Blue eyes rolled his glittering orbs. “So what? I like how it sounds.”
Yeah, they were brothers. Cute as hell, but definitely brothers.
I smiled at them and they beamed their winning smiles back at me. I gave them a wave. “Hey, guys. I’m Samantha. Which one of you is which?”
“What up, Samantha. I’m Lucas,” he waved. He had blue eyes. “This is my kid brother, Logan.”
“Hi,” Logan nodded, his green eyes sparkling at me like emeralds. He seemed shy compared to his brother.
These guys were total heartbreakers. Both were as tan as Jake and had shaggy blond hair with a natural curl. The only visible difference between them was that Lucas had blue eyes and Logan had green. Girls everywhere swooned at the sight of them and envied their awesome hair, I had no doubt. They also projected a very homey, genuine energy. No wonder they were friends with Jake and Christos.
“So, do hot guys always travel in packs or what?” I asked.
“Normally, me and Logan do,” Lucas said, “but today we’re slumming it with these two trolls.” He motioned toward Jake and Christos with his thumb.
“Dude, you’re totally walking home,” Jake joked.
“Whatever, dude,” Lucas scoffed.
Jake rolled his eyes. It was obvious he was close friends with Lucas and Logan from the way the three of them behaved.
“Hey,” Lucas said to me, “If you guys aren’t doing anything this Saturday night, you should totally come watch our band play.”
“You guys are in a band?” I goggled.
“Totally,” Logan said softly.
Yeah, they were perfect.
Lucas nodded, “We’ve got a show at the Belly Up.”
“The Belly Up?” I said. “That’s right near where I live.”
“You guys should come check us out,” Lucas smiled.
Saturday night. I felt that lead ball that had been weighing me down for the last few days roll around in my stomach. If luck was against me, I’d be crying my eyes out while Christos started a long stay in jail. I glanced at Christos and I could tell Lucas’ offer hadn’t sat well with him either. “Oh,” I said, “I don’t know. Can we decide later? Christos and I have some…family stuff.”
Christos nodded, a hint of sadness tightening his smile. “Family stuff,” he echoed.
“Yo, we gotta jet,” Jake said. “Get this rig back to my buddy at his shop before he goes home for the night. Anyway, me and Mads are going to see Lucas and Logan play on Saturday, so call us if you want us to pick you up.”
“All right,” I smiled. “Thanks again, you guys!”
“Any time,” Lucas said.
Logan nodded and smiled.
I waved as the truck drove off.
When they were gone, I parked my VW in front of the garage and got out. Christos still stood at the end of the driveway near the street. He seemed a million miles away. I started walking toward him, but he didn’t move. I broke into a run until I was in his arms.
“Christos…oh, agápi mou…” I wept as he enveloped me into his warm embrace. I felt the world crumbling around me by the second, and his arms were the last safe place in the universe.
Words could not do justice to my sadness and fear in that moment.
His trial was tomorrow morning…
===
Christos and I walked into the house together after I’d calmed.
“Welcome home, agápi mou,” he said.
“That’s right!” I smiled. “I live here!”
“Yup. You’re all moved in. I even put your ice cream in the freezer in the kitchen.”
“All of it?” I grinned.
“All nine pints,” he smiled.
Christos led me upstairs and showed me all my clothes, neatly folded in the chest of drawers or hanging in the closet. My old shoes from D.C., which I rarely wore in warm San Diego, were neatly arranged on the floor of the closet.
“Your furniture is in the garage,” Christos said. “If you want any of it, let me know. I’ll put it wherever you want in the house. Otherwise, make yourself at home. This is your house now.”
I smiled at him. “I love you, Christos.”
“I love you too,” he smiled.
The pleasant knowledge that I was now moved in was blown out of my chest when I remembered that my parents didn’t know. Now that I was actually situated in the Manos’ house, I sensed they would not be happy. But there was no going back. Since they’d stopped paying for anything, did it really matter? Was there any way they could make my life worse than they already had? I sighed harshly, not wanting to think about it.
Christos and I went downstairs and had a somber dinner together. Spiridon wasn’t back from wherever he’d gone, and the usual relaxed, social atmosphere was crushed by the weight of what tomorrow might bring. Not even Christos was his usual easy going self.
After dinner, I tried to do some sketching at my drawing table in the studio while Christos worked on the background for one of his unfinished paintings. It was useless. I couldn’t concentrate.
I walked over to Christos, who sat at his easel, and put a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t get anything done. Do you want to go to bed?”
He sighed loudly and dipped his brush into a jar of turpentine and swirled it around. The turpentine spligged and splogged around the jar until he wiped the brush dry on some paper towels. “Sure.”
When we reached the threshold of the studio that led back into the house, Christos turned and took a long, meaningful look at the studio.
I wanted to cry, but I held back my tears, for his sake. This wasn’t the last time he was going to see it. It couldn’t be. The jury had to find him not guilty. Christos wasn’t a bad man. I knew it in my heart.
Christos sighed again and turned out the lights.
We walked quietly upstairs and got ready for bed in silence. We slid under the covers together and laid side by side, holding hands, staring at the ceiling.
I was miserable.
Christos was distant, almost like he was in shock. I couldn’t blame him.
I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed mine back.
I don’t know how long we laid like that.
At some point, I needed to talk. The stress inside me needed to be vented before I vomited up my dinner. If that happened, I knew I wouldn’t hesitate to run downstairs and fill my stomach with ice cream until I had to vomit that out too.
“Christos,” I whispered in the darkness, “are you sure there’s no way I can testify at your trial tomorrow?”
He didn’t answer.
“I mean,” I said, “I was there. I saw the guy. My version of events should make a difference, shouldn’t it?”
After a long time, a thin, tired voice said, “It’s too late, Samantha. Whatever happens, happens. I’ll deal with it.”
“But, what if—”
“I really need to try and sleep, agápi mou.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
He slid his hand out of mine and rolled onto his side, his back to me.
I felt like he was a million miles away. I almost snuggled up against him, but decided to let him sleep. I laid in bed quietly for awhile.
My stomach was churning like a sailboat in a super storm. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to do something about my stress. I slipped silently out of bed and went downstairs.
I passed right by the evil ice cream in the freezer.
I had work to do.
I skulked around the house until I found an office. It was lined with bookcases filled with art books. A beautiful, ornate wooden desk sat in the center of a Chinese area rug. Probably Spiridon’s office. There was a computer on the desk. I switched on a small desk lamp and a yellow disc of light fell onto the blotter. I clicked the mouse and woke the computer. I checked that I could access the internet. Yup, working.
For a second, I drummed my fingers quietly on the desktop while I considered what to do next.
I finally broke down and tiptoed back to the kitche
n. I spooned two modest scoops of Peanut Butter Fudge Bomb into a small bowl then returned to the office. I was going to need at least a little sustenance while I worked.
I didn’t care what the stupid courts said. It was never too late to make a difference.
Chapter 7
SAMANTHA
I jolted awake.
Where the hell was I?
Ow! My cheek was killing me. Had I slept on a bed of nails?? I opened my eyes carefully, on the lookout for sharp objects. No nails.
But I had fallen asleep at the keyboard, my face resting on the keys. I sat up and rubbed my cheek. I felt keyboard grooves waffling my skin.
Nice.
I leaned back in the antique chair in Spiridon’s office. Something creaked and popped. I couldn’t decide if it was the antique chair or my antique back. When I stood up, more popping. Definitely my back. I would need to get it refurbished later.
Light slipped into the office around the window blinds. I yanked the cord and sunlight blared inside.
Morning already?
How late had I worked? There was no way to know what time I’d fallen asleep. But it didn’t matter. I’d found what I’d been looking for online last night. I now had a way to help Christos.
I couldn’t wait to tell him the good news!
The house was so quiet, I imagined Christos was still in bed. I tiptoed out of the office and back to Christos’ bedroom. Our bedroom.
The door was open.
He was not in bed.
I walked into the bathroom. It was empty, and all the roses from Valentine’s Day were gone, as if they’d never been there.
“Christos?” I called.
The house was silent.
I went from room to room.
This search felt eerily familiar. I’d done the same thing only days before, but it had been at night. Now the sun shone through windows all over the house.
Fuck! What time was it? I ran downstairs, hoping to find Christos and Spiridon eating breakfast together, hot coffee in the pot waiting for me.
The kitchen was empty. The clock on the stove said 8:30am.
“Christos?” I called loudly. “Spiridon?” My panic started to rise. Tears began dripping down my cheeks.
I ran to the studio and shouted, “Christos! Spiridon!”
Silence.
I even checked the back deck, but no one was outside.
I ran into the house and toward the front doors. A note was taped to one of them. It read, ‘Went to court’.
I opened the front door and sprinted down the driveway.
I screamed when I reached the street. “Christos!” I started sobbing uncontrollably. “Noooo!!!!”
How could I help my man when I didn’t know where to find him?
I fell to my knees on the cement of the driveway and wailed.
===
CHRISTOS
The sky was clear blue as I drove my ’68 Camaro south on the 5 freeway toward downtown. Great day for a trial, right? What I wouldn’t do to strip out of the shirt and tie that were strangling me so I could head down to the beach with my board and catch some waves with Jake instead.
Not today.
Maybe not for the next four years.
I grit my teeth, doing my best not to think about it.
Morning traffic was light and my car cruised along at sixty-five. I thumbed on the MP3 player mounted in the dash and skipped through songs until I hit Mouth For War by Pantera. I cranked the volume and the music rumbled the interior of the car. My left foot pounded on the floor board in time to the bass drum and my hands slapped out the rhythm of the snare drum on the steering wheel. Guitars screamed into my eardrums.
Yeah, I was going to fucking fight.
Time to testify, mother fuckers.
I desperately wanted to floor the gas pedal. Take my Camaro up to one-forty and start weaving through the cars on the road. But these people weren’t my enemies.
That’s what was driving me crazy.
There was no one to fight. No one to punch. No one to kick, claw or bite. Damn, I needed to punch someone in the face.
I glanced over at the Buick next to me. An old woman was at the wheel. She had the seat pushed way forward and could barely see over the dash. Her hands were at ten and two and her chin jutted forward, pinning her eyes on the road in front of her.
Yeah, not exactly what I had in mind.
Where was that Hunter Blakeley when I needed a punching bag? I’d barely scratched his nose the night me and Jake had run into him coming out of the downtown Hooters. He deserved a proper ass kicking for being such a shit magnet.
I took a deep breath and tried to release my frustration. I started shouting along with the lyrics of Mouth For War.
A couple miles later, I pulled off the freeway at the Front Street exit and headed toward the courthouse. I drove into a parking garage. The lower levels were already filled with cars so I hammered the gas and squealed tires up the next four floors, leaving trails of rubber around every corner, until my car was on the roof. Plenty of spaces. I parked in the far corner. After throwing on my suit jacket, I headed for the stairs.
When I was on the sidewalk, I turned the corner at Broadway. The sun shot hot bullets off the glass front of the courthouse, punching my eyes. I squinted at the glare and felt like some western cowboy at high noon. Time for the final shootout. Too bad a trial took way longer and was way more boring than a six gun duel on a dusty street cut between rows of whorehouses and saloons.
I shot my cuffs and adjusted my tie. Man, I hated suits.
I strode up the courthouse steps.
Time to kick fucking ass.
===
SAMANTHA
After screaming my lungs out on the driveway for the better part of two minutes, I stood and dusted off the knees of the sweats I’d slept in and ran into the Manos house. I sprinted upstairs and jumped behind the desk in Spiridon’s office and frantically searched online for San Diego court houses while wiping tears from my eyes.
There was more than one. I ruled out the obvious ones, like Juvenile Court and Family Law Court. There were two Superior Courts. One downtown, and the other in Kearny Mesa. They were fairly far apart. I hoped I didn’t pick the wrong one.
I had no idea how long a trial actually took. I mean, most court TV shows took an hour or less. But what about in real life? I had zero clue. Best to get cracking.
What I did know was that I couldn’t run into court wearing sweats and slippers.
I ran into my new bedroom and rifled through my closet. I didn’t have a second to savor the fact that this was my first morning in my new home with Christos. Welcome to Sucktown, population: Me.
The remnants of my Washington D.C. wardrobe were perfect for putting together court-appropriate attire. I selected a black blazer and a gray pencil skirt, plus a cute white blouse, black hose and conservative pumps to go with.
I dashed into the bathroom and slathered on antiperspirant. Too bad I was out of industrial strength. I would have to go with Extra Dry. I pulled my hair back in a harsh pony tail, then applied minimal makeup.
I was out of the house seven minutes later.
Who said women had to take forever to get dressed?
I was on a mission.
I was going to save Christos.
I tried calling him as I hopped into my VW, but he didn’t answer his phone.
It didn’t matter. I had proof of his innocence in the palm of my hand.
===
CHRISTOS
Footsteps echoed throughout the crowded marble hallway inside the courthouse as I snailed through security in slow motion. I had to remove my belt and shoes when I went through the metal detector. It was almost like going on a plane trip vacation, except there was a fifty-fifty chance my flight would crash into the side of Mt. Guilty.
I paused to glance back at the sunlight shining through the tall windows of the courthouse’s main entrance. I took a good look, in case it was the last time I saw fre
edom for four years.
No, fuck that.
I was going to fight this shit until I won.
I found Russell waiting outside our courtroom.
“Eye of the Tiger?” Russell said as I strutted up to him.
“What?” I asked.
“You got that Rocky Balboa look on your face when he fought Clubber Lang the second time at the end of Rocky three.”
I chuckled. “Fucking eye of the tiger, man.”
As always, Russell was sharply dressed from top to bottom. His suit was freshly pressed, his cufflinks glittered, and the white of his collar and cuffs contrasted brilliantly against his ebony skin. “Speaking of eyes, I see your concealer did the trick. You look like Joe Citizen now.”
“Yeah.” I’d borrowed some from Samantha’s makeup bag this morning.
“We win this,” Russell said, “I’ll have to take you out for a fancy dinner, considering we’re both dressed up.”
“Yeah,” I smiled. “I’m shooting for lunch. I plan on being in and out of here by noon.”
Russell chuckled and slapped my shoulder firmly. “Eye of the tiger.”
A tall, beautiful dark-skinned woman in a tight navy blue suit stood next to Russell, holding the handle of her briefcase in front of her hips with both hands. She smiled at me.
“Christos,” Russell said, “you remember Ms. Johnson? She will be assisting today at trial.”
“Of course.” I smiled down at her, “Brianna.” At 5’11” in her heels, she still seemed short to me. We shook hands. She had the same firm grip I remembered. I’d met her at Russell’s offices numerous times.
“Christos,” she smiled and nodded.
I knew Brianna was still on the lookout for quality husband material. Before Samantha had taken me off the market, I’d offered to fill the bill for Brianna several times. She was a good woman, smart and hellaciously funny the second she was off the clock and hung up her lawyer’s costume. But she’d said I was too young. I think I was eighteen at the time and she was thirty. I couldn’t blame her. I was still a mess back then. “Any good men been able to catch you yet, Brianna?”
“Not yet,” she grinned. “None of them are fast enough.” Brianna had trophies and photos of her running college track in her office.
Painless (The Story of Samantha Smith #3) Page 12
