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Is she going to be okay on her own? What if she wanders off? She hasn’t done that yet, but I’ve heard horror stories. Is she drinking enough water? Should I insist on moving in with her to keep a closer eye on her? Does she need a full-time caregiver? If she does, can we afford it? Probably not, and insurance doesn’t cover enough. My sister has already looked into it.
And how the hell am I supposed to juggle my own life with all the care she’ll soon need?
By the time I’ve pulled into my driveway, one worry screams at me louder than the rest.
How long until she doesn’t remember me?
* * *
Raising my beer,I shout above the din of the Sassy Parrot, “Cheers, boys!”
Tomer, Jonesy, and Henderson clink bottles with me and then chug.
Jonesy sets his bottle down first and sighs. “So glad this fucking week is over.”
“No shit,” Tomer mutters, tension radiating off him. Poor guy has had it rough lately. “I told Boss I’m taking tomorrow off. I don’t care if a bomb goes off in the middle of Clearwater and we’re the only people who can save the town. I’m sleeping all damn day.”
We decided we were due for a happy hour to celebrate the successful close of a challenging case facing off with the Russian freaking mafia to save one of our own. It took a few weeks for our schedules to sync up, but most of the team made it out for a drink tonight.
I’m surprised Henderson’s still here since he has a wife and baby waiting for him at home. Lionheart, Sawyer, and Shep were here earlier, but they soon disappeared to rush home to the women they love. Domesticated saps.
If you were wondering, yes, that was said with the utmost jealousy.
When Jenna and I broke up, I went through a bit of a depression. It wasn’t losing her that got me down so much as the promise of what we could have been together. I was mourning the loss of a future. A family. Something I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember, but even more so now that Ma’s health is declining. Family is everything to me. And for a time, I thought Jenna could have been the one to give me that.
Forcing a cleansing exhale, I brush off the grim thoughts and try to stay in the moment.
Gripping Tomer’s shoulder, I shake him lightly. “In bed all day, huh? Keep that crap up, and we’ll have to change your door sign toStanimal the Party Animal.”
He rolls his eyes at my shitty joke, hiding a partial grin behind the rim of his bottle. The drinks must be kicking in, since he didn’t instantly growl at the mention of his cursed door sign.
Sawyer, one of our coworkers, has been trolling him with aChuck Nofunfuckdoor sign for over two years after a mouthy client forgot Tomer’s real name and bestowed that nickname on him.
Understandably, the poor guy hates it. And that just makes everyone tease him more. It’s Redleg tradition.
But I should cut him some slack. He’s suffered enough— especially lately. He’s one more bad day away from snapping and walking off the job.
Tomer and I have been through the muck these last few weeks. It started with a shitload of fallout work from the Franco case. Then we’ve had to trudge through tons of extra work that Big Al promised CPD we’d handle as part of our new partnership.
Unlike him, though, I’m amped.
That’s because there’s a silver lining to being this busy. The more often Boss assigns me to assist Tomer, the closer I get to becoming a permanent part of the intel team instead of being backup like I’ve been for a couple of months. It’s only a matter of time until the job is mine.
We make a good team. He’s got the technical shit down pat, and I know the ins and outs of all the toys we use. Plus, he’s quiet most of the time and doesn’t complain when I blare my music in the office. My parents taught me to love all the classics— Sir Tom Jones, Barry Manilow, Bobby Darin, Sammy Davis Jr., and Sinatra.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve considered myself the unofficial sixth member of the Rat Pack.
Thinking of my parents’ influence on my love of the greats makes me uneasy, so I pull out my phone and open the tracking app. A few weeks ago, when Ma’s mental decline seemed to accelerate at a faster pace, I gave her a tracker so I could monitor her location and vital signs when I’m not with her. She thinks it’s a beautiful bracelet from her loving son. It is, but it’s also a tool to ease my worried mind.
She’s at home, and her vitals are normal, so I put the phone away and enjoy the night.
Once I’ve finished my beer, I grab the empties from the table. “This round is on me. How about shots?”
Jonesy grins. “1800 with a lime.”
Henderson puts his palm out, facing me. “Nothing else for me, thanks. Liv’s almost here.”
I lean forward to make sure I heard him correctly. “You’re making your wife pick you up when she’s been home with the baby all night? I don’t claim to know how marriage works, but that seems like a surefire way to get banished to the couch.”
