After a sip of coffee, I took a deep breath. “I’m not an asshole.”
He blinked. “That’s debatable. For this discussion, however, I’ll concede that you’re notalwaysan asshole.”
At that, I smiled. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
He shrugged.
“Something bad happened to Gideon. I wasn’t…as supportive as I could’ve been.” I blinked. “The marriage fell apart and—” I swallowed. “Quinton, I kept him away from our children. I maintain that I had a good reason, but it doesn’t change the fact I hurt everyone—him, the kids, and…even myself. I had a hard time looking myself in the mirror. Rightly so. I punished him for something that wasn’t entirely his fault.”
Quinton sipped his tea. “That’s not a lot for me to work with. I see guilt and remorse. I just don’t know if your highhandedness was merited or not.”
I drew a deep breath. “Let me tell you a story.”
Chapter Seven
Quinton
Let me tell you a story.
I braced myself because, honestly, I had no idea where he was going with this. His cryptic statements had left me with more questions than answers. Maybe I was being too nosy—but I really wanted to understand. To know what made this guy tick. To figure out why he was the way he was. Although, by the little he’d said, it appeared his reaction to whatever had been, apparently, over the top.
Or maybe I was reading between the lines.
He took another deep breath. “My husband was in an accident at work. A bad one. He survived, but was never the same again. He claimed he was in pain all the time—but the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong. With nothing to treat, it just sounded like he was malingering.”
I arched an eyebrow. Because surely someone as intelligent as this man must be, would know that someone could be in pain without an obvious injury.
He tapped the side of his coffee. “All I can say is that I came home from work one day to find the kids in the playroom and Gideon passed out in the bedroom. He’d overdosed.”
“Jesus.” I uttered the word softly.
“Right? I freaked out. The kids were just three and five. With Melodie being so responsible, they were okay. But anything could’ve happened. I mean…anything. Needless to say, I threw him out.”
Okay, that I hadn’t seen coming. “You didn’t try to get him help?”
He winced. “I got him a referral to a rehab clinic, and I gave him the name of a pain clinic. Then I helped him pack his things, and I showed him the door.” He drew in another sharp breath. “Quinton, anything could’ve happened to those precious children. Anything. I knew I’d never trust him again.”
“Still pretty harsh.”
He shrugged. “We were living in Surrey at the time. His grandfather moved into an assisted-living facility and Gideon moved into his house. Up north of Mission City. In the mountains. Very isolated.”
“Not necessarily great for someone in the throes of addiction.”
Another pained expression on Leo’s face. “I didn’t give a shit. I honestly didn’t care. He was out of our lives for good. My divorce lawyer eviscerated him, and all he was left with was twice-monthly video calls.”
“Leo—”
He slashed his hand through the air. “Whatever you’re thinking…you weren’t there, Quinton. You don’t understand.”
“Maybe. I mean, I’m not a parent and I’ve never dealt with someone in the midst of an addiction crisis. But I know that cutting them off from those they love—likely their reason for living—isn’t the way for them to get healthy.”
“I know that. I mean, I knew it back then as well but—” He let out a long breath. “My children could have died. I was supposed to protect them, and I didn’t. Everything beyond that just didn’t matter.”
“Okay, I’ve got a burger platter.” Sarabeth put Leo’s plate before him.
“And waffles with strawberries and extra whipped cream.” Again, with her radiant smile. “Anything else?”
We shook our heads.
