Page 83 of Sighs By the Sea

Suze’s gaze hardens, her jaw setting stubbornly. “I’m still sober. Doing fine, no thanks to you. This could be considered harassment, you know.”

“It’s not. We have to find Don. You realize a threat to Gray is a threat to George, your son, right?”

At the mention of George, Suze’s face flushes with guilt before she quickly masks it with a stoic expression. “No one will hurt George, and I already told you, I didn’t want this for Grayson either. Despite everything, I… I do want him happy.”

“Do you know where Don went?”

She shakes her head, frustration flashing in her eyes. “He doesn’t trust me anymore. Probably because the police are sniffing all around me.”

“Is that where this came from?” I ask, pointing to the swollen bruise on her cheek.

“Not your business, is it?” she snaps back, her tone defensive.

Though I’m tempted to push her further, I bite my tongue. Pushing someone who’s struggling is a bad idea. Instead, I reach into my pocket and fish out a business card. With the pen clipped to my blouse, I jot down my address and personal number on the back. “You let me know if you need anything, Suze.”

She scoffs, but I grab her hand, placing the small paper in it. “I’m serious, Suze, even if it’s just toilet paper.”

Her lips twitch into a brief, almost reluctant smile, and I feel a small victory in that fleeting moment of connection. If I really want a life with Grayson, Suze is a part of that. I can’t let her disappear without trying to help.

As Harry and I leave the house, my thoughts drift back to Grayson and George. I’ve made promises—to keep them safe, to protect this family we’re building—and I intend to keep those promises at all costs. Suze might be a part of that future, even if she’s made questionable decisions in the past. I’m not giving up on her. If I could forgive my dad for everything he put our family through, I can find it in myself to forgive her too. Even if she’s stubborn, even if she hates me for it.

As the door closes behind us, I mumble a goodbye, but Suze’s already retreating inside. Fine. She can be angry. She can push me away. But it won’t stop me from trying. I’m nothing if not an incredibly stubborn woman, especially when it comes to the people I love.

Grayson

The familiar thrill of returning to Los Angeles washes over me as the plane touches down, the airport sprawling below us. Beside me, George is practically bouncing in his seat, his excitement contagious as he peers out the window.

“We’re gonna live with Maggie!” George exclaims, his face alight with joy.

I can’t help but smile at my son’s enthusiasm. I feel it too—maybe even more so. Moving in with Maggie is a big step, one I’m eager to take, though I know her house needs some work. It’s usually cluttered, a charming but chaotic reflection of her busy life. And then there’s the mysterious second bedroom, always locked, its contents unknown to me.

Every time I bring it up, Maggie’s face flushes, and she quickly changes the subject. But she’s promised to clean it out so George can have his own room. Eventually.

For now, George will have to share our bed, a temporary arrangement until Maggie follows through. We breeze through the airport, not needing to wait for luggage since I tossed my few articles of clothing into a backpack, and George’s stuff is in his small bag. Most of his clothes were left at Lori's; he was outgrowing them anyway. A shopping trip is in our future, one I’m excited about. I want to buy him new outfits and toys—start fresh. Besides, it made Lori feel better knowing he had things waiting for him. She was heartbroken to see him go.

I know this whole situation has been hard on her—finding out her daughter isn’t dead but struggling with addiction and pregnant again. It must be devastating. Once again, I’m reminded of how much Suze has hurt—not just me and George, but others too.

We quickly find my car in the parking garage. After getting George settled, I send a quick text to Maggie that we’re on our way. My heart flutters at the thought of seeing her again.

If there’s one downside to bringing George home, it’s that I can’t pounce on Maggie the moment I see her. A small, nearly insignificant price to pay, but one I’ve thought about nonetheless, especially since he’ll be sharing our bed for a while.

As we drive away from the airport, I turn on the news.

“Daaaddd,” George complains from the back, his whiny tone a familiar comfort. “Yes, my son?”

“Puh-lease can we listen to rock?”

Rock. He said the "r" perfectly. Two and a half weeks, and so much has changed. I mean, when did he start liking music? “Um, sure. Any kind in particular?”

“The Muppets!” he yells out, nearly deafening me. At the next stoplight, I pull up the soundtrack. I’m not sure if this qualifies as rock, but like hell am I going to tell him that.

He sings along, off-key of course, and I can’t help but smile. I missed my son so much. As I drive, a text comes through. The car reads it aloud—it’s from Miranda, checking in after hearing that George is home. I haven’t spoken to either cousin since I found out they knew Suzannah was alive, though I know Maggie has kept them in the loop. To me, it feels like a betrayal that they kept it from me. At least Maggie was honest that she needed to hide something, and I could see how it plagued her. But my cousins should have told me right away.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by George’s voice. “Muppets, Dad!” he yells. Rolling my eyes, I restart the music. I’m not a snob; kids’ music has its place. But come on, this is torture. Still, the moment his small voice belts out the wrong lyrics, I’m laughing again.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing, buddy. Just wondering how we’re gonna celebrate you being home,” I reply, though my voice lacks conviction.

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