groan was followed by a howl of anguish. Standing before anyone could stop him, he went crazy and punched a wall. Pain shot up his arm, but he didn’t care. Ready to take down the entire wall with his fists, Arnie was caught off guard when his dad physically grabbed him and tossed his ass back in the chair.
His father took a knee next to him and put an arm around Arnie’s shoulders. “Son, everything is going to be okay. You have to trust me on this. That little girl is your mama’s grandbaby, and there is nothing I won’t do to make sure your family gets a happily ever after. It’s what Lianne would want. What your mother would expect.”
Arnie stared at the picture. His hands shook.
He was too numb after that to keep track of much except finishing off the vodka and Stan grabbing a bottle of tequila off the bar cart. Their dad laughed and said something about how it wouldn’t be the first time someone threw up in his car.
His grandfather made a cameo, but the circumstances were murky. Arnie vaguely remembered a wild rant about putting Giselle in a box once and for all. The rest consisted of vodka visions—disjointed and meaningless.
All but the part where his father said, “This is the chance we’ve waited decades for. When she moves …” He smacked his hands together like the jaws of an alligator. “Chomp, chomp.”
A hard shove sent him rolling onto his back. Arnie lay there for a moment until identifying the solid surface under him. Shit. He was on the floor.
He heard a deep voice mutter, “Uh-oh.”
Cranking his eyes open one at a time, he grunted from the effort, focused, and then frowned when he found Kingsley Maddison in full scowling mode.
His menacing boss hauled off and kicked him. “Dude, you’ve got some ’splaining to do.”
Arnie struggled like a turtle on its back to sit up.
Ugh. What smelled? Was it him? He looked at what he was wearing. Suit and tie. Ergh. He remembered being at Granddad’s and getting shit-faced. King’s presence meant he was back in New York. How he got here or why he was wearing a suit covered in vomit remained fuzzy.
Jon joined in. His smirk was directed at Arnie. Waving something in the air, he jeered, “Like the big man said. You’ve got a bit of explaining to do.”
The picture of Summer holding his baby was pushed in his face.
“Care to fill us in?”
He angrily snatched the picture from Jon’s hand, groaned when the movements made his head explode, and struggled to his feet. “How’d I get here?” he demanded in a surly voice.
“Fuck, if I know.” Jon chuckled. “Dottie found you, but she stomped off rather than change your diaper.”
King wasn’t saying anything. He was doing that thing where just by his presence he made the room feel small and lacking in sufficient air. His dark eyes studied Arnie and made him mentally squirm.
Stan’s amused voice interjected, “Oh, sorry. He wasn’t just dumped.” Holding up two cans of Diet Coke, he said, “I ran to the vending machine, and Dad is parking the car.”
“Hey, Stan,” Jon politely greeted Arnie’s brother. They shook hands, and Jon asked, “Can you explain the picture we peeled off Arnie’s face?”
The whole room ignored him even further when his father walked through the door followed by Dottie. Taking one look at her worried face brought him very close to crying like a confused baby in need of comfort.
King greeted Ned Wanamaker with unrestrained, effusive delight. His dad was a great guy. Everyone liked him.
“Ned! When you called and said we had a problem and you were bringing Arnie in, I didn’t envision him passed out drunk.”
“The situation called for creative thinking. He’s a lot less of a problem when he’s not sober and angry.”
Dottie came to Arnie’s side and offered a gentle smile. She held her hand out. “May I see?”
He nodded jerkily, and with trembling hands, showed her the picture.
“Oh, dear.” She sighed. “The baby looks like you, Arnie.”
King asked, “Dude, is this your kid?”
“I didn’t know,” he defended as the picture passed from hand to hand. “Just found out.”
Jon whistled. “Holy crap, man.”
“Is this the situation you were referring to?” King asked Arnie’s father.
“Yes. He’s going to need a plan. A good one.”
“All hands on deck?” Jon asked.
Before anyone answered, Dottie nudged him toward his office bathroom. “You get washed up and let the grown-ups talk, okay?”