“Gee, I’m sorry you’re bored, Graham. Do you want a coloring book and some crayons? I’ll pick some up when I go get you a thank-you card and fucking balloons.”
Nolan shook his head. “Christ, you’re a dick. If I hadn’t seen you dealing with those kids yesterday and making that fuckhead cop piss his pants, I’d think the condition was permanent.”
“Yeah, well, maybe it is.”
To illustrate my point, I didn’t hold the door for him.
I acknowledged the round of “Mornin’， Chief,” with a curt nod as I headed straight for my office where I could shut the damn door on the whole damn world.
No one said anything to Nolan when he stomped in after me.
“Where’s Piper?” Grave asked, holding up a bag of the pet shop’s gourmet doggie treats.
Fuck.
Lina had the dog. I might not have wanted the damn dog, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let Lina keep her.
“She’s with a neighbor,” I said.
Officer Will Bertle stopped me just shy of my door. He was the first Black officer I’d hired as chief. Soft-spoken and unflappable, he was well-liked in the community and respected in the department. “You’ve got a visitor, Chief. He’s waiting for you in your office,” he said.
“Thanks, Will,” I said, trying to tamp down my exasperation. The world did not seem inclined to leave me the hell alone today.
I headed into my office and stopped short when I spotted my visitor.
“Dad?”
“Nash. It’s good to see you.”
Duke Morgan had once been the strongest, funniest man I’d known. But the years had all but erased that man.
You didn’t have to look far past the clean, baggy clothes, the neatly trimmed hair and beard, before seeing the truth of the man in my visitors chair.
He looked older than his sixty-five years. His skin was weathered and lined from years of neglect and exposure to the elements. He was too thin, a shadow of the man who had once carried me on his shoulders and tossed me effortlessly into the creek. His blue eyes, the same shade as mine, had bags under them, slashes of purple so dark they almost looked like bruises.
His fingers nervously traced the stitching on his pants over and over again. It was a tell I’d learned to recognize as a kid.
Despite my best efforts to save him, my father was a homeless addict. That failure never got easier for me to stomach.
I was tempted to turn around and walk out the door. But just as I recognized the tell, I also recognized the need to confront the bad. It was part of my job, part of who I was.
I unhooked my belt and hung it and my jacket on the coatrack behind my desk before sitting. We Morgans weren’t huggers and for good reason. Years of disappointments and trauma had made physical affection between us a foreign language. I’d always promised myself that when I had my own family, it would be different.
“How are you doing?” I asked.
Duke rubbed absentmindedly at the spot between his eyebrows. “Good. That’s kind of why I’m here.”
I braced for the ask. For the no I’d have to deliver. I’d stopped giving him money a long time ago. Clean clothes, food, hotel rooms, treatment, yes. But I’d learned early on exactly where cash went as soon as he got his hands on it.
It didn’t make me angry anymore. Hadn’t in a long time. My dad was who he was. There was nothing I could do to change that. Not getting better grades. Not performing on the football field. Not graduating with honors. And definitely not handing him money.
“I’m going away for a little while,” he said finally, stroking a hand over his beard.
I frowned. “You in trouble?” I asked, already jiggling my computer mouse. I had an alert set for if and when his name popped up in the system.
He shook his head. “No. Nothin’ like that, son. I’m, uh, starting a rehab program down south.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He ran his palms over his knees and back up his thighs. “Been thinkin’ about it for a while. Haven’t used in a bit and I’m feelin’ pretty good.”
“How long is a bit?” I asked.
“Three weeks, five days, and nine hours.”
I blinked. “On your own?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Felt like time for a change.”
“Good for you.” I knew better than to be hopeful. But I also knew what effort it took for an addict to get to this mental space.
“Thanks. Anyway, it’s a different kind of place than the ones I did before. Comes with some counseling, medical treatment plans. Even get a social worker to help with after. They’ve got outpatient support programs, job placement.”
“That sounds like it’s got potential,” I said.
I wasn’t optimistic. Not with him and not with rehab. Too many disappointments over the years. I’d learned that having expectations where he was concerned only guaranteed my own disappointment. So I made it a point to always meet him where he was, not where I wanted him to be. Not where he’d once been.
It helped me in my job too. Treating victims and suspects with respect, not judgment. Despite the fact that he’d turned into a toxic father figure, Duke Morgan had made me a better cop. And for that, I was grateful.
“You need anything before you go?”
He shook his head slowly. “Nope. I’m all set. Got my bus ticket here,” he said, patting his front pocket. “I leave this afternoon.”
“I hope it’s a good experience for you,” I said and meant it.
“It will be.” He reached into the same pocket and pulled out a business card. “Here’s the number and address of the place. They’ll limit phone calls to emergencies for the first few weeks, but you can send letters…if you want.”
He put the card faceup on my desk and slid it toward me.
I picked up the card, looked at it, then pocketed it. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Well, I’d best be gettin’ on,” he said, getting to his feet. “Gotta see your brother before I hit the road.”
I rose. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Not necessary. I don’t wanna embarrass you in front of your department.”
“You’re not an embarrassment, Dad.”
“Maybe in a few months I won’t be.”
I didn’t know what to do with that. So I clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed.
“You healing up okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. It’s gonna take more than a couple of bullets to keep me down,” I said with feigned confidence.
“Some things are tougher than others to get over,” he insisted, those blue eyes locking on to mine.
“Some things are,” I agreed.
Bullet holes and broken hearts.
“I didn’t do right by you and your brother.”
“Dad, we don’t have to get into this. I understand why things happened the way they did.”
“I just wish I woulda kept trying to look to the light instead of sinking into the dark,” he said. “A man can learn to live in that dark, but it’s no life.”
I spent the next hour reviewing case reports, time-off requests, and budgets with my father’s words echoing around in my head.