by Lisa Lace
My eyes fill with tears, and I look up at Henry with my heart on my sleeve. “I’ll find a way to pay it back. I swear to God.”
“I know.”
I throw my arms around Henry’s neck and weep openly onto his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“This is too much to bring you into. This shouldn’t be a choice you have to make. I’m sorry.”
“None of this is your fault. I’m doing this because I love you—never be sorry for coming into my life. I treated life like one big joke until you came along. I care about you too much to stand back when I have the means to help. I know you’ll use it to do right by Connor, and your mum would be proud.”
Henry
“Take that, loser.” Ryan laughs wickedly as he shoots my soldier on the video game we’re playing. The game ends, and he brushes his hands together victoriously. “And that’s how it’s done. Fancy another round?”
“Sure. Let me order the pizza first—I’m starving.”
“Cool. Don’t let pineapple touch that pie. I’m serious—I can’t stand that stuff.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I pick up my phone to order a pizza, then sit back down with Ryan to continue gaming. After a stressful week helping Melissa out, I’m glad to have a little time doing something mindless with a friend. She’s working a shift at the diner tonight, so it was a good time to invite Ryan over for a few hours of Call of Duty.
About half an hour later, there’s a knock at the door, and Ryan quickly presses pause. “Ye-e-es! Piz-za! Piz-za!”
I laugh. “All right. Calm down. I’ll get it.”
There’s a smile on my face as I go to the door. I needed this downtime.
My smile disappears when I open it and see who’s on the other side. Red-faced and staunch, my father stands with his arms folded over his chest.
I pale. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve discovered some things I’m not happy about and seeing as you won’t pay attention to a word I say on the phone, I felt I had no choice but to come over here and talk some sense into you myself.”
He steps into the living room and casts his disapproving gaze around. It settles on Ryan, who’s still holding his game controller in his hand and looking really confused.
“Nice to see that allowance I’m giving you is going to good use. You could get a 4.0 GPA if you weren’t wasting your time playing war games and disobeying my direct orders not to give handouts to your trashy girlfriend’s convict brother.”
My cheeks flame red.
Ryan’s eyes grow round, and he quickly stands up to leave. “I better get going.”
My father holds up his hand. “No, please. Stay. Henry’s not embarrassed, are you? Henry never gets embarrassed. That’s why he continues to act like an ungrateful, reckless and self-centered fool without the sense God gave him. Henry never feels shame for his actions. Henry’s immune to what people think. Isn’t that right, son?”
Ryan looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. He’s halfway between sitting and standing, looking more uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen a human look before. His face is as red as mine, and a look of utter relief washes over his face when he spots the pizza delivery guy through the open doorway.
“I’ll get this one.” He darts out the door and shuts it behind him, leaving me to face the wrath of my father’s fury alone.
My father slowly prowls around my flat, picking things up and putting them back down again. Every time he inspects one of my belongings, his lips curl into a snarl of disapproval. He frequently sighs and shakes his head.
At last, he comes to a stop in the middle of the room but doesn’t sit down, as if he thinks the seats aren’t clean enough for him to risk taking a seat.
“I know you gave that girl money. A lot of money.”
“And how would you know that?”
My father pulls his mobile out his pocket and turns the screen to face me. I can see the “Money in” and “Money out” columns of the online bank statement.
“You forget that I set up that account. I can see everything that goes in and out. Thirty-thousand dollars in. Seventy-five thousand dollars. Two thousand—and then it all disappears. Where did you get that kind of money from, Henry?”
I sink down onto the sofa and cross one leg over the other. Now my initial shock at seeing my father has worn off, I’m simply tired; fed-up of defending myself and my choices.
“I sold my things.”
“What things?”
“I had Percy auction off my car and some of my art. I sold my Rolex online. I sold some of my stocks.”
My father’s face grows livid. I can see a vein throbbing at his temple, and his jaw clenches together so tightly, it’s a wonder his teeth don’t crack. “All those expensive things I got you as gifts, as investments, you’ve squandered to impress a girl?”
I look down at my lap. “It’s not like that.”
“You should have understood those things weren’t yours to sell.”
“What do you mean they weren’t mine? They were gifts, weren’t they?”
“I’m disappointed you chose to waste them. How much did you give her? A hundred and twenty thousand? A hundred and thirty?”
“A hundred and fifty.”
He shuts his eyes like he’s in physical pain. “You’re a disgrace.”
“She needed me.”
He raises his voice to a roar that makes the walls of the flat shake. “I told you to break things off with her!”
“And I ignored you. You don’t get to tell me who I love.”
“Love—you don’t know what that word means. As long as you’ve been my son, you’ve been selfish and vain. Right now, you like playing the hero, but when the novelty wears off, you’ll have no feelings left for this girl. It’s all about your ego, Henry. It always has been.”
“You’re wrong. I love her.”
“Well, I hope that’s true because she’s all you have left now. You’re cut off.”
“Cut off?”
My father crosses his arms in a slashing motion through the air. “Done. No more allowance. No more credit cards. No more expensive gifts. And what’s more, no more getting a leg up on the basis of my reputation. You don’t deserve it. The deal is off. There will be no flat waiting for you when you return to England. There will be no job. No cars, no bank account, no room at the manor. You’re on your own. In fact, don’t bother coming home.
“You’ve made no secret of the fact you have no respect for your family. Now you can live life on your own terms and off the fruits of your own labor. I’m done bankrolling this mayhem. It’s over, Henry.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly.” He turns back toward the door, sweeping out as quickly as he swept in. “You still have your place at Harvard. If I were you, I wouldn’t screw it up. It’s the last thing you have going for you now.”
I’m done, too. I lift up my hands helplessly and see my father to the door. “As you wish.”
“I expected more of you.”
“No. You didn’t. And you let me know it every day.”
He shakes his head in disappointment. “I wanted better for you.”
“You wanted the same for me.” I look him squarely in the eyes. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m going to be fine. I’m capable of more than you ever gave me credit for—I just don’t fit into your mold.”
“Let’s hope that’s true. For your sake. Good luck, Henry.”
“Goodbye.”
My father leaves the flat. I stand in the middle of the living room, shell-shocked from the encounter.
A moment later, Ryan’s face appears tentatively around the doorframe. “Jesus,” he says. “That was brutal.”
I flop down onto the sofa and pick up my controller. “You got the pizza?”
Ryan steps into the room and lays the box on the coffee table. He sits beside me and fixes me with a look of concern. “
You okay?”
I smirk. “Never better.”
“Your father’s pretty scary. When I was reading Harry Potter as a kid, that’s the voice Lord Voldemort always had in my head.”
“He says I’m cut off. More like disowned—he told me not to bother coming home.”
“What did you do that was that bad? I thought you were doing well here? There’s nothing wrong with your grades. You don’t go out drinking.”
“I tried to help someone he didn’t want me to help.”
“Melissa?”
I close my eyes and nod. “What’s done is done. He thinks I’ll crumble on my own, but I’m on my way to good things. I’m going to get this MBA and pave my own way out there.”
“Good for you.” Ryan pauses uncomfortably. “Is Melissa okay?”
“She wouldn’t want people to know.”
Ryan pats my shoulder comfortingly. “I’m here if you need me, buddy. I know your dad just gave you a tough time, but when you say you love Melissa, I know it’s true. You’ve changed a lot since you’ve been here—for the better, I’d say.”
“You heard all that?”
He looks guilty. “Thin walls.”
“The gossip mill will love that one. The whole place will have heard.”
“Let them talk. As far as I can tell, you did a good thing. Selling all your stuff like that. It’s good to see someone around here who is deeper than all that superficial stuff on the surface. No matter what your father says, I respect what you did for Melissa. I hope whatever’s going on with her works out in the end.”
Melissa
Lucy stands up and greets me at the coffee shop entrance. She holds me in a tight, close hug, her purple hair tickling my cheek. She smells like incense and coffee. “Oh, Lissy! I’ve been worried about you. How’s the case going?”
We go to the table Lucy was sitting at before I arrived and sit down. I hang my purse over the back of my chair and take a moment to gather my thoughts.
Lucy sits patiently opposite me. She leans in intently, desperate to know what’s new.
“I got you a latte and a chocolate-chip muffin,” she says. “I know they’re your favorite.”
“That’s sweet. Thank you.”
“So? What’s going on with Connor?”
It’s been a week. I’d confided my situation to Lucy when I asked her to cover a few shifts the week before so I could get involved with helping Connor in any way I could. As soon as she knew things were tough, she was desperate to know what she could do and suggested meeting for coffee so she could at least offer a shoulder to cry on.
Not that I’m crying. Since Connor was charged with manslaughter and incarcerated, I’ve been too busy to focus on my own emotions. I’ve spent hours doing all I can to help his cause, including tracking down a private defense attorney with a strong track record, who might just be able to do my brother justice.
“It’s still early,” I tell her. “We’re still gathering evidence and all that stuff. Connor’s given his official statement to the police and gone through everything with the attorney a thousand times. So have I.”
“What is his defense?”
I pick at my muffin, reducing it quickly to a wrapper and a pile of chocolate crumbs. “Connor’s crime falls into voluntary manslaughter. The attorney thinks the best angle to go with is self-defense, as both of them threw punches.”
“What about his mental health issues? Could he go for a plea based on that? You know, his addiction, his depression?”
I shake my head. “He’s been analyzed by a psychologist. She diagnosed him with Borderline Personality Disorder and depression.”
Lucy’s eyes light up. “That’s good, right? That’s a defense he can use?”
“No,” I tell her. “Even though he has that diagnosis, it doesn’t mean that he didn’t know what he was doing when he punched that guy.”
His name was Anthony Briggs. It pains me to think the victim had a name, a family, a life.
“Plus, he was under the influence of alcohol and drugs, so even if you could prove he didn’t know what he was doing, you couldn’t prove it was due to the personality disorder or depression. The fact is, although he was drunk and high, Connor knew that throwing punches would result in someone getting injured or dying.
“Connor’s best defense is to prove he didn’t mean to kill, and to highlight to the jury that it wasn’t an unprovoked attack, but a fight between two grown men.”
“Jesus,” Lucy says. “What are the chances he’s going to get off without a sentence?”
My heart pangs as I answer. “Almost zero. Not with Connor’s track record—arrested multiple times for being drunk, resisting arrest. He was convicted of assault in the past, although he got away with community service, paying compensation, and taking an anger management course. As far as the judge and jury will be concerned, Connor’s got a history and a violent streak.”
Lucy bites down on her lip. “I’m sorry.”
I hold up my hand. “The attorney is preparing us for the worst-case scenario. I’m thankful he's honest with me. He’s told me Connor will have to serve time, but we can fight to make his sentence as short as possible. There are witnesses who say Connor was provoked, even if he did throw the first punch. I also thank God he didn’t have a weapon.”
“What kind of time is he looking at?”
“Worst case scenario—up to ten years. If he gets away with the minimum, we’d be looking at ten to twelve months.” I let out a long sigh and shake my head sadly. “One year or ten, one thing’s for sure—Connor’s ruined his life. Nobody will hire someone convicted of manslaughter.”
Lucy lays her hand comfortingly on top of mine. “You don’t know that. People make comebacks all the time. Besides, for some people, jail does them good. They have study programs in there and counseling and all sorts. For some people, it really does lead to rehabilitation.”
“And for some, it introduces them to harder, tougher criminals, and makes them come out worse than they ever went in.”
She frowns. “You always told me that deep down, Connor’s a good kid. Let’s hope if he has to be in there for any time, he’s one of the ones who keeps his head down and takes advantage of the opportunities he’s given. Some places even have programs especially to hire ex-convicts.” Finishing the last of her mocha, she nods confidently. “At least he’s got a private defender. Thank God you had Henry.”
At the mention of his name, my muscles relax a little. Throughout the whole ordeal, Henry has been my rock. Not only did he lend me the money for Connor’s defense, but he’s held me up emotionally, too. He’s been there by my side through it all, even though I’m nothing more than a girl he met at the start of the semester. He’s so kind to me.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay him for all he’s done.”
“You’re lucky to have him,” Lucy nods. “I don’t know many guys who’d go to the lengths he went to take care of his girl. Falling out with his father like that.”
My ears prick up. “What do you mean?”
Lucy frowns. “Didn’t you hear?”
“Hear what?”
She bites down on her lip. “Forget it. I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
Lucy leans forward, letting out a dramatic sigh. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
“Fine.”
She lowers her voice and looks around conspiratorially before she tells me what she knows. “I overheard a group of students talking in the diner the other day. They were from the same apartment block as Henry. Apparently, everyone’s talking about the huge fight he had with his father.”
“What happened?”
“Nobody really knows, but I was able to put the pieces together. The group was saying the father was losing his shit about some money Henry gave to some girl. Apparently, his father was demanding to know where he got it, and he said he sold his watch, his car, his stocks.”
I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand.
I’m immediately struck with a deep, intense guilt. My eyes brim with tears. “What happened?”
“Henry’s Dad told him not to bother coming home. Said he was cut off.”
I choke back a sob. “No.”
“Apparently, Henry gave as good as he got—told his father he’d never had any real expectations for him, and he’d prove him wrong, or something like that. People have been talking about it for days. They said the walls were so thin, you could hear every word.”
“That’s awful. Poor Henry.”
Lucy places her hand on my forearm. “I just assumed you knew.”
“Henry said the money was his own but didn’t explain. I assumed he had a trust fund or some inheritance or something. I didn’t know he had to sell his things to make that money. I never would have let him.”
With a dreamy smile, Lucy sits back and sighs. “It’s so much more romantic this way. He knew you’d never take it if he told you where it came from. That man really loves you, Melissa.”
Henry
I sit in my living room with my laptop on my knees and try to write a CV for the first time in my life. Apart from my Cambridge degree and my time at Harvard, I have nothing to put down under “experience” or “skills.” I wish being a master prankster counted.
I’m relieved when there’s a knock at my door so I have an excuse to pull the laptop shut and push it far away.
I go to the door and smile when I see it’s Melissa.
I welcome her in with a kiss. “Hey, babe. What a nice surprise. Everything okay?”
Looking at her more closely, I can tell there’s something wrong. She looks stricken like she’s just heard some bad news. I immediately usher her over to the sofa, and we sit down.
“Is it Connor? Is there news on the case?”
Melissa looks up at me with wide, round eyes. They’re full of disbelief, admiration, and something soft and tender. “Why didn’t you tell me where you got that money?”
“What have you heard?”
She sets her handbag down on the floor and fixes me in her incredulous gaze. “People heard you arguing with your father.”
