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“Vodka,” he answered and finished the glass of water. “Not a full bottle, but I emptied it.”
“A bottle, Nick?”
“He threw up on the way here,” Charity volunteered softly. “A lot.” She paused. “A lot—lot.” There was definite emphasis on the last word.
Hopefully most of the alcohol was out of his system. “Can you get him more water?” She held out his empty glass to Charity, and she hopped up, hurrying into the kitchen.
Nick stared at her, red-faced from vodka and anger.
“Do you know how lucky you were tonight, Nick? You could have…” She didn’t want to think about what could have happened. “You could have been hurt. Hurt someone else.” Her gaze searched his face. “You’re my son, Nickie. No matter what, I’m here for you. I hate that you’re hurting like this.” She sat on the ottoman in front of him and took his hands. “If there were a way to make it better, I would. You know that, I hope.”
His stare was hard. “Prove it.”
She did, she tried, every day. It wasn’t that easy. Being a parent was never that easy. She stared at her son, aching from the pain and anger in his big eyes. The wounds her son carried were her fault—her and Matt’s. All the apologies and hugs in the world couldn’t change that. “I don’t know how.”
“Easy.” He shook his head. “Me or him.”
“You or Graham?” The clarification was necessary. Jack was still the elephant in the room, looming on the edges of everything. But there was nothing he could do about that—no matter how much he resented it. Which he did, so much that he was going to take all his aggression out on Graham. If she tried to point that out, he’d only dig in harder. His life was spinning out of control. Sending Graham away wouldn’t make anything better. He was doing it because he could. If she let him.
He nodded, his nostrils flaring. “You have to think about it?”
“No.” Her lungs emptied. “No. You, Nick. Always. If giving up Graham proves that, then I won’t see him anymore.”
He slumped back into the chair at the same time Charity returned with a full glass of water.
“What do we have to do with Sheriff Martinez? Do I need to sign paperwork? Do you have community service? What?” She glanced at Charity for answers.
“Nothing.” Her sister shook her head. “He gave him a warning.”
“Seriously?” Nick asked, looking just as stunned as she was.
“That’s sort of what I said. No offense, kiddo, but you’re getting off easy.” Charity shrugged. “If you don’t have the world’s worst hangover tomorrow, it won’t be fair.”
“I know,” Nick agreed.
Felicity studied her son. Did he know? Really?
“I do,” he repeated, barely able to look her in the eye. “I sort of lost it tonight. Dad… Jack…” His jaw tightened hard. “Next time…” He shrugged. “I won’t.”
“You can be angry, Nickie.” Felicity touched his chin, waiting for him to look at her. “You have every right to be angry. It’s what you do with it that’s important. Lashing out at the world only makes it worse. And, in all likelihood, hurts the ones around you. The ones who love you more than anything.”
He wrinkled his nose, his bleary eyes filling with tears.
“Besides, Sheriff Martinez might not be willing to let you off with a warning next time.”
“He’s a really decent guy,” Charity added. “I asked him why he was doing this, and he said he understood.”
Felicity knew what Braden Martinez had suffered; the whole town knew. The accident that changed his life forever had been front-page news. Did Charity know about that? About Braden’s poor wife? Every time she saw the man, she felt compelled to hug him—an impulse the very private and reserved man wouldn’t appreciate.
“I’m hungry,” Charity sounded off. “Ice cream, anyone?”
Felicity shook her head. “This guy needs a shower and bed.”
Nick nodded. All signs of his previous temper were gone.
She helped Nick up and as far as the stairs. “I should call Mom and Dad so they don’t wake up and panic.”
He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her for a long time. It was going to be okay. She didn’t know how, but she had to believe it. She had to.
