Page 47 of Rules

"Take these," he ordered, handing them to me. "Then shower, it will help."

I complied silently, swallowing the pills and draining the water glass. The cool liquid felt like heaven on my parched throat.

Tim continued, "I'm going to make breakfast while you clean up. Then we're going to talk."

The hot shower helped, allowing me to wash away some of the physical grime even if the emotional mess remained. By the time I emerged, teeth scrubbed, dressed in fresh clothes, the smell of bacon and coffee had replaced the stale scent of whiskey.

Tim stood at the stove, flipping eggs with practiced ease. He glanced over as I entered, his expression still wary.

"Have some juice," he said, nodding toward the table. "Food will be ready in a minute."

I instead took the full coffee cup; the first sip was perfect—strong, black, no sugar. Just how I liked it.

Tim brought over two plates loaded with eggs, bacon, and toast. He set one in front of me and took the seat opposite.

"Think you can eat?" He asked, eyeing me.

"Yeah, thanks." I took a piece of toast and some bacon. The eggs, I'd wait on.

The food helped ground me, settling my stomach and clearing some of the fog from my brain. Tim waited patiently, watching me with an expression that reminded me so much of Joan it almost hurt. When I finally set down my fork, he leaned forward.

"You want to tell me what's going on? Because in my entire life, I've never seen you like this."

I sighed, staring into my coffee cup. "It's been a rough few days."

"Bullshit," Tim countered. "It's more than that. You called me at one in the morning to tell me what a terrible father you've been. Which, by the way, is complete nonsense."

"Is it?" I looked up at him. "I've spent your whole life trying to mold you into something you're not. Pushing you toward the military when you wanted to travel. Criticizing your choices because they didn't fit my rigid view. Even now, I can't seem to stop trying to control everything around me."

Tim's expression softened. "Dad, you've made mistakes. All parents do. But you've always been there for me, even when we disagreed. That counts for something."

"It's not enough," I shook my head. "I should have done better. Been better."

"This isn't just about us, is it?" Tim's perceptiveness had always been sharp. "What else is going on?"

I hesitated, then decided Tim deserved at least part of the truth. "The break-ins, then the death. The damn Mayor called an emergency meeting just to tell me in front of the community that I'm not doing my job. And to top it all off, Michael, who escaped federal custody, has been seen heading this way."

Tim's eyes widened. "Fuck, that's a lot to take on. Michael? As in, the psycho who terrorized the Whitakers?"

"The same."

"Shit," Tim whispered. "No wonder you're stressed. But that doesn't explain the drinking, or the self-doubt," he trailed off, studying my face. "But before we dive into all of that, I have to know who's Roo and what's this about you rescuing her hairy kangaroo?"

The question caught me off guard.I didn't.My eyes met his.I did.Damn it. "Ah, she's a business owner in town. Ruth Manchester. She owns the flower shop."

"I know who Ruth is," recognition dawned on Tim's face. "Ruth is Roo?"

I nodded, feeling heat creep up my neck.

He put his hand up, "I don't want to hear about her hairy kangaroo. Sounded last night like you like her."

"It doesn't matter," I replied, falling back on my standard line. "It wouldn't be appropriate. The hairy one is her dog, Joey."

"You know her dog, huh. You did say something last night about being too old and not good enough for her. Which is complete nonsense."

The shame of my drunken confessions washed over me. I can't believe I told him about Ruth. "Tim—"

"No, Dad. I'm talking now." Tim leaned forward, his gaze intense. "Mom's been gone for fifteen years. Fifteen years. And in all that time, I've never seen you be this way, not since Mom."

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