"Make it quick," I said, waving him down the hallway toward my office. The hallway in which I'd found Brooke lurking last night. I needed to open a distillery just to work in a place free from her fingerprints.
I dropped into my desk chair while the sheriff sat across from me. "I'll make this quick," he said.
"Music to my ears," I muttered.
"Nathan Fitzsimmons is scheduled to leave rehab at the end of next month."
"Already?" I barked. The Fitzsimmons kid needed help. Real help. He needed professional people who knew how to help him unwind his addiction and live his life without going back to the pills again. "He's only been there, what—"
"Four months," Lau interrupted. "When he's discharged, it will be five."
"That doesn't seem like enough." I gripped the arm rests. That kid's parents went through hell trying to get him help. I couldn't count the number of times they'd checked him into detox. Couldn't count the number of times the sheriff's deputies were out at the Fitzsimmons house, hauling him away after a fight with his parents turned physical or they'd found him stealing the rug out from underneath them to pay for drugs. But I remembered the last time, when they decided enough was enough. "How does someone learn how to live a new life in only four or five months?"
Lau jerked a shoulder up. "Most opioid dependency programs are less than a month. Twenty-eight days, usually. This one treats both dependency as well as other mental health diagnoses. He was lucky to get a bed in this facility. It probably saved his life. Certainly kept him out of prison."
"That's great but how is he allowed to leave without—I don't know—going to some kind of transitional living or halfway house to help him back into the real world?"
"There are a slew of conditions to his release. He has court-ordered drug tests every week for a year as well as counseling, sobriety support groups, and regular meetings with his probation officer." Lau glanced down at the floor. "His PO believes he'll succeed, but he won't be able to do it alone."
Fuck me. Just…fuck me.
"The reason for your visit is revealed." I waited for Lau to deny it, but he only sat back with his hands folded in his lap. "I don't know how you'd like for me to help this kid. In case you haven't noticed, I run a tavern. It's not a good old-fashioned tavern because we don't put up travelers for the night, but we hold with the tradition of serving beer, wine, and spirits alongside food. That is no place for a young man making a run at sober living and I'm the farthest thing you'll find from a social worker."
"Think about it," the sheriff prompted. "Do you think he has any chance of succeeding if he goes back home to his parents' house? That's his only option right now and we both know that won't work." He ran his hand through his hair, huffed out a rueful laugh. "Trust me, I've already tried that angle and it's a nonstarter. I've also approached a number of other residents. I'm asking you a favor, Harniczek."
"What are you suggesting, sheriff? I'm not in the market for a roommate."
"Maybe not, but you do have that vacant apartment on the back side of this building," he answered. "If my understanding of your zoning and property tax filings is accurate, that is."
That goddamn power penis. I did not need this shit today. Not on a couple of hours sleep and not with my muscles humming with every move and a woman in need of some roughshod no more than a five-minute walk from this very spot. "You want me to put this kid up in an apartment above a tavern? You think that will support his recovery?"
"According to the probation officer, Nathan's dependency is isolated to opioids. He's never been a drinker and doesn't see alcohol as a coping mechanism."
"How convenient." I leaned back in my chair, blew out a ragged breath. I hated this. I hated the sheriff coming into my business and asking for help. More than all that, I hated knowing the kid was in a bind and no one was willing to stand up. "What about your girlfriend's old apartment? She's not living there anymore."
He ran a hand along his jaw, his brows drawing together as he nodded. "That was one of my first considerations," he said. "But five other people have been asking after that apartment and she doesn't own the building. It's not her call."
"Now, that's convenient."
"I'm also hoping you're in need of a dishwasher," Lau continued. "Nathan needs a job and one that won't get hung up on his prior convictions."
I touched a hand to my chest. "And you think I’m that employer? You also think I'm willing to hire and house a kid who has spent the past five or six years of his life hooked on drugs and hope he doesn't replace that addiction with booze? You've gotta be out of your damn mind, Lau."
"You could set him straight, Harniczek." The sheriff had the balls to give me one of thoseI believe in younods reserved for the soccer coaches of small children. "He's pissing in a cup weekly, so we'll know if he's drinking. I'm sure you'd also notice any variations in your stock. If it turns out this situation is too complex for him, we'll find something else. But I've given this a lot of thought and I think it could work. You run a tight ship and you don't let anything slip through the cracks. You won't let him fuck up or fall off the deep end. You could give him the reset he needs."
"If I agree to this, will you stop waltzing in here and taking up my time during the busiest parts of the day?"
"I'll do my best." He shrugged. "Would it help if I brought some homemade muffins or brownies? I'm sure Annette would be happy to make something special for you."
I cocked my head to the side. "Could you fucking not?"
"What? Her muffins are amazing."
"I'm not discussing her muffins with you."
"All right." He held up his hands, let them fall. "No muffins."
"This better not blow up on me, Lau. My hands are full right now and I don't have time to big brother all over a recovering twentysomething. Like I said, I'm no social worker. If this starts going south, I'm expecting you to relocate this kid to your couch if need be."
