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“Please.”
Gone was the bright, furious woman who wanted to rip into that doctor with her bare hands, face twisted into a snarl. Now she was Val. His sister. His nephew’s mother.
The person who had saved him when things were really dark. When he’d been wondering if any of it was worth sticking around for.
Barrett got them coffee and bags of pretzels from a vending machine down the hall, then took up a post outside Forrest’s room. Val didn’t say it but he knew she needed some time - quiet, alone - to spend by the kid’s bedside. So he sat in the rickety chair that cut into his thighs and waited.
“Shit,” he muttered about an hour later when he remembered Ambrose. He’d been content to watch the nurses scuttle about, dodging beds and doctors and patients and family members, lulled into a fog by their movement and the drone of the intercom. He owed the man an apology and from the frozen pie in Ambrose’s hands, he was pretty sure the man had been on the same thought track.
So they were both shit at making friends. Hell, even being polite. Barrett had noticed how uncomfortable Ambrose seemed to be when anyone was kind to him and that made a fierce kind of protectiveness flare in his own chest. Everyone deserved kindnesses and thoughtful words and honest compliments. Ambrose damn near flinched when he’d offered to pick up some groceries. Barrett had his own damage, forged in the fire of a tumultuous childhood spent raising Val instead of being a child himself. He never regretted a thing, but that stuff left an indelible mark.
He wondered what marks Ambrose bore, and how deep they went.
From: BarrettSorry about this morning. My nephew’s sick and they live far away. I owe you a proper apology when I get back. And a meal because I’m gonna be gone for at least a few days. Sorry again for tossing all that on you.
He sent it without overthinking too much (how proud Val would be), then fired off some texts to Meredith and Jacques to let them know he was going to be out. Jacques could easily switch up the team leads for a few days and Meredith would cover for him. She liked the time and a half pay and with the holidays coming up and a dozen or so nieces and nephews to buy for, the money would be welcome.
“Ah, so Valena called in her guard dog. Lovely.”
Ken Morano was the kind of rich prick who thought top of the line gear would make him a great hiker with no practice of any kind. He was also the kind of arrogant asshole who never did any proper research or went out with a guide before attempting a high level trail, expecting his fancy gear to save his ass. Barrett knew because many years ago, he’d received a call to go rescue a hiker who had fallen and likely broken his arm. That hiker had been Ken, the arm had been broken in two places, and while they were getting Ken warmed up and tended to, Val had swung by to pick up more trail maps for some friends.
This had been over a dozen years ago, when Val lived within fifteen minutes of Lake Honor, and when Ken had just been a handsome but foolish stranger. Barrett regretted that their paths had ever crossed. Ken had been ideal for a long time, until he wasn’t.
Barrett knew that Ken considered him the catalyst for he and Val’s divorce. But with Ken it was never a simple issue. There had been moments over the years that rankled but he’d kept the peace for his sister and his nephew. Even if that meant buffering Ken’s snide little comments about Val not dressing up for him anymore and then, when Barrett would stare at him, listening to Ken say, “I was just joking!”
But when Val had called him to come over and silently handed him a stack of papers, her face ashen, her hair limp, and bruised purple bags under her eyes, he’d known there was something else going on. They’d spent an entire evening bent over her expensive as hell dining room table, piecing together Ken’s various deceptions, frauds, and schemes. Shell companies where he was socking away money. Handwritten notes from mistresses. Purchases of jewelry and flowers and lingerie.
“It’s almost like a bad Jackie Collins book,” Val had said in a whisper, her eyes so sad but the grim line of her mouth determined. Val wasn’t anyone’s tool or castaway, and he knew she wouldn’t take this lightly. And in the end, it had been Ken’s own narcissism to sink him during the divorce, along with police reports of trespassing on Barrett’s property while Val and Forrest had stayed with him during those weeks. Ken hadn’t been stupid enough to mess with Barrett’s government truck, but he or someone he’d hired had keyed Val’s car, slashed the tires, and left yowling screeds in Barrett’s mailbox. The fucker had always blamed Barrett for the divorce, which was baffling. But then again, the man had no ability to look at his own deeds and see the wrongs piled up like so much trash.
“Ken,” Barrett said stiffly, not moving from his seat and not putting his phone away. The recording app he kept in the background, at all times, required only the press of a button. He knew Val could hear them just outside the room but wasn’t about to take the chance. Ken was a grade-A asshole, and a litigious one. He’d threatened to sue Barrett more than once when Val had left his sanctimonious, cheating ass. All while festering his anger in harrassment and property damage, though they could never fully prove Ken had been behind the slashed tires and keyed car doors. Likely because he’d hired someone to do the dirty work for him.
Val was there a moment later, Barrett sitting between them like some kind of unkempt wall. “I said in the morning,” Val bit out in a harsh whisper as she crossed her arms and stood in front of Forrest’s door. “Visiting hours are almost over. And you have papers to sign.”
Ken mirrored her stance. His perfect, pretty face got a particular sneer on it when the man was feeling especially assholery. It made Barrett want to punch him. Years of Val fighting him in court, years of fighting for their kid, getting put through fifteen layers of hell. And yet that sneer was the only thing that made him see red.
He didn’t remember shooting to his feet or putting himself physically between them. All he recognized was his own voice dropped into a growl. “You heard her, Ken.”
The sneer dropped, taking Barrett’s skyrocketing blood pressure with it. But Ken couldn’t just let it go. “You know, Bartie, this really is a conversation between two adults who share a child. Why don’t you…” And he thrust a one hundred dollar bill out. “Go get Dandelion from the kennel and take her home with you. This should cover it.”
Barrett waited.
“It’s that or my secretary picks her up, only to drop the mutt off at the pound. And then I’ll have to hear her complain about going out in the snow.” His sneer made Barrett’s ire rise but he kept his focus, kept breathing.
Val exploded from behind Barrett. “That is Forrest’s dog! You can’t do that -”
“Ma’am. Ma’am.” The same nurse from earlier was now in the fray, hands out placatingly. “This is the ICU and there are other patients here. We can’t have yelling or shouting.” She slapped Ken with an icy stare. “If you need to have a conversation, take it outside. Where it won’t disturb the other patients and their families.”
“Go.” Val’s entire being was tense; she was practically vibrating with anger at Barrett’s side. “Forrest will want to know his dog’s okay.”
“Val…”
She flashed her phone screen at him and he recognized the name of her attorney pulled up in her contacts. “I got it.”
With a deep breath, Barrett dropped the money to the ground, kissed his sister on the forehead, and walked down the hall toward the elevators. It was only after he was squashed into a corner of one of those metal boxes that he turned the recorder off on his phone. His worry over Val was never going to abate. She would always be his little punk, climbing trees, singing off key, throwing gummy bears at him; usually the same ones they’d stolen from the corner store when that was all they could manage to stick in their pockets.
“Gummy bears or go hungry,” he’d said a few times, watching her little eyes grow wide at the sight of big bottles of soda and loaves of bread. Sometimes their parents left food for them, and sometimes they were left to scrounge. Or steal. He’d never feltgoodabout doing that, but it was survival first, morality second.
And then their parents would return from wherever they’d gone and things would be all right for a while. Sometimes months, sometimes just days; days he tracked by marking his wall with a pen. And when he’d lived with his grandmother for too long after their parents’ divorce, he emancipated himself from that “care” at sixteen. And he’d fought to take Val with him. No one put up a fuss, just shrugged and said, “Take her“.
