A/N: Didn't get to update yesterday, but today's chapter is twice as long as usual so I say that in the grand scheme of the universe it clearly balances out ;).
Thanks so much to everyone reading and reviewing - and a quick shout-out to the guest reviewers, since I can never actually reply individually to you guys! I'm very grateful for all your positive feedback, and very happy you're enjoying the story. Despite my heaping endless misery upon our most beloved characters.
No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (9)
Emma Rios was not having a good day.
Her first court appearance of the day had involved a defense lawyer who'd looked at her like she was the next meal, and a judge who thought himself far wittier than he actually was. Then she'd found an error in one of her case files and the paralegal who'd prepared it had been nowhere to be found, forcing her to waste an hour redoing his research. After which, one of the witnesses in one of her minor cases had called her. As the witness was an old lady with nothing better to do but waste time on the phone describing fabric patterns on the alleged criminal's jacket, the phone call was irritating – but above that it was alarming because Emma certainly didn't give her number away to random people she used in her cases! She had no idea who might've inadvertently distributed her phone information, but she planned to find out and skin them alive.
To top it all off, she'd caught a glimpse of Stroh's lawyer on the halls of the DA's office, and he'd seemed particularly pleased, which of course made her particularly suspicious.
The man had taken to strolling around the DA's office, city hall, the courthouse and anywhere else where he might run into his client's many former buddies and remind them just what a fun ,upstanding guy Phillip Stroh really was. Emma hated that. It was bad enough that Stroh had golfed with half the judges on the roster and most of the staff at the mayor's office. She didn't need his lawyer capitalizing on that. So this time, she'd flagged down the man and warned him that if he didn't quit loitering, she'd start personally distributing murder scene pictures around the same offices and corridors, so the people he was targeting would get a glimpse of what Stroh was really like.
His entertained chuckle hadn't reassured her, but at least he'd gone away. That alone should've made her day better… but by noon, things had only gotten worse.
The first hint of real trouble was getting a driving ticket, for god's sake, for some completely inane reason, and not even waving her DA's office credentials had gotten her out of it, which was a first. And she'd literally only driven a five-minute stretch from the mayor's office back to her office – further testament to the bad luck that seemed determined to plague her.
Then she went back to her desk to find that she'd somehow been assigned to represent the state in four upcoming parole hearings, none of which had been her cases and all of which seem to involve the greasiest kinds of criminals. She'd asked one of the legal secretaries about it, and the woman had mumbled something incomprehensible and hurried away.
It wasn't until Emma began to notice the meaningful looks and half-finished comments that it first occurred to her that there might be more to her bad day than just the planets misaligning, and that perhaps her many woes that day had a common source.
With glum certainty, she suddenly knew exactly what, or rather who, that source was.
The previous night...
They literally hadn't exchanged a single word on the whole car ride home. He'd made an attempt to ask something on the way down to the garage, and she'd said 'not now' briefly and he'd determinedly kept his mouth shut from then on, even though he had so many burning questions that his insides felt ready to burst.
They hadn't ever stopped for food, although at the apartment Sharon had seemed to remember that and indicated him to order take-out, and even then she'd used as few words as possible and that awful sad voice, and he couldn't even think about asking anything, even though he was desperate to know.
It wasn't until later, in his room, that Rusty heard Sharon's voice in the bedroom and even though he tried, he did, he couldn't help but overhear – and truly he couldn't help but listen.
" –yes, I know. It's okay, I'm glad you called back…" She trailed off for a second, sighed. "No, honey…" For one ridiculous moment it sounded almost as though she were talking to him, until she said: "It's grandpa… he passed away last night."
She sounded so tired.
Nothing's gonna be enough, kid. Not for this kind of thing.
"I know, sweetheart." Sharon made a comforting sound that caused something in his chest to tighten. "No, it's not… Me too." For a little while there was silence on her end, broken only by the occasional soothing, indistinct murmurs. It didn't seem fair to him somehow, that it was Sharon comforting her kids on this, and not the other way around… but then again what did he know of how these things worked?
"Oh, honey… thank you, I'm…" Again that brief sigh. "…fine. I know. Thank you. No, I haven't had a chance to call him yet… no, you don't have t –" This time, Sharon's voice held a note of gratitude. "Thank you, yes, it would help…."
Clearly whoever was on the other end of the line was doing something right; Rusty suppressed the pang of disappointment at the thought that they'd managed to find something to help in the span of a two-minute conversation, while he'd been unable to do the same after thinking on it for hours. It felt wrong to feel that way, though. Angry at himself, he abruptly got up from the bed to close his bedroom door and block out the rest of Sharon's private conversation.
And then he heard it.
"Your uncle Paul hadn't made the final arrangements, but probably Thursday… yes, he called her, she's flying over tomorrow…" Sharon even let out a small chuckle. "No, I think Tokyo this time…" But her faint amusement ended abruptly with whatever her son or daughter said next, and when she spoke again she sounded heartbroken. "Oh, honey… I… I can't." Her voice broke into a stifled sob on the last words, and an icy cold rippled through Rusty's stomach, and his fists clenched instinctively.
Tuesday had dawned dry, overcast and ominously silent, and it brought no cure to her troubles but promised a good deal more of the same. After her fourth time waking up within an hour of barely falling asleep, Sharon had given up entirely, and watched the sun rise and had her morning coffee an hour earlier than usual and twice as strong. She'd reset the machine for Rusty and gone through the rest of her morning routine slowly, deliberately, grasping at the familiarity of it as a way to ground her until the world stopped trying to spin out of control.
Her mind circled around the same fevered thoughts that had tormented her the night before, and with just as little benefit.
She still couldn't believe or even fully understand what was happening .
All her grief, her anger, her desperation were dulled underneath an all-enveloping feeling of bewilderment.
That the situation had degenerated to such depths was unreal. Even after long hours of trying to wrap her mind around it, Sharon still couldn't grasp just how things had gotten that far, and so she'd stopped even trying and was simply taking it all as it was, and she only struggled to keep her head above the water.
She'd taken some Advil for the mild headache that threatened to worsen and spent a little extra time doing her make-up, because sleepless nights and the kind of days she'd had certainly left very visible traces at her age. And when Rusty had joined her in the living room a little before seven, she'd made a minute of effortful small talk before retreating to a corner of the couch with her second coffee cup, while he rushed his way through a cereal bowl.
"…Sharon?"
Startled, she looked up to see Rusty standing in front of her, holding out a tangerine; she hadn't even noticed when he'd finished his breakfast and walked over.
"I know, no food on the couch, but just so you know this doesn't leave crumbs so technically it's not breaking your weird rule…"
She'd opened her mouth to politely wave off the proffered fruit when she noticed he'd actually peeled it for her, too. The refusal died on her lips and she took the tangerine from him with a quiet thanks, breaking off a small piece and eating it, although each swallow took a worrying amount of effort. She did say no to his offer of another.
"Are you all ready for school?" While he hurried to his room to grab his backpack, she carried her coffee mug to the sink and had a glass of cold water that didn't do much for her energy levels. "Don't forget your English homework," she murmured automatically when he returned, and Rusty grimaced and grumbled that she said that every week, and for a brief moment everything seemed normal.
Only for a moment, and then thoughts of the day ahead caught up with her, and a curtain of silent anxiety fell across his face, and they were right back into the maddening whirlwind of uncertainty that had swept them both up and simply refused to let go.
They didn't talk much in the car, but when she pulled by the school gate and the boy reached to open his door, Sharon put a hand on his arm. "Rusty."
He turned an uneasy gaze on her, and the scary air of dazed aloofness that had shrouded her ever since the previous night had somehow dissipated when she met his eyes, a crease of concentration between her eyebrows.
"You'll need this," she reminded him, and from her purse she pulled out the folded blue teacher's note. "Give it to Sister Margaret – but Rusty," the serious crease deepened, "keep your phone on you. Don't use it unless you have to, but if for any reason you need to reach me…" She sighed. "Just keep it handy, honey, okay?"
"Okay."
She smiled. "Okay."
"And Sharon?" As her eyebrows arched expectantly, he cleared his throat. "Uh – I'll see you after school."
"Have a good day in class," she wished him, and then they parted ways, and soon after passing through the gate he thought he could hear the sound of her car pulling out and driving away.
Lt. Andy Flynn was never the earliest one to show up to work in the morning: that was usually Tao, who sometimes dropped off his kid at school and drove straight over, or Sykes, the class overachiever. He and Provenza, on the other hand, rushed over only when there was a dead body, and otherwise took their sweet time in the mornings.
Today, however, he'd headed in earlier than usual on a hunch, and when he walked in just after eight-thirty a.m. to find the Captain in the squad room, leaning against Provenza's desk as she surveyed the case details on murder board, he couldn't say he was entirely surprised.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and he felt a grimace of consternation flash involuntarily across his face. "Sharon –" But she held up a hand to stop him.
It didn't feel right, though, dropping it. The squad had pieced together what had happened the previous night, and if they'd been right, it wasn't exactly the kind of thing you could just work around.
Yet neither could he force a conversation on her when she plainly said, 'keep out'.
"Is there anything we can do?" he asked finally, as a compromise of sorts.
"Not at the moment," came her calm reply. "Did you find out anything else last night about a possible connection between the owners of the stolen cars?"
Flynn sighed. "Nothing so far," he admitted after a pause. "They didn't seem to know each other and there's nothing obvious linking them. Mike's looking into their credit histories to see if they had any overlapping interests or activities."
"What about known felons with a history of grand theft or armed robberies with a similar MO? Is there anyone already in the system who could be involved in this?"
They'd already discussed that with her last night, not that he blamed her for not keeping it all straight. "We've got a list of possible involvements, Sanchez and Sykes will run through it today." He could see that she was about to ask another question, and he just couldn't quite drop the issue yet. "Captain –"
The ringtone of his phone interrupted him, and he couldn't suppress a twice of annoyance. Talk about bad timing. Seeing Provenza's name on the screen only made it worse, as there weren't a lot of reasons for his partner to be calling this early in the morning. "Flynn." He listened for a moment, his eyes automatically fixing the Captain only to find her paying more attention that he would've liked. "Uh huh. Alright. Yeah. Uh huh. Okay."
He kept his replies as nondescript as possible and hoped Provenza's booming voice wasn't carrying all the way to her, and cursed himself for having come in early, because if only he'd waited ten more minutes he could've taken this call in private and kept her out of it.
Not that it would've made a difference; as soon as he hung up, the Captain gave him a few moments to come clean on his own, then with a faint arch of her eyebrows asked outright: "There's been another carjacking?"
There was a reason one didn't even try to hide things around the leader of an elite investigative division.
"Side road off Garfield. Driver left dead at the scene."
She picked up her purse from a nearby chair, and nodded. "Let's go." And he didn't even try to argue, because what would have been the point?
Provenza's expression when they got out of the car at the crime scene would have been almost comical, if not for the bleakness of the situation in general. The older man barely spared a perplexed greeting for Raydor before tearing into his partner: "You brought her with you?"
Andy rolled his eyes. "You think I had a choice?"
"Ever heard of 'just say no'?"
"Yeah, when you say it to your boss and superior officer it goes over real well."
Lt. Tao broke off from the crowd of police officers and crime scene technicians to walk up to them. "We've got two tire track impressions, we're thinking one might be from the car the hijackers used to get here. We should be able to get at least a brand off that, maybe more." Having gotten close enough, he glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "Did I just see Captain Raydor over there?"
"You can thank Flynn for that," grumbled Provenza.
His partner rolled his eyes again, and looked worriedly toward the Captain. She stood a few yards away from the dead body, studying the surroundings while a slightly-uncomfortable-looking Sanchez seemed to bring her up to speed. She was nodding at his words, but there was still a distinct air of detachment about her, and it was plain from her deliberate reactions and great economy of movements that she was fatigued.
It was going to be a long day.
It was only the start of third period, but Rusty already felt that the day had been endless, and not just because of the back-to-back algebra classes that had left his entire brain feeling like a 'not-solvable system of linear equations'.
He couldn't stop thinking about the previous day, particularly the end of it. The scene between Sharon, Emma and Chief Taylor. The phone call he'd overheard at the apartment. He thought he understood what all that had meant, but he just couldn't believe it because it made no sense! Who did that kind of thing? And Sharon hadn't said anything, and he hadn't brought himself to ask and…
Sister Margaret was talking about the structure and properties of a cohesive written argument, and he forced himself to take a couple of notes before his mind drifted again. Clarity. That was a necessary trait of a good argument – and something that was completely lacking in his life right now. He was so fed up with living under constant uncertainty ever since Emma and the letters. And now the whole thing was muddling Sharon's life as well.
Oh, honey… I can't.
Accessibility. Well Rusty didn't know what the situation was, but it sure wasn't accessible, at least not to him – he had a hard time wrapping his mind around most of what had been happening lately. And no one was doing a good job explaining any of it. Rules changed at the drop of a hat, and he got punished for things he didn't do and it was just impossible to predict what would happen next. On that note, consistency: another desirable trait which the last few days had successfully obliterated.
Maybe Sister Margaret should give this lecture to Emma and the DA and DCFS and whoever else was in charge of his situation lately, because they sure as hell weren't getting anything right.
No, no honey I'm not sick. I'm fine. I just… there's… I can't really talk about it right now. I'm sorry…
He had no idea what to think. Or do. This wasn't something he wanted. If Sharon had asked, he'd have told her so, but she hadn't asked and now something awful was happening, though he wasn't entirely sure what or how it had come to pass.
What had Sharon's kids had to say? What would he have said, if he'd been in their place? What would his mom have done? His jaw clenched involuntarily at the thought. Why was everything so unfair? All these things that should have been so simple, so obvious… parents being with their kids, wanting to be with their kids, kids being with their parents, families pulling together… it was all so obviously right and best and proper and it still couldn't happen the way it was supposed to. That was just stupid.
It wasn't supposed to be this complicated. For him, for anyone, for Sharon, who'd had it all so well put-together and was now forced to deal with all these… things…
He started to feel his eyes burning and had to focus on taking notes again. He'd talk to Sharon when they got home later, try to figure out exactly what the situation was and how he could fix it. She'd always said that thinking of a solution was better than dwelling on the problem.
Sister Margaret passed out the written assignments for next week, and Rusty took a copy and let his gaze wonder in vague curiosity over the vocabulary exercises and short answers, until his eyes landed on the free-form essay prompt. Family. He couldn't hold back a groan.
Today was really just that kind of day.
The constant walking on eggshells was beginning to wear on her.
Sharon realized that she'd inadvertently made things awkward for her team, too, and she was grateful that they were taking it more or less in stride and not asking too many questions – but their undercurrent of discomfiture was getting to her. The subtle pauses, the looks, the sympathy and the over-accommodating – she knew they all came from a good place, but it was necessary to keep repeating that to herself because after a few hours it had all really started to get on her nerves.
She was perfectly aware of what was going on, and whether they believed it or not she had slowly come into last night's decision, and accepted it as her own and was learning to live with it. The last thing she wanted was to feel as though everyone else around was still doubting it, and they were all just humoring her. She did not want to feel humored. Good intentions or not.
" – and the bullets in today's and Thursday's victim don't match the same gun, but they both come from a .45 caliber, which is what the first driver says he was threatened with." Tao added that to the murder board.
"Lucky the guy knew his weapons," commented Provenza. "If only he'd been that good at giving us physical descriptions."
"So both carjackers are armed," Sharon murmured thoughtfully. "It's a long shot, but let's run the weapons through our database and see if they were used in any previous crimes. Lieutenant, did you have a chance to look into the insurance companies of the stolen cars? Or the lists of recent maintenance and repair work?"
Again she was slightly irritated to see the cautious way they glanced at her, and the almost imperceptible pause before Lt. Tao made his reply. She knew they didn't mean it as second-guessing or doubting her choices, but it felt like a judgment anyway. And if they couldn't accept the situation and move on, how could she even begin to do it?
Her daughter certainly hadn't accepted it.
What?! Are you okay? Mom, you're not sick or anything, right?
What kind of situation could possibly be more important that this…Mom, what is it? What's happening? Mom?
Sharon hadn't known how to explain any of it, because at the time of the phone call her own mind hadn't made sense of any of it, and all she could feel had been a profound disorientation at the things that were happening around her. To her.
She'd been grateful to her daughter for dropping the issue for the night, but she knew she'd have to confront it again eventually. Call her mother again. And tell the rest of the family too. She just… wasn't ready for that, not yet. Probably not ever.
Her heart constricted with sudden anguish, and she absently pressed a hand across her chest in an attempt to fight back the overwhelming feeling. But she never managed to keep it at bay for long. And the day seemed to stretch endlessly ahead…
"Five carjackings, three assaults, two murders!" Chief Taylor was clearly not having the best day. "And we don't have any leads?"
Provenza looked ready to reply, but Sharon wasn't about to watch her division be lectured and then let someone else draw the fire. She stepped up before any of her Lieutenants could say anything: "Chief, we got this case yesterday evening," she reminded Taylor. "It's been less than twenty four hours –"
"And in less than another twenty-four hours, we could have a sixth carjacking and another murder," their boss growled. "I need something before that happens."
"We'll go shake the evidence tree," Provenza deadpanned, earning himself a glare from Taylor.
"We've found similar tire tracks at two of the crime scenes," the Captain offered, "and we're looking for the car that left them. We're cross-referencing the auto database with the descriptions of the first two victims…"
"In other words, we're doing our jobs," the older lieutenant put in again, in his sweetest voice, "although the added incentive of your breath down our necks always helps, Chief."
Sharon's phone started vibrating, and with a pang she read her brother's name. She hadn't told him anything yet… hadn't told anyone anything, most of all because she still didn't know what to say. Belatedly it occurred to her that her brother might have been counting on her to come help, because even though he lived near their parents he still couldn't be everywhere at once, and make arrangements and look after their mother and deal with his own loss…
"Captain!"
She looked up abruptly to realize Taylor had been addressing her. The man just gave her a long look, his anger seemingly abated.
"I was suggesting," he repeated for her benefit, "the idea of forming a larger task force to help Major Crimes with this case. Robbery-Homicide has volunteered their resources, and with the short time intervals between these carjackings, we need the extra manpower."
Her eyes instinctively flickered to Provenza, as though to ask for his opinion, and the older man just shrugged. He wasn't renowned for playing well with others, but if that's what it took, it had been known to happen. "I think that's a good idea, Chief," she acknowledged. Then before she could change her mind, she turned to Provenza: "Lieutenant. Would you please contact Robbery-Homicide and select the detectives to assist us on this case?"
He arched his eyebrows a little doubtfully as if to say, 'you already asked me to take point on this yesterday, and yet here you are today', but out loud he only quipped, "It will be my pleasure."
And Sharon put her phone away with a sigh, and took the first opportunity to make herself another coffee, although this time she went for decaf, and about three times the usual amount of sugar. She had a feeling she was going to need it...
After almost an entire day of being treated like a leper by half the people she worked with, Emma had had just about enough, and marched over to the LAPD station to confront the source of all her troubles and put an end to the rapidly growing nightmare!
She'd gritted her teeth through the dark glares and pointed silences, and finally gotten to Chief Taylor and demanded a resolution because really this was just insane! She hadn't done anything, other than maybe trying to do her job despite Sharon Raydor's blatant inability to do the same – and now she was getting a completely disproportionate reaction just because the damn woman had decided to have some sort of obstinate meltdown!
Emma could feel her cheeks flushing as she fixed the damn woman in question with an indignant, exasperated look, though all she got in return was that annoyingly reserved bearing that did absolutely nothing to mask a good amount of loathing.
Well good, because the loathing was more than mutual at this point, and if Emma had had her way, Captain Sharon Raydor would've been reassigned to Tampa! Or maybe the moon.
Didn't these people understand the kind of professionalism required in their jobs? They weren't there to play nice, for god's sake, they were there to take criminals off the streets, and those criminals weren't exactly going quietly! All it took was one slip, one loophole and they got off free, and it was her job to prevent that – but she'd certainly never expected a squad full of supposedly excellent police officers to be trying that hard to mess it up!
And now somehow the situation had gotten out of control, and the things that were being said and done just defied common sense, and somehow she was being pulled into this absurd, unprofessional, histrionic drama, and it was all just…
" –ridiculous!"
"DDA Rios."Taylor was giving her a displeased look, but he turned a much kinder one – the hypocrisy! – on the other woman. "Captain Raydor–"
"I'd really rather not discuss this any more than necessary, Chief," the Captain pre-empted in the soft tone that Emma could hardly believe she'd once mistaken for actual softness. "I understand it's a sensitive situation. Let's just leave it at that."
Emma couldn't believe what was happening. "This is why they shouldn't have allowed him to stay with you in the first place!"
And of course the woman would pointedly ignore her, because no one had ever gotten icy snubbing down to an art as well as Sharon Raydor . "If there's nothing else…"
The Chief didn't know what to say; his eyes flickered to Emma for a moment, and finally he sighed. "No, there's nothing else… you're dismissed, Captain."
And unbelievably, Raydor turned on her heels and walked out of the office, having virtually gotten Chief Taylor's blessing on her insane scheme! How that could possibly happen, Emma didn't even begin to comprehend:
"You can't do that!"
And why on Earth was the man looking irritated with her?
"I can't force Captain Raydor to take time off if she doesn't want it."
"Obviously she needs time off! Aren't there rules about mandatory leave if the circumstances require it? Clearly she can't do her job here –"
"DDA Rios," Taylor explained patiently. "Even if I were inclined to place the Captain on forced leave, which I'm not, I can't run her out of town. She'd just stay home, with the boy, and you'd be in exactly the same position as you are now."
Emma pressed her fingers to both temples in an attempt to suppress her exasperation. "She's intentionally trying to paint me as a villain‼"
And Taylor just sighed: "No, I think you've accomplished that just fine by yourself. Now, if there's nothing else…" he nodded meaningfully toward the door, "I have a meeting with the mayor in two hours and I need to prepare for it."
For one moment after leaving Taylor's office, Emma continued to hope that things would get better and she would actually get around to doing her job, that maybe the whole spectacle would die down on its own and everyone at Major Crimes would remember that their job was to put criminals away, not waste time getting overinvolved and melodramatic about things that shouldn't have been their business anyway.
To be on the safe side, she decided to approach the youngest detective – Sykes? – with her work-related question; the woman did on occasion seem a kindred spirit of sorts.
Det. Sykes looked up at hearing her approach, and in a perfectly clear voice, said: "You. Are dirt."
Or maybe today was just beyond salvaging.
Between her own turmoil, the difficult case, the draining scene in Taylor's office and her off-kilter interactions with her team, the long day had left Sharon feeling as though she'd run a marathon. She'd spent the last two hours on her feet, pacing the murder room or at most leaning against a desk, because she wasn't sure that if she sat down, she'd be able to get up again. The very thought of food still made her throat constrict, and no amount of overly sweetened coffee was cutting it anymore.
So for the sake of preserving what little energy she still had left, she'd really been hoping to avoid further confrontations of any kind. But the fates did not see fit to grant her wishes, because just as she was about to leave she ran into DDA Rios again in front of the elevator, and when their eyes met, they both twitched as though considering whether an undignified one-eighty might not have been worth it at this point.
Worse, Rusty joined her seconds afterwards, having retrieved some forgotten book and ready to go home, and he fairly skidded to a halt at the sight of the DDA. He gave her an unsure look, and Sharon tried for her most reassuring expression.
At least they were taking the elevator in opposite directions, because Sharon wasn't so sure what might have happened if she'd been forced to share a small confined space with Emma Rios at the present moment.
The younger woman clenched her jaw, arms crossed tightly, her look decidedly unhappy. "I'm not going to change my mind. What you want is wrong! It's almost illegal, and it's definitely not in the best interest of this case!"
Sharon returned a cold gaze. It was all she could do.
"I know what you're trying to do," Rios railed. "You're trying to guilt-trip me into relenting, but I'm not going to. I'm sorry about your loss," (Sharon's lips compressed imperceptibly) "I'm sorry that you're taking it so hard, I'm sorry that this is complicating your life! But you're wrong and I'm not going to fold!"
It was a blessing when the elevator doors finally opened and she waited for Rusty to step in first, then followed him. "Excuse me."
Emma looked exasperated. "If you take the boy out of this state, I will have you prosecuted for kidnapping a minor!" But the doors just closed right back between them, and all the younger woman had left to do was press both hands to her face with a loud groan.
For her part, Sharon let Rusty drive them home.
Later that evening, she'd finished a low-volume, tearful phone call to her brother, and was utterly failing in her efforts to dial down the self-recriminations. Sleep wasn't looking to be a likely option, and rather than silently torment herself between the four walls of her room, Sharon decided to make an effort to spend some time in the living room, where at least she'd be available if Rusty wanted to talk.
Still she hadn't expected, ten minutes after she'd tiredly settled herself in her usual corner on the couch, that the boy would rush out of his room and suddenly declare: "Look, if this is the only way… I'll go stay with those Broods – Broades. It's just for a few days, right? How bad can it be…?"
He looked so serious. She tilted her head, her gaze tender. "You're not going anywhere."
"I want to go! Okay?" He threw his hands in the air. "Just… call Emma and tell her to do her thing. I want to see their house and their... vegan…dog, or whatever. Sounds like fun."
Sharon patted the couch pillow next to her. "Come here honey."
But Rusty plowed determinedly on. "No! I'm serious, alright? This is clearly not working out! I'm sick of it, Sharon!" He tried to ignore the painful way her small smile faded and her brow creased. "It's just not worth it, okay?"
"Rusty..."
"At least if I go to the Broades I'll know she won't come after me again!" Gritting his teeth, he scowled. "I want to just stay in one place, okay? I don't care where! Call Emma! Tell her to bring you her paperwork! I'll go tonight! I'll–"
Abruptly Sharon choked back a sob, tears spilling unbidden from her eyes.
She turned her head away. "Sorry. It's been a long day."
Rusty's scowling obstinate expression melted into horrified panic. "Oh, no. No, Sharon – please. Just… " He stepped closer to her, his expression anguished, pleading. "Just let me go to the Broades. I'll be good. I won't run away. I promise."
She waited a moment longer before turning back to face him; tears were still in her eyes when she met his gaze, but her tone was firm, clear: "I don't want you to go."
"But that doesn't seem to make any difference!" He banged angry fists against the back of the couch. "I feel that this is all my fault! You want to go be with your family and I'm just … I'm keeping you hostage here!"
"Honey, you're not keeping me hostage. None of this is your fault."
"Then it's Emma's fault!" he railed "Why couldn't Stroh kill her! I hope if he gets free, he'll go after her!"
"Rusty." She looked aghast.
"It's true! She's a horrible woman, Sharon," he said tearfully, "it's not enough that she destroyed my friendship with Kris, she wants to ruin my whole life and now she's going after you!"
She swallowed hard, closing her eyes for a moment as though to hold back more tears. "Come here. Please."
This time he dropped next to her on the couch, arms crossed and his body tightly wound. Sharon put a hand on his arm and gave him a serious look.
"This… is a terrible situation to be in," she said softly. "For both of us. But right now there's nothing we can do about it. And Rusty," he fingers squeezed his arms lightly. "it's not your fault any more than it's my fault. Just… remember that, okay? And try to be good."
A/N: Sorry about the length of this chapter. Somehow it all made sense in my head, but it did get out of control slightly. Hopefully it didn't detract from reading! I'll keep it shorter in future installments :).
Thank you for reading the story! As always, I love hearing from you :).