Page 39 of Rough Patch

As far as Christmas gifts went, Grier had never really gotten into the whole Santa Claus, Night Before Christmas bullshit. Even last year, his first Christmas with Fiona, it had come and gone without much fanfare. He’d bought her a sweater. She’d bought him jeans and boots. But this year, his family had come to mean more than anything and holiday spirit Fa-la-la-la-la’ed through his blood.

He had Fiona’s present tucked into his pocket and the baby’s special “daddy” gift in a bag in the trunk. They had a few days yet and waiting to give the gifts might just kill him. He maneuvered into the driveway around the snow that had been plowed against the curb then climbed out.

The temps had gotten downright blustery and he hurried inside. “Honey… I’m home!” He called out like Ward Cleaver then stamped his boots against the rug Fiona had put in front of the door.

Fiona stumbled out of the kitchen. “Hey, baby.” Her smile wavered even as she threw her arms around him and hugged him. He looked at Hamilton, asleep with his legs hanging over the arm of the sofa.

She moved back and he steadied her with a hand on each shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Fiona shook her head, her mouth hanging open. “It’s like Jerry Springer all up in here.”

He didn’t know what that meant, nor did he much care. Where the hell was London? “Where’s the baby?”

“In her bed. Asleep. Like a little perfect angel.” Fiona’s head bobbed with every breath. “I just checked.”

“And what’s Hamilton doing here?” More he wanted to know why she was drunk, but he had a bad feeling the answer would ruin his good day.

“He’s the messenger.” She wagged a finger in front of Grier’s face. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Goddammit. Fiona drunk in the middle of the day. What if he hadn’t come home? What if something happened to the baby? She sure as hell couldn’t take care of their kid, not like this. “I’m going to check on the baby. You need to go lie down and sleep it off.”

She tilted her head and stared at him then nodded. “Yeah.” And before he could speak, she turned and headed up the stairs.

Four hours later, Sage had come to get Hamilton, Grier had fed the baby from their reserve of pumped breast milk and cleaned the kitchen from her afternoon party with Hamilton. Fiona tromped down the stairs. She plopped on the couch next to him smelling as much like stale whiskey as she had earlier.

He didn’t want to fight, but four hours of seething had spoiled any goodwill he had left. “I don’t want you drinking when you should be watching our baby.”

She nodded. “I know.” She shook her head then closed her eyes and breathed out. “I’m sorry.”

“What if something had happened?”

“I said I know, Grier. I’m sorry, and I won’t do it again.”

Well, that had to be good enough for now, didn’t it? Except where he’d come from, promises meant shit. But this was Fiona. Not his foster mother. Not the woman who’d locked him in closets and… worse.

“Maybe you’d better tell me why.” His voice was cold, too cold for him to feel good about the words.

“I will.” She nodded. “But first, I need you to know I would never do anything… I don’t… it was wrong and I’m so sorry.” Her voice broke and she leaned forward to bury her head in her hands.

Had to be the hormones. The Fiona he knew didn’t take orders except in the bedroom and she damned sure didn’t cry over things she’d done but couldn’t change.

He put an arm around her and hugged her. “Shh. It’s okay.”

After a few minutes of sobbing that shook her entire body, she lifted her head and dried her eyes leaving black smudges where she’d had rings of mascara before. “We have to talk.”

That feeling in the pit of his stomach deepened to his bones. He forced it down and hardened his heart. If she was going to leave him or break him, he wouldn’t fall apart. Not today. “All right.”

But she stood and went to the kitchen, came back with a glass of water. The baby was awake and smiling at Grier as she held onto his finger and waved her arm around.

Fiona cleared her throat. “How’d you meet Jez?”

“She was a waitress in a diner downtown I used to go to after school.” And what the hell did that have to do with anything? But he knew it did. This wasn’t Fiona’s usual mode of small talk.

“So that’s true.” She nodded and ran the back of her finger over her lips. He’d seen her do it a thousand times. It was her thinking tell.

“Of course, it’s true. Why would I lie about it?” He watched her. Her lips twitched from side to side.

“You wouldn’t lie. You just don’t, do you?”