was what normal teens did.
He paid for his coffee, and followed in Rebecca’s wake. She’d already gone through the light at the corner by the time he climbed into his car.
The flash of her ocean-colored eyes haunted Grant as he eased the Boxter into traffic. The hell of it was she’d managed to garner his sympathy, too. He thought about Brandy. If he were in Rebecca’s position and it was his daughter getting into a romance with her son, Grant had to admit he might feel differently. He knew well enough that sometimes a young man was ruled by baser instincts. Rebecca probably knew, too.
But didn’t she trust her daughter?
Adjusting his sunglasses, Grant stopped to wonder why Mrs. Geroux didn’t just ground her daughter, the almost-genius, if she was really that concerned.
It irritated Grant all over again as he replayed their conversation and realized Rebecca had made it seem as if Ryan was totally to blame for leading the brilliant Lisa astray. What if Rebecca had a skewed vision of her daughter?
By all reports his son was a good student, although if truth be told, Grant couldn’t claim much credit for it. Still, Lisa wasn’t the only one who’d be going to college.
This full-time-dad role also meant Grant ought to concern himself with what kind of friends Ryan hung out with. Who knew better than he how easily a young man could screw up his life?
Did Lisa Geroux look like her mother? Rebecca was attractive. Especially when she was passionately standing up for her daughter. Grant hadn’t exactly processed all of Rebecca’s complaints, because he’d been distracted by her pretty eyes and lush lips. She made quite the picture with her shoulder-length red hair curled in wild disarray around her face. Grant found he’d been most drawn to Rebecca’s eyes. They held fire and life, yet he saw a hint of tragedy in their luminous depths.
For the first time in a long while, a woman—a slightly brusque one who didn’t care for him at that—had provoked a yearning Grant had thought was dormant, if not dead. He’d purposely avoided serious relationships since his ordeal with Teresa.
Why had he let Rebecca leave so abruptly? His day now stretched before him like all the lonely days he’d experienced since he’d moved his family to San Antonio. He needed a hobby. Something more than writing a new technical strategy manual as an old friend now in the Pentagon had asked him to do. He’d thought retirement would let him connect with his kids, but they seemed remarkably self-sufficient.
What would Rebecca have said if he’d asked her to go out with him some night? Nothing to do with their kids.
He could guess. She’d already blown up at him. Grant grinned at the thought of what it’d be like to intentionally stoke her fire.
She’d also given up on him too fast. After his years in the military, Grant took his time to make an informed decision. If she wanted his help, she should’ve given him more information. He needed to talk to her again.
But he supposed he’d have to get her phone number from Ryan.
Grant swung his car into his driveway and impatiently punched the garage door opener that hung on his visor. The problem with having to question his son, as Grant knew only too well, was that Ryan barely spoke to him.
Rebecca of the captivating eyes and the protective love for her daughter clearly expected him to be able to influence his son’s choices.
What were the chances of that?
For too many years he’d left raising Ryan to Teresa. With all the ups and downs in their marriage, it had seemed easier. The result hadn’t turned out well for anyone.
Considering his lack of rapport with Ryan, Grant knew he couldn’t open a conversation by repeating Rebecca’s accusations. Especially when he’d been clueless when it came to Ryan’s friends. Or girlfriends, for that matter.
He wasn’t ready to admit the girl was a problem, but wasn’t keeping tabs on stuff like that an important part of parenting? He hadn’t been good at it in the past, but had vowed to be better after their move. It seemed he had a lot of catching up to do.
Thank God Brandy still thought he was an okay dad. But with Ryan he’d have to tread carefully. Very, very carefully.
But he didn’t intend to wade into those waters alone. Rebecca Geroux’s daughter made up the other half of the so-called relationship. Becca—Grant thought that name fit the firebrand better than starchy Rebecca—yes, Becca could damn well get her feet wet right alongside him.
If she hadn’t mentioned it on the phone yesterday, Grant wouldn’t have known his son was playing ball until he overheard Ryan let something slip this morning to his sister.
It was usually Ryan’s job to pick up his sister from school. Lately, though, he’d gotten into the habit of leaving notes on the fridge asking Grant to collect her several days a week. Grant hadn’t asked why. All the reports he’d ever had on Ryan in Germany said he was a good, studious kid. Grant had assumed, apparently incorrectly, that changing schools during Ryan’s senior year required extra work in the library. Grant hadn’t pressed for answers because he was glad of the additional time to bond with the daughter who’d been raised too long by nannies. Yet another mistake.
Just today, Ryan had told Brandy where he’d be after school. At a home baseball game. It hurt to learn that Ryan had deliberately kept this a secret.
What better place to begin catching up on his son’s life? Ryan probably wouldn’t be thrilled to see him, but having the element of surprise on his side was an advantage.
Grant focused on his ideas for the manual, killing time until he needed to get Brandy from school.
“Hi, kiddo,” he said, his heart lighter when she hugged him after tossing her pink backpack in the backseat. Grant was driving the SUV, preferring its side airbags whenever he had his kids with him. The Porsche was an indulgence. A guy thing, although Ryan referred to it as an upside-down bathtub. A pretty pricy bathtub even with the deep discount he’d got by purchasing it at the factory in Germany.
Brandy fastened her seat belt, and turned her big blue eyes on Grant. “Daddy, can I get a clarinet? The band teacher came to our homeroom today. He tested everybody in my grade on flute, clarinet and two horns. One with a slidy thing, the other with three buttons on top. Mr. Gregg—that’s the teacher’s name—said to tell you I have the perfect embouchure to play clarinet.”
She said it so proudly Grant couldn’t help smiling, even though he had no earthly idea what she meant. “That’s great, Brandy. Did Mr. Gregg suggest renting a clarinet to see if it’s something you really want to do?”
“Uh-huh. But most kids are going to have their parents buy new ones. Who wants to use someone else’s mouthpiece? Gross!”
“I see your point. I’ll look into it next week and see what they have at a music store. Right now, how would you like to go to the high school to watch your brother play baseball?”
Brandy’s eyes grew wide. “Does Ryan know you’re going to watch him pitch?”
“So he’s a pitcher. I’ll be…” Grant let the expletive fizzle on his tongue. “You knew he was playing ball?”
“He played in Germany, too. He’s good, Daddy.”
“Then
