A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(61)

“Max and Rooster?”

He was shocked that his son knew their names. “What have you heard?” He felt guilty pumping Andrew for information. But what else could he do? He’d advised Annie not to spy on her mother or try to influence her. That nobility was costing him now. He felt at a real disadvantage, being miles away while this Max character was right there on the scene.

“Mom called a couple of days ago and told me about the car breaking down and how these bikers stopped to help her.”

“How come you know their names?”

“Mom told me.”

He wasn’t exactly free with his information. “Did she mention that she met Max and Rooster in Vegas?”

“She might have.”

“I see.”

“Are you worried, Dad?”

Grant frowned. His son sounded pleased, almost gleeful, that Grant was concerned. “Yes, I guess I am,” he said honestly. “I haven’t made a secret of the fact that I’m hoping to get back with your mother.” He paused, hoping his son would offer him a word of encouragement.

“Mom said something about that.”

“Any advice you’d care to give me?” Grant asked.

“Not really. Mom’s done well for herself.”

As if he didn’t know. “I’m proud of what she’s accomplished,” he said.

Andrew didn’t appear to have anything to add.

“Is there some way I can help with the wedding?” His son hadn’t asked a single thing of him from the moment Grant walked out of the house. Andrew hadn’t even invited him to attend his high school graduation. Bethanne was the one who’d let Grant know the time of the ceremony. His son’s graduation from college hadn’t been much different. Annie had hand-delivered the invitation; Grant suspected that had she not done so, he wouldn’t have been included. Bethanne was kind enough to invite Grant to the party she threw afterward. He felt out of place and miserable in the home he’d once shared with his family. Former friends seemed to avoid him. He did his best to socialize, but the situation was painfully awkward. Rather than ruin the day for Andrew or Bethanne, Grant had quietly slipped away.

That afternoon had been pivotal for Grant. It was then that he’d realized how badly he missed being part of the family. His family. He felt like an outsider and, with his son, an outcast.

“I don’t need anything, Dad, but thanks for offering.”

“What about money?” He’d never known a kid to turn down financial help.

“Thanks, no. Courtney and I have it covered.”

“I’m happy to do what I can,” Grant rushed to say, feeling the pain of his son’s rejection. “Anything you ask.”

“Actually, Dad, I think you’ve done enough.”

The words stung and Grant was forced to swallow a retort.

They chatted a bit longer and then Grant disconnected. If anything, he felt worse than he did before he’d phoned.

Disheartened, Grant returned to his recliner and the TV. He had a lot of ground to recover with Andrew. His son wanted vindication, and the sad part was, Grant knew he was entitled to feel that way. Like his mother, Andrew was intensely loyal.

Leaning forward, Grant pressed his head into his hands. He wanted his family back and he wasn’t sure how he was going to make that happen. All he could do, he figured, was show them, by whatever means possible, that he loved them and longed to be with them again.

If only Bethanne…

…Bethanne. Max couldn’t get the image of her out of his mind. It used to be that he’d close his eyes and Kate’s face would flash before him. For three years she’d been foremost in his thoughts.

The police had never determined whether the car accident was suicide or simply an error in judgment. Max knew. Kate, distraught over the death of their daughter, had fallen into a deep, lingering depression. She’d chosen to take her own life. He didn’t know if he could ever accept that. He’d lost so much—his daughter, his wife…his reason for living.

The shock of her death had numbed him for the first few weeks. Then came the anger. Didn’t she understand what her death would do to him? She’d deserted him, left him desolate and alone. The anger had been all-consuming. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. More than once he’d driven to the cemetery and raged at her.

Then his anger had been joined by guilt. A guilt so intense he couldn’t function anymore. For days he’d stayed home, staring at the wall, unable to cope with even the most mundane tasks. He should’ve known Kate would do something like this. The signs had been there. Because he’d buried his own grief over the loss of their daughter in his work, he hadn’t recognized those signs until it was too late. He should’ve gotten Kate the help she needed. He should have demanded she see a counselor, that they both see one. Nightmares had plagued him. He’d ignored what should have been obvious, convinced everything would get better with time.

But it hadn’t. It’d gotten worse. Much worse.

After months of being unable to function, of drinking too much and taking stupid risks, Max talked to his brother and asked for some time away. Originally, he’d thought all he’d need was three months, six at the most. But once he was on the road he found peace. Rooster, his lifelong friend, had come with him. They’d ridden bikes since Max was in his teens. Rooster had provided companionship when he’d needed it most. He hadn’t tried to tell Max how he should feel but was there to listen when he wanted to talk. Best of all, life on the road was simple. Even though he moved from place to place, there was a predictability that calmed him and, surprisingly, friendships that gave him purpose. This solace was still shaky but at least he was able to sleep. At least the nightmares had stopped. Everything was going smoothly until this summer.