“No.” Tris’s voice echoes around us, the finality of it almost shocking me. “I’ll call you.”
Nate waits a beat, his eyes boring holes into the side of Tristan’s head before he makes a noise in the back of his throat and walks out of the kitchen. The door slams shut seconds later, leaving the house in silence.
“I’ll be in my office.” He doesn’t say another word before spinning around and leaving the same way he came in.
“And he’s not talking?” I listen as Holland, one of the in-house investigators, recounts his talk with one of the board members of Tris’s company.
“Not a peep.”
“Make him talk or move onto someone else.” I stop to think of all the Carter Enterprise’s board members. “What about Jamie Cromwell? He’s a loose cannon at the best of times.”
“I’ll make some calls.”
“Good. Keep me informed, Holland. We need this locked down.”
I hang up and blow out a breath as I look at the time. I still have twenty minutes until I need to be in court, so I pull up Facebook and scroll through my newsfeed.
I write a congratulations to an old friend that’s just had a baby girl before scrolling on, getting bored. I click on the search bar and type in Amelia’s name, scrolling down the list of results but coming up empty. Why doesn’t she have Facebook? I’ve never thought to look before now.
A notification pops up and I click on it, smiling. Harmony has finally accepted my friend request from a while back. I scroll through her profile, of course it’s full of photos of her art and shares from her studio’s page. Everything is on social media these days. Everything and everyone except Amelia and Tris that is.
A throat clearing has me looking up into Stacey’s eyes—one of the junior associates at the firm who is working the case with me.
“You ready for this?”
I pocket my cell and stand up. “I was born ready.”
She chuckles, gazing down the hallway. “Savage here yet?”
I shake my head. Derek Savage is one of the most well-respected insurance brokers on the West Coast. He also happens to be a complete pain in my ass and sure knows how to keep us on our toes with this sexual assault case. But hopefully we’ll receive a verdict today and this will be all over and done with.
Stacey and I turn toward the raucous belly laugh of none other than Derek himself as he’s followed by two leggy blondes coming toward us.
I look down at my watch and he scoffs. “I’m on time, Cole, calm down.”
“Wasn’t gonna say anything, Savage.” I motion to the courtroom. “Let’s get in there.”
I open the door and let Stacey and Derek walk in ahead of me, steeling my features before walking through after them.
“All rise.” I stand as Judge Ferguson walks into the courtroom and he motions for everyone to sit once he’s settled in his chair.
“We’re here for one last argument from yourself, Mr. Cole. Then the jury will deliver a verdict. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
He waves his hand. “Then please proceed.”
Clearing my throat, I stand up and address the jury. “We could go back and forth all day over whether my client is guilty or not, but the truth of the matter is my client and the alleged victim were having sexual relations way before the video in question surfaced.” I make eye contact with each person sitting there before saying, “I’d like to call Mr. Savage to the stand.”
Derek stands and gets sworn in before sitting in the witness stand as cool as a cucumber. “Mr. Savage, can you please tell me for how long your ‘fling’ with Miss Williams took place before the day in which your moral compass is being questioned.”
While he says his answer, I walk over and pick up the top piece of paper from the open file in front of where I was sitting, all the while not listening to him because we’ve been over what he should and shouldn’t say many times already. “And there was no force or coercion on your part?”
“Absolutely none,” he states.
“So these accusations are completely false, in your opinion?” He nods and I refrain from rolling my eyes, I’ve talked to him about this, too. “I’m sorry, Mr. Savage, for the record, could you please voice your answer.”
“Yes, every sexual act myself and Miss Williams partook in was consensual.”
I turn toward the jury, holding up the paper so I can see but not enough to hide my face from them. “I’ll be waiting for you in the copy room, Savage. I’m not wearing any panties.”
“Objection!” Jeremy Lions—the prosecution—shouts.
“On what grounds?” Judge Ferguson counters, sounding bored.
“R—relevance,” Jeremy stammers out.
“Overruled, please continue, Mr. Cole. I’d like to hear more.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Taking a step forward, I continue. “Mr. Savage, do you recognize this?”
He shrugs as he leans forward, trying to get a better look at what I’m holding up. “I get a lot of messages that sound like that, but yes, I remember that one clearly.”
I want to knock the cocky smirk off his face but instead, I say, “I’m not surprised you do because it was sent to you by none other than Miss Williams herself.” I pause, turning toward the jury again. “Exactly twenty-two minutes before the video in question was taken. I don’t know about you, but to me that doesn’t sound like someone who wasn’t up for partaking in whatever acts conspired that day.” There’s murmurs throughout the gallery and I turn toward Derek on the stand. “But that doesn’t explain you groping Miss Williams and her slapping you in the video, Mr. Savage.”
“Objection!” Jeremy yells again.
“Grounds?” Judge Ferguson asks again.
“Badgering the witness.”
I barely hold in my chuckle as Judge Ferguson says, “It’s his witness, Lions. Sit down.”
I turn toward Derek and nod subtly at him to which he sits up straighter. “I walked into the copy room not long after receiving an email from her on my personal account.” He turns his gaze toward the jury. “We liked to keep things strictly out of the workplace.” He turns back to me. “Until what I guess is the email you have there, but when I got to the copy room she was acting strange.”
“Strange? Can you expand?”
He nods. “She kept turning me around every time I tried to walk behind her, telling me I wasn’t doing it right.” He sighs. “I enjoyed spending time with her but she was starting to get clingy and I don’t do clingy, so I stopped our encounter and told her after that time, we were over.”
“What happened then?”
All smug, he sits back in his chair. “I tried to continue so we could both get off but the bitch slapped me and pulled her shirt over herself before walking out into the office crying.”
“And that’s when she started telling people you forced yourself on her?”
“Yeah, and then the police turned up and I was arrested.”
I nod. “No further questions.”
I try to gauge the jury’s reactions and smile, they look like they’re ready to pounce on all the information.
“Short recess while the jury deliberates,” I hear as I turn to gather the file of papers.
Derek sidles up beside me and claps me on the shoulder. “Remind me to never go up against you, Cole.”
I grin at him. “I’m not the best for no reason, Savage.”
He walks out of the courtroom as the prosecution have their heads close together. They know they’ve lost this case, there’s no way they can win it with the evidence I just provided.
Taking one last look at Jeremy, I raise a brow before spinning around and following Stacey out of the room.
Deliberations can take anywhere from thirty minutes to two days—I’m hoping this is the former and not the latter. Pulling my cell out, I check my messages as I make my way to a bench in the hallway. There’s nothing back from Holland yet so I click open the Facebook app, but I’m only sitting for
ten minutes before someone announces the jury have reached a verdict and we can go back in.
Being that quick can only mean one of two things: they’re either sure he’s guilty or sure he’s innocent. If I was a betting man then I’d have to go with innocent.
Sitting back behind the table on the left side of the courtroom, we watch as the jury are called back in, followed by Judge Ferguson.
He signals for the head juror to stand, and as he does, he opens up a piece of paper folded in half before he says, “Based on everything we have been presented with, we find the defendant, Derek Savage, not guilty.”
Derek blows out a breath and stands, the blondes he walked in with earlier squealing with delight behind us in the gallery.
He shakes my hand and Stacey’s. “Thanks, I know I’m a sleaze.” His gaze skirts to the women. “I don’t deny it. But I didn’t do this.” He smirks. “I’m going to go and celebrate now.”
He walks off with the two blondes on his arms and Stacey scoffs. “Sleaze is a major understatement.”
I couldn’t agree more.
“Cole, you never fail to amaze me,” Jeremy says, sidling up next to us. “I honestly thought I had this one in the bag.”
I look him in the eyes as I shrug. “Maybe next time.”
Although both he and I know my firm and I are formidable so the chances of that happening are slim to none.
Stacey and I gather our stuff as we walk out, shaking hands with people in the gallery over our win. There’s nothing like ending the week on a complete and utter high.
The bus ride to the beach takes nearly an hour because it pauses at every little stop. It would have only taken maybe twenty minutes if I would have taken the car Tris gave me. It doesn’t matter how many times Tris tells me to take it—like this morning before I left—I never use it unless the kids are with me.
Taking a deep breath, I soak in the smell of the ocean air. It’s remarkable how it can feel so different even though I’m not far from the house. It’s like I’ve stepped into another state. The sound of the waves thrashing soothes me and has my shoulders slouching and a lazy grin forming on my lips.
I walk past the ice cream shop and a shack renting wetsuits before taking a left and walking into the main part of the town.
A few minutes later I’m standing in front of my own slice of heaven. The sign above the door is dark blue with white writing displaying the words “Beats & Bass.”
The glass door to the shop is littered with posters: local band gigs, wanted ads, and even one about a lost cat. A bell dings as I step inside, my eyes taking in all of the vinyl records displayed on the walls and in carts throughout the store.
Like I said: heaven.
I head toward the jazz section at the back, walking past Vic who owns the shop. “Morning.”
His hand floats to the white beard that touches his sternum as he strokes it. “New ones are on the left, Amelia,” he says, knowing exactly what I’ve come for.
“Thanks.”
I head to where he said, flicking through them but being careful to not damage any. Some of the cases holding the records are well worn and well listened to, whereas others are in near pristine condition. It’s not those ones I want though: I want the ones that have stood the test of time, been listened to over and over again. Been danced to and been the background noise to budding romances, weddings, or even parties from decades ago.
The pads of my fingers brush against a red cardboard casing and my heart skips a beat. This was the first record I ever owned, it’s probably still sitting on my shelf in my childhood bedroom. I slowly pull it out, my heartbeat drumming in my ears as I turn around, heading over to the record player allowing you to listen before you buy.
The first backing vocals of the song come through the headphones and I stare at Ray Charles’s smiling face while I trace over the letters of the words on the righthand side: “I can’t stop loving you.”
His voice flows through my ears, taking me back to the first time I listened to this exact record when I was only eight years old. Closing my eyes, I soak in the tone of his voice and the instruments in the background; relishing every single syllable he utters.
I let the record play out, all the while moving my hips gently side to side, feeling like I’m being transported back to the 1960s.
When the last lyrics finish and the instruments stop playing, I lift the record up and slide it back into the case before placing the headphones on the hook at the side. I can’t not buy this one.
Paying up, I walk out of the shop, my hand smoothing over my bag where it sits, a beaming smile on my face matching the bright sun shining down on me.
I practically skip past all the shops and to the beach, finding the perfect spot—not too close to the water but close enough to not hear all of the commotion from the small path that runs along the top.
Pulling my towel out, I lay it on the sand before discarding my denim skirt and tank top, leaving me in my white bikini bottoms and halter top. Adjusting the small buckles sitting on my hips, I sit down and do some people-watching.
Kids are making sandcastles near the water, parents watching them closely. A group of guys are playing volleyball on a makeshift court not far from me; the sounds of their laughter mixing in with the waves as they roll in. I can’t remember the last time I people-watched knowing I didn’t have to look after Clay or Izzie, or have a time limit on when I needed to be back. It’s not like I don’t have the opportunity, I just don’t like to be too far away in case I’m needed. Which is crazy because Tris is more than capable, but it’s become more of a habit, knowing I’m only a few feet away from the main house.
Leaning back on my elbows, I dip my head back and close my eyes. The burning sensation on my shoulders reminds me I need to apply sunblock so I sit up, pulling it out of my bag and squirting some into the palm of my hand. I look up briefly before applying it and then whip my head back up, doing a double take.
No. He can’t be here.
A surfboard followed by a man wearing a wetsuit catches my attention. He shakes out his brown wet hair which causes drops of water to surround him, his lips lifting up into a carefree grin as he talks to someone near the edge of the water.
Grabbing my bag frantically, I look for something to hide my face. Why the hell didn’t I pack a big floppy hat?
“Quick, quick,” I murmur, needing something—anything.
Aha! My tank top! I grab it, lying down on my towel and throwing it over my face. I don’t know how long I stay there, counting my breaths and trying to appear as normal as possible, but once I hit 500 I slowly lift my arm and pull my tank top off my face. Staying deathly still, I skirt my gaze left and right, not seeing anything.
My breath leaves me in a rush. Phew. Seeing Nate while wearing so little clothes and him in a wetsuit that sticks to every contour of muscle has my mind flitting back to a month ago when he took me to the sports bar and to his happy trail.
Dammit, don’t go there.
A shadow descends over me, blocking the sun and I know then that I didn’t have a lucky escape. I tilt my head back, looking up into his green eyes and taking note of the smirk stretching along his face.
“Well… hello there, pretty lady. Fancy seeing you here.”
I groan, slamming my eyes shut. “I didn’t know this was your beach.”
He snorts and I feel him throw himself down in the sand beside me. “Not my beach.” I crack one eye open, staring at him with a raised brow. “It’s good to see you out and about for once.”
My gaze flits down to his chest, his pecs glistening with water from the sea before trailing down his abs and to the start of the wetsuit where he’s pulled it down to his hips.
“Anyway, what are you doing here?”
I stare at him for a beat, watching the way he flicks his gaze from mine briefly almost as if he’s nervous. But this is Nate—the guy who’s the life of a party, always ready with a joke and a playful grin. Surely he can’t be nervous?
“I went to the record store and now I’m going to sunbathe the day away.” I pick up my tank top that’s lying next to me before folding it up, trying to occupy my hands. “Tris went to watching week and said I didn’t need to be there at all today.”
“Watching week?” he asks, his eyes roaming down my legs.
I clear my throat. “Well, watching week was last week but Harmony…” I trail off, wondering whether I should be saying this to Nate. But I’ve started now and I can’t leave it hanging there. “She said he could come and watch the kids during the art class today as he missed last week’s.”
“So, he let the kids go back there again?” His face screws up and he looks away. “I didn’t know, we haven’t spoken since the cookout. But that’s good.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “The class is good for them; especially Clay.” We’re both silent for a couple of minutes before I ask, “So you’re here surfing?” Could I be anymore awkward?
He grins and motions toward his surfboard dug into the sand behind us. “Sure am. I come here a lot.”
I swing my head around, really looking at the giant board and noting the couple of stickers on the back. “What’s it like?” I ask, bringing my gaze back to his. “Surfing?”
“What?” His eyes widen. “You mean to tell me you’ve been living this close to the beach for almost six years and you’ve never been surfing before?”
His shocked eyes don’t move from mine. “No.” I try to play it off as nothing, but it’s furthest from the truth. Growing up in a state smack bang in the middle of America meant I never lived by the sea so this was the first place I came to after… everything. “It was always part of the plan…” I trail off.
Learning how to surf was the first thing on top of my list. A list that not one item has been crossed off. Maybe I should start and have more days like this where I cross those things off?
“What plan—”
I stand up, my arms flying out and touching his board as I cut him off, “Teach me.”
Fighting Our Way Page 7
