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“Jim,” I said, ringing his desk intercom from mine.
“Right here,” he answered.
“I need Avery to text me some numbers of good rehab centers while I have the kid with me. I’m driving him there instead of taking his word that he’ll check in himself this time.”
“Got it. There is an excellent center she works with at her women’s center. You want to check him in?”
“Right. Have Av send me the numbers.” I looked back at Shane. It probably wasn’t the right time to talk about his dad’s shady shit. “Avery will get me the number I need in a few minutes, but what I want from you is your word.”
“My word?”
I nodded, “You seem like the type to keep your word, high or not? Yes?”
“Well, I—”
“What I know from others who’ve checked themselves into centers—or in your case, had a wealthy individual care enough to fund an all-expense paid vacation to one—is that they all seem to have something in common.”
“What’s that?”
“A will to live and desperation for a second chance at life,” I said. “Is that something you’re interested in? Do you want to live strong and independently or remain in this illusion of drugs being your life support system, which is blindfolding you on your way to an early grave?”
“I do, but fuck,” he started to get agitated, “you have no idea how hard it is. I’m not sure I can do this.”
“The center Mrs. Mitchell recommends won’t be an uncomfortable place, I assure you. They’ll have everything you need to keep comfortable as you detox and learn to start over without the drugs.”
“It’s not that. It’s just—when I’m sober, I see it all again. The night she died. Then, I feel the pain and emptiness of losing my mom,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “How am I supposed to function, knowing nothing can ever take that pain away? I don’t want to feel it.”
My heart ached for him, and I knelt in front of where he covered his face in his hands. The smell of the kid made a dumpster seem sanitary. “I don’t understand anything of your grief, the horror of not being able to grieve properly, and then the nightmare of an abusive father.” His hands pulled away from his face, and his eyes locked with mine. “My father was my idol, and when he died, my sadistic mother was not exactly nurturing to my siblings and me. I don’t say this to compare grief but to let you know I understand the loneliness of losing the person who loved you most. We handled our pain differently, as all people do. It doesn’t make it right or wrong. Me becoming a workaholic wasn’t exactly a healthy coping mechanism, I’m sure, so I’m not passing judgment.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. Is your mom really that bad?” he asked.
“My mother is a stone-cold sociopath,” I said. “My father died of a heart attack, but part of me wonders if that woman was responsible for it.”
“You think she killed him?”
Fuck, that came out wrong, given what I’d discovered about his parents.
“Do I think she gave him something to induce a heart attack? No. But she pushed and pushed him, insisting he work harder to secure their future. The irony is that my father was one of the most successful businessmen in Italy, so he did not need to work as hard as he did, if at all. Who knows? Maybe he was just trying to avoid her all that time,” I said with a slight laugh.
“Your father was Italian?” Shane asked with a look of confusion.
“Very Italian,” I said. “I know what you’re thinking; Monroe is not an Italian name. My father’s family has lived in Scotland for more generations than I can count. His father met my Nonna on holiday on the Amalfi Coast, and the rest is history. Suffice it to say that my grandfather preferred the weather in Italy to the Scottish Highlands, and they made their fortune in the olive oil business. My father expanded that business and became a self-made billionaire in the process.”
“He sounds impressive,” Shane said with a look of melancholy. “I wish my father could’ve been like that.”
“He was a force, and I worshipped him,” I said, seeing my father in my mind’s eye and missing him immensely. “My mother’s incessant manipulations wore him down, and soon after his death, it didn’t take long for me to hate everything about her. I knew instinctually that she wasn’t trustworthy, and I spent the better part of my childhood observing and analyzing her behavior out of self-protection. Flexing those mental muscles and observing every micro-aggression or weird vibe from an early age is why I am so good at my job. Perhaps my intuitive ability is a gift, I’m not sure, but with this sixth sense, I can see that you’re a good person, Shane.”
He looked away from me and shook his head, “Don’t bullshit me, man.”
I chuckled and stood, looking down when his eyes met mine again, “Trust me, I’m not the type.”
“Are you trying to score points with my sister?”
“I think that game ended before it started,” I said, feeling an emptiness in my gut that I hated. “Your sister and I are no longer seeing each other.”
He laughed with disgust and rolled his eyes, “Let me guess, she ran off with another guy. A relationship was too much for her?”
“No,” I shook my head. “Your sister is a beautiful soul, and I fucked this one up, buddy.”
