“Absolutely.”

She again didn’t reply.

So he asked, “You okay?”

“No.”

It was a whisper and his focus sharpened.

“No?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Ethan’s gonna love this. Guy time. Man talk. Showin’ you off to Teddy. And I love it, knowin’ I don’t gotta say he can’t have somethin’ he wants because I gotta work and I can’t find anyone to give it to him. So no, Merry, I’m not okay. This is not an okay feeling. This feelin’ is me bein’ fucking happy.”

His throat closed, his chest tightened, and his first reaction was to disconnect the call. But at the same time, his gut had warmed because it felt so damned good just giving Cher that emotion and also doing it knowing she hadn’t had a lot of it in her life.

He powered past his first reaction and told her, “I’ll walk down to the bar in a few to get the keys, babe. Yeah?”

“Yeah, gorgeous. See you then.”

“Later, Cher.”

“Later, Merry…and thanks, honey.”

“No problem.”

He disconnected, straightened in his chair, and rolled back to his desk. He felt Mike’s gaze, so he lifted his to his friend’s.

“Take it we got a ten-year-old for ride-along this afternoon,” he remarked.

“If that’s gonna be a problem for you—” Garrett started.

Mike shook his head. “Ethan’s a good kid. We’re in doin’ paperwork, so he’s not stopping us from doin’ shit we need to do. And not like he hasn’t hung with the guys before.”

That was true. It hadn’t happened often, but on occasion over the years when Cher needed him because there was no one else to help, Colt had brought Ethan in.

Garrett looked across the room.

Colt was sitting at his desk, grinning at something Sully was saying, Sully sitting across from him.

She hadn’t asked Colt.

She’d asked Garrett.

That felt great.

And it made him uneasy.

“Kid’s a good kid,” Mike said, and the change in his tone caught Garrett’s attention. “Woman’s a good woman. I believe in you, brother. Sittin’ across from me is a man who hasn’t had it all. A man who thought he did and lost it but learned different. Who’s watched his friends make poor decisions and bounce back. Who now has a shot at gettin’ it all and is old enough not to be stupid.”

That meant a lot, coming from Mike.

But Garrett wasn’t going to share that.

Instead, he grinned and gave him shit.

“You should be a therapist, Mike. Open your own clinic. Call it ‘Don’t Be a Dumb Fuck Treatment Center.’”

Mike grinned back, returning, “You bein’ my first client, thinkin’ of adding, ‘How Not to Be a Smartass.’”

“That might be a tougher addiction to kick,” Garrett told him.

“You might be right. Though, this line of work, run into a lot more dumb fucks than smartasses.”

“Truth,” Garrett muttered.

Mike’s phone on his desk rang.

He turned his attention to it, so Garrett quickly called, “Yo.”