loved every second.

While I've been vigilant by making sure I'm not being followed and scanning the parking lot of our building before rushing inside, I now know it's not enough. Even with the nice alarm system I bought for the condo. It was the first time I used the credit card Penny gave me, but for George's safety, it was necessary.

My temples throb with the decisions I need to make. George's safety versus his stability. It's not a real decision at all, is it? $50,000 can motivate a lot of people to be stupid. There's no way I can keep George with me. Being with me is now hazardous to his health, as much as it pains me to admit. I need to call my mother-in-law and fast.

The second thought is somehow even harder to do. I need to call Maggie but hesitate. Again, it's something we shouldn't talk about over the phone, but I'm not ready to see her again. The woman does things to me without even trying that I'm desperate to avoid. After our last…outing, I can't imagine getting shut down again. Can I resist the temptation to try?

My fist tightens. Yes.

For George, I can. Figuring this out is my top priority because until I do, living with my son isn't possible. And that's what I want. My family. My son. Together every night without threat of injury or prison. Working with Maggie is a must. She's a damn good detective and I know she can help me. She already has, and even with the strange way we left things, I know she's working my case behind the scenes.

With Miranda's shouts coming from the front room, I'm pulled from my own thoughts. I know she and Roger are arguing again. I run a hand through my hair and stand up.

If they would just sleep together…ew…they probably wouldn't fight as much. Still, I get up and stride into the main office again, hoping to prevent bloodshed before I look for flights to Oregon. It will be the second time I use the credit card Tommy provided. But first class with my son sounds like the perfect way to send him off in style.