Hell, he’d kick his own ass if he came anywhere close to the way the second William Patrick Schollenberger treated his sons.
“Does your ideal of a good father make mistakes? If you set your expectations too high, you’ll only frustrate yourself trying to live up to unrealistic goals.”
“Everybody makes mistakes. That’s what worries me, that one day my kid will be in here telling you or someone else about his shitty old man.” There. He’d gotten a major worry out in the open.
“What kind of support base do you have? Family, friends, belief in a higher power? Someone you can turn to for help?” Dr. Libby studied Lucky far more intently than he’d have liked. Could she see right through him?
“All of the above.” Just because he didn’t live what other people might call a God-fearing life didn’t mean he didn’t believe in a higher power.
She placed her tablet on her knees and leaned in, voice whisper-soft. “Do you know what good parents have in common?”
“No.” If he did, he wouldn’t be asking for her advice.
“Theywantto be good parents. That’s the first and most important step.”
If that’s all it took, Lucky’d be fucking parent of the year. Oops. Parents of the year probably didn’t drop f-bombs right and left. “I’ve got one hell of a partner. He’ll be a good father for sure.”
“You both will be good fathers. The child will be lucky to have you for parents.”
***
Alejandro slept peacefully. “Does he look like he’s put on weight?”C’mon, kid, get better and come home.Lucky placed a hand on the glass separating him from his new son.
“A few ounces,” Bo said. “He’s still got to put on some more weight before he can come home.”
“How about his heart issues?” The young’un was rapidly growing on Lucky. So small. So alone. Unknowing of what a bad start he’d gotten in life. Please let Lucky not lose the little guy now.
“The way the doctors talk, he might not need surgery. At least, not until he’s older and stronger. Too early to tell.” The grip of Bo’s hand on Lucky’s now-aching fingers told of his fears.
***
Bo and Lucky sat in the Smiths’ living room, a place they’d seen a lot of in the past year. Walter stretched out in his recliner, much more relaxed than he’d been a few months ago. Near death experiences taught one what really mattered in life.
The aroma of roast beef and apple pie pointed to Mrs. Smith in the kitchen. If Lucky drew out the conversation long enough, he might wrangle a dinner invite.
“You’ll be happy to know that the victims in your latest case are now safe, except for the young pregnant woman, who seems to have fled.” Walter gazed over his bifocals at Lucky and Bo, blue eyes far too wise. He might as well have asked,“Did you do something?”
Lucky exchanged eye contact with Bo. While Lucky shared more history with Walter, lately, the boss and Bo had formed a close bond.
By unspoken agreement, Lucky acted as spokesman. “She’s safe. Remember Cruz, from the Mexico case, and the outfit he works for?”
Walter’s eyes widened. “Yes.”
“He arranged a safe place for her in Mexico, and secured the help she needs.”Please let him not ask for more details.
Walter steepled his fingers under his chin. “Is there any particular reason you didn’t follow proper channels? I assume you had something to do with this development.” He trained his fierce gaze on Lucky.
Damn the man for being too wise. “The cartels sent people after her. She’s under Nestor Sauceda’s protection. Can’t get safer than that.” Or so Lucky hoped.
“I see. And her son?”
Fuck. He and Bo had practiced what to say in the car, but the moment of truth stopped the words in this throat.
Bo sat forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, face earnest. “He’s with his father, or rather, he will be once he’s released from the hospital.”
“Oh? I’d been led to believe his father was dead.”
Bo never blinked, staring Walter straight in the eyes. “No. He’s alive. As soon as Alejandro is stronger,his fatherwill take him home, where that little boy will have everything he needs.”
