by Shandi Boyes
“Okay...” I wait for him to fill in the gaps.
Mercifully, he doesn’t leave me hanging for long. “Jacob has been arrested for assault and battery again.”
“Is his original probation over?”
Hank sighs. “I don’t know; he’s cutting it close.”
“Fuck.” I have no better response. If he’s convicted of assault while on probation, he won’t skip jail this time. That’s not a probability; it’s a given.
“Where did they take him?”
“Ravenshoe PD. Meet you there?”
“Yep!”
After disconnecting my call, I race toward Pete's office. He grants my request to leave without a five-page explanation. It probably helps that I didn’t elaborate that I’m going to the police station instead of the hospital like he assumes.
When I pull into an empty space at the front of the police station, I spot Hank waiting for me on the front steps. He’s as uneasy about our visit as me; he just does a better job of hiding his emotions. I’m a jittering bag of nerves.
As we enter the lobby, I scan the area. There are dozens of men and women in blue, but I'm not looking for a uniform. I'm seeking a familiar blue suit.
I find it a few seconds later. “Ryan!”
He inches back from the interrogation room to crank his neck my way. When he realizes it’s me, apprehension washes over his face. If that didn’t occur more times than I can count the past few months, it would bother me more than it does.
“I’m doing everything I can, but it’s out of my hands this time.” Ryan’s low tone sinks my heart into my gut.
“Can we see him?”
My heart slides straight past my stomach to collide with my feet when he shakes his head. “He’s in the process of being charged with three counts of battery.”
“Three counts?” When Ryan nods, I ask, “Is his original probation period over?”
His nod turns into a shake. “He had one week left. That’s why it’s out of my hands. It’s higher than me.”
My tongue darts out to replenish my lips with moisture, but no amount of wetness makes my next question any easier to ask. “Will he go to jail?”
Tears burn my eyes when Ryan replies, “Most likely.”
“Is there anything we can do?” This question comes from Hank.
Ryan shakes his head again. “If he didn’t have his original conviction, we would have had a better shot of keeping him out of jail, but with that hanging over his head...” An uneasy shrug finalizes his reply. “I’m sorry. I wish I had better news; I just don’t.”
His gaze flicks between Hank and me for many heart-thrashing seconds before he pivots on his heels and walks away.
Just the thought of Jacob going to jail makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t let this happen to him. If he weren't protecting me, he would have never been on probation...
I stop reflecting when a brilliant idea pops into my head. After telling Hank to wait for me outside, I dash to the desk clerk, praying she’ll have answers to the questions I have.
She’s not overly smart, and she’s somewhat deaf, but she slathers my idea with so much sugary goodness, I’m on the verge of becoming diabetic by the time I join Hank outside.
“I need your help, but you can’t tell anyone what we’re about to do.”
Hank’s nearly black eyes stare deeply into mine. “Is it illegal?”
I grimace. “Quite possibly?”
He twists his lips. "Okay, then. Let's do this. What have I got to lose?"
My thighs quiver with every stair I climb at the house I used to call home. It's different than I remember. Darker and more lifeless. There are more weeds in the planters I put under the windowsill than flowers, and the screen door has more holes than an eighteen-hole golf course.
I’m about to knock when the creak of old wood under my feet announces my arrival before I can. “Look what the cat dragged in.” Callum strolls down the long hallway of his childhood home, his eyes darting between Hank and me. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Pretending he didn’t just swipe his index finger under his nose like all drugs addicts do to ensure they get every last morsel of powder they’re sniffing, I ask, “Can we come in?”
After a short period of contemplation, Callum jerks up his chin. “He looks harmless enough.”
He shouldn’t underestimate Hank. I’ve seen him take down men twice his size.
When we enter the living room at the front of Callum’s house, he zooms around to clean up the mess of beer cans and pizza boxes covering nearly every surface. Although his home is a dump, nothing can distract me from seeing the three lines of white powder on his glass coffee table.
“I thought you were clean?”
Callum shrugs like it isn’t a big deal he’s using again. “Thought if I were clean, you’d come home, but that never happened, did it?”
After pushing the debris from his sofa onto the floor, he gestures for me and Hank to sit.
“I’d rather stand.”
“Of course you would, because you’d never do anything I ask without first whining.” After tossing a moldy pizza box into his unlit fireplace, sending ash floating across the room, he turns his massively dilated eyes to me. “Is there a reason for your visit? Or did you just come here to fuck with my head all over again?”
I nearly rebut, but Hank's jacket brushing my wrist when he puts himself between Callum and me reminds me that my trip down memory lane isn't about me. It's not even about Callum. It's for Jacob.
“I want you to amend the statement you issued to Ravenshoe PD two years ago.” My voice is surprisingly firm for how hard my heart is raging. “I want it changed to say you hit Jacob first.”
Callum cocks his brow as a grin inches his cheeks high. “And why the fuck would I do that?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll have you charged with attempted murder. You choked me with the intent to kill me. That’s more than a standard assault charge. ”
Hank’s eyes rocket to mine at the same time Callum laughs. “That was years ago. You don’t have a leg to stand on.”
“There’s no statute of limitation for attempted murder, which means I can proceed with charges at any time. The photos the detective took of my neck and wrist are damning enough, let alone the official statements from Maggie and me. You’ll go away for a very long time if you don’t follow my demands.”
Callum’s smirk doubles. He’s not convinced. I’m sure I can get him over the fence.
"I wonder how many years the DA will add to your sentence when the arresting officers tell him about the white powder you have all over your house." I nudge my head to the cocaine lines on his coffee table. "I'm sure that's not the only coke you have stashed here."
I yank my phone out of my pocket and dial two numbers: nine and one. My finger hovers over the one when Callum swipes his hands through the air. “Hold on, just wait a minute. Give me some time to consider your suggestion.” When he skittishly peers at the silver chest that used to hold his mother’s ashes, I realize my assumption that’s he’s hiding drugs is accurate. “I can’t just have Jacob un-arrested. It doesn’t work that way.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that. All you need to say is that you swung at him first. If it’s self-defense, Jacob’s original probation period could be shortened.”
Callum throws his hands in the air. “Why does it matter? He only has a week left.”
"It matters, Callum. Not just to Jacob, but to me as well. I made a mistake not having you prosecuted. I should have told them what you did just so Jacob wouldn't have to live with a conviction hanging over his head for the rest of his life."
Callum hears something in my confession I didn’t mean to expose. “You love him.” He drags his fingers through his hair before tugging the ends into spikes. “I can’t believe this. You’re bringing this here! Into my fucking home to save him.” He thrusts his hand to his front door like Jacob is standing behind it. “What the fuck does he have
that I don’t have? Is it money? A big dick? What?!”
When Hank attempts to pull me behind him, I sidestep him. What I'm about to say should have been said years ago. I'm not willing to hold it back for a second longer. “That isn't what this is about. It's about justice and doing the right thing. Jacob didn't assault you for no reason, Callum. He did it because he cares about me like you once did—"
“Still do,” Callum corrects.
With a shake of my head, I fold my arms in front of my chest. “That isn’t true. If you cared about me, you wouldn’t have hurt me.”
“I was high! I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.”
“That time, but what about the first time you shoved me, and the second and third? What about the time you beat me until I was barely recognizable? What were your excuses then?”
Sparks of the boy I once knew flash through his eyes when they glisten with tears. “I made a mistake, one I’ve regretted every day since.”
“But not enough to do the right thing.” I throw a palm in his face, brushing off his supposed regret. “I’m over this. You don’t care about anyone but yourself, so why should I give a shit if you get locked up for years?”
After hitting the one on my phone, I press it against my ear. Callum is too spaced out on drugs to realize I didn’t hit the call connect button. “Alright, alright! Fuck, Lola. I’ll do it. I’ll say I swung at him first.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Jacob
Three days after being released on bail, I’m nervously tapping my foot in the court chambers with another dozen delinquents waiting for their turn before the judge. I've rehearsed my plea nonstop the past two hours, praying a sob story will make the judge lenient on me. From what I'm hearing, even pleading guilty won't stop me from spending time behind bars this time around. I fucked up, but come on, after the hard few months I've had, tell me you wouldn't have reacted the same way?
My eyes float up from the floor when Michael, Jenni's dad, rushes my way. He only agreed to represent me after Jenni reached out to him. Things have been tense with them since Jasper's birth. I don't know what caused their rift, but I'm glad it didn't stop Jenni from seeking his assistance. Michael is a brilliant lawyer, and from what Ryan said during my incarceration at Ravenshoe PD, I need the best lawyer money can buy.
“You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
After yanking me to my feet like his belly isn't the size of Santa's, he straightens the knot in my tie, then gestures for me to enter the courtroom door we're standing next to. I do a double-take when we enter. The judge is already seated at the podium, and he bears an uncanny resemblance to famous actor Morgan Freeman. If I weren't seconds from spending the next three-plus years in jail, I'd snap his picture to show Emily. Alas, freaky resemblances will have to wait until my livelihood isn't on the line.
Michael gestures for me to sit in the pew behind the defense’s table before requesting permission to approach the bench. When his request is granted, he hands the judge a single piece of paper. They discuss the particulars of my case, but I can't hear a word they're speaking.
Once they’ve finished their chat, the judge gestures for me to move forward. My nerves are so rattled, my legs shake with every step I take. Here it is; I’m about to be handed my fate.
Please, God, don’t take me away from Lola for years. We’ve already endured our share of unfair separations.
I'd give anything to have just an hour alone with Lola. To see her smile, smell her skin. To feel her pulse flutter under my fingers when we kiss, but since I didn't want to burden her with my stupidity, she's unaware I'm facing sentencing today. Excluding Emily, Michael, and Ryan, no one knows. I didn't even tell my dad. I don't know why. He is who I get my strength from. I just didn't want to see his disappointment. It's bad enough seeing it in Lola's eyes. I don't want to see it in his too.
My eyes drop from the ceiling when the judge says, “After speaking with your lawyer, I've reduced the four-year sentence I had planned to serve you to six months' probation with five hundred hours of community service.” I stare at him in astonishment, certain I heard him wrong. “Along with your community service, you’ll be required to attend mandatory counseling for anger management.”
I remain quiet, muted by shock. Ryan said I had no chance of escaping incarceration, so how the fuck did I only get six months’ probation?
When the judge smacks down his gavel, Michael’s feet lift an inch off the ground. His celebration shifts to a more respectable one when the judge’s bushy brow arches high. “Thank you, Judge, thank you. That’s a very fair verdict.”
After banding his arm around my shoulders, he guides me outside. The cool afternoon is heavenly to my overheated skin, but I'm still stunned.
“How did you do that?” Emily said he was a good lawyer, but she failed to mention he performed magic tricks.
“I don't deserve all the credit." Modesty will never be his strong point. He only needs to fan out some feathers, and he'd have the peacock look down pat. "The judge overturned your original conviction, which means you didn’t have a prior conviction on your criminal record. A standard sentence for a first-time offender is probation and, if you’re unlucky, community service.”
“My original conviction got overturned?”
Michael chuckles at the bewilderment in my tone. “Yes—”
“How?”
“The DA was handed compounding evidence. The judge had no choice but to overturn your previous conviction.” He whacks me in the chest with the manila folder he’s holding. “Why do you look so worried? You should be celebrating.”
“I’m happy. I’m just… shocked.”
“Shocked works. Shocked is still living. I can handle shocked.” After exhaling so harshly, he ruffles my hair, he nudges his head to the doors he just forced me through. “How about we get this wrapped up so you can be shocked anywhere but here? I’ve got golf to play.”
When I roll my eyes, he slaps my shoulder. “If you dis golf, I’ll be tempted to lose the evidence that just saved your ass. I don’t have much to look forward to these days other than chasing that little white ball around acres of rolled turf.”
“Not even your grandson?”
The distress my face has been holding the past ten minutes leaps onto Michael’s. “Grandson? What grandson?”
My silence says more than my words ever could, and it jumps Michael into action. Within twenty minutes, I’m sitting in my car with my probation documentation on my passenger seat and the business card for my new therapist in my wallet. I'm also harboring a shit-ton of grief. I didn't realize Michael was unaware Jenni gave birth months ago.
On my way back to the hospital, I dig my cell phone out of my pocket to power it up. Within seconds of turning on, it indicates I’ve received a text message.
Lola: Good luck today xx
This is the first text I’ve received from her in over eight weeks, but it isn't the reason for my gaped jaw. How did she know what was going on today? As I said earlier, neither Emily nor I told anyone about my second brush with the law.
Like a flash of lightning in the sky, it dawns on me. Lola was one of a small handful of people who knew about my first conviction.
Does that mean...?
Did she...?
Am I still in with a chance?
A car behind me honks when I complete an illegal U-turn to direct my car away from the hospital. It's nearly two PM on a Tuesday, meaning the answers I'm seeking are in the opposite direction of the way I was traveling.
My stomach lurches when I enter Hank’s gym, then it leaps when a giggle I’d never forget sounds through my ears. “You’ll get used to it. From what I've been told, the funky smell grows on you—let's hope they mean figuratively.”
After dropping a sweaty towel on the bench next to us, Lola slings her glove-covered hands around my neck. “I’m glad you’re not behind bars. We were getting worried when we didn’t hear anything.”
When she pulls back
, it’s the fight of my life to let her go. I wouldn’t if I hadn’t seen Hank jogging toward us from the corner of my eye. “Jacob!” He replaces Lola’s arms with his own. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” After pulling back, he pokes his index finger into my stomach. “If you stay away too much longer, you’ll get pudgy on the inside.”
He’s joking, but it doesn’t stop my spine from straightening when Lola’s hooded gaze floats my way. When she smiles, my heart races. I know that smile. I know it very well. She still digs me.
Once Hank unties her gloves, she smiles before sauntering toward the locker rooms. “It was nice seeing you, Jacob.”
She’s engulfed by steam before I can assure her the pleasure was all mine. I stare at the empty entrance for several heart-thrashing seconds before shifting on my feet to face Hank. “How’s she doing?” She looks tired, but she’s still as gorgeous as ever.
“She’s good." Hank's smile fades into a frown. “Why didn’t you tell me what her ex did to her?”
“She told you about that?” The disbelief in my tone makes my words come out louder than intended. I’m not angry. I’m more shocked than anything. Lola was adamant she didn’t want anyone to know what happened to her, so I’m surprised she was upfront with Hank. Don’t get me wrong, she isn’t a liar, but she’s a pro at sidestepping interrogations.
“Not in so many words, but yeah, she told me, but why didn't you? I was mad for weeks after your arrest. If you’d told me what had happened, I would have understood. I’m not a complete asshole.”
Recalling the words Maggie said to me years ago, I notch up my shoulder. “It wasn’t my story to tell.”
I never understood what Maggie meant that night, but I have more comprehension now. When Callum assaulted Lola, he didn’t just make Lola lose her faith in him; she lost it in everyone. Trust takes years to build, seconds to break, and a lifetime to repair. I should have remembered that when rumors circulated that Lola was back with Callum. She doesn’t trust him because she doesn’t trust anyone—not even me.
