Scales: Of Justice (Broken But ... Mending Book 3)

by Dale Mayer

  Her neighbor barked with laughter.

  “Or you liked it so well, you had to taste it,” he teased.

  Without any malice or jeering in his tone, she took no offense. “A hang-up from my childhood,” she admitted.

  “Good thing the rest of the questions are fine then,” he said, startling a laugh out of her.

  “Paris and Weaver.”

  They both turned to face Jenna standing beside them.

  “Sorry,” Paris rushed to say, “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Jenna’s sharp eyes landed on Paris’s face. Her mouth opened as if to say something but she held back. Then she switched her gaze to Weaver and gave him a small nod.

  And it was that nod that Paris really wanted to understand.

  Because it was a small satisfied nod, as if she was happy with a decision he’d made. And what decision that was, Paris couldn’t begin to fathom. Still, Jenna’s arrival was enough to help Paris rebalance and get back on track.

  Then Jenna’s gaze widened as she stared at something on the table. Paris groaned silently. Her damn worksheet. Shoulders slumped, she opened her mouth to explain when Jenna said, “If you two could come to the back with me now, please.”

  And she turned and walked away.

  Paris was confused for a moment, but she got up, reached for her paper, and realized it was gone.

  As she spun around searching for it, she saw Weaver, and what a different name that was, hold out a small square of paper.

  Stretching her hand out to accept it, she suddenly realized it was her worksheet now folded so the rips didn’t show – into a perfect little star.

  She laughed. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He motioned behind her. “Let’s go. Jenna is waiting.”

  *

  He waited for her to stumble to her feet and race to the back of the room. To get away from him? Or to get to Jenna faster? If so, she was the only one. All the other attendees had dragged their feet.

  In his mind, he was taking notes on her character. While doing his masters in psychology, he’d learned, seen many interesting people, and heard fascinating cases. All of the bits and pieces of various personalities that made them the whole of who they were. Through these cases, he began to understand how events in life disintegrated the calm exterior of some and shattered the interior of others. Coping skills were as wide and varied as the people and the catastrophic event in their lives were.

  Though he’d studied cases, attended cases as an observer, and had read widely, he’d yet to touch the tip of what made people tick. Jenna had a special touch. Partly why he’d attended so many lectures. To try and understand how she’d achieved the results she had from her workshops.

  He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with his degree. Something useful he hoped. But he couldn’t do what Jenna did, and neither could he work in the hospitals where so many people needed help. He wasn’t at the point of helping others yet.

  Maybe down the road that could be an option but, he knew how quickly his own buttons could get pushed. Even after years of working on his own crap. There was a buffer layer between the buttons and reality, but somehow being at the hospital, working with patients, and dealing with major psychological issues made that cushion thin like nothing else. He always felt exposed when he was there. As if he wore a sign that made it clear he was exactly the same as they were. That they shouldn’t look to him for help.

  It crossed his mind that most people finishing their degrees felt ineffective in facing the world, afraid the world might expect them to have answers now that the initial stages of schooling were complete.

  That’s one thing he did know – he was short on answers.

  “Weaver?”

  Startled, he looked over at Jenna, who was waiting for him. When she motioned to the seat beside him, he realized he’d stopped beside the two women and had stood lost in thought while they waited for him to sit.

  What an idiot. With an apologetic smile, he sat.

  “Now that you are both here…” she waited and gave Weaver a brief smile, “I wanted to go over the project you’ll both take part in.” He started. No, that hadn’t been part of the deal. Already having agreed to write, a paper, he didn’t want to have to take part in the week-long activity. How was he going to find time to do both?

  Yeah, he wasn’t. So Paris could do the project while he did his paper. Sounded fair to him, but somehow he didn’t think it would be that easy.

  “Normally I assign a specific challenge to a two-person team…” She broke off and shuffled papers on her desk. “In your case, Paris, you have specific issues that you need to resolve, and I may have a way forward for you. In Weaver’s case, he’s dealing with the opposite side of the same coin, in a more minor way.”

  Weaver looked at Jenna then switched to see an odd expression whisper across Paris’s face.

  Cautiously, Weaver asked, “And what coin is that, exactly?”

  A knowing smile in her gaze startled him as much as her answer. She said, “Justice.”

  Chapter 3

  Justice?

  Paris couldn’t stop the shaking that threatened to overtake her body. Was there ever a word that scared her more? The police had cleared her, she had not been charged. In fact, she’d been praised for her quick actions, her quick thinking. For saving her brother. But somehow inside she knew she was going to pay for what she’d done. It was a dark shadow that hung over her – all the time. Waiting for someone to know a miscarriage of justice had been done and finally take her into custody.

  The thoughts, the fears, overtook everything. It was almost more than she could bear. No amount of reassurance from the police, social workers, or any of the numerous therapists she’d gone to removed the fear – she knew the truth. She was guilty.

  One day the specter in her life – Justice – was going to prevail.

  And then there was Constable Barry Delaney. His words – his warning. Something she’d never forget.

  “Justice is easy,” Weaver said, snapping her back to the present as he quoted. “There are no two sides to that coin. Black is black and white is white. Right and wrong are easy to sort out.”

  Paris glanced over at him, still shaken by the conversation. Could he really be so naïve? Was anything in life that cut and dried?

  “You’re spouting lecture notes of our esteemed Professor Marshal Henniker, I presume,” Jenna said with a laugh.

  “You don’t believe him,” Weaver challenged, a glint in his eye.

  “I know Henniker actively incites debates in his lectures, but he doesn’t believe it either. However, as a teaching tool, it is effective in gaining student participation.”

  “I can imagine,” Paris muttered under her breath. At the sharp look from Weaver, she pinched her lips together and stared back.

  “You don’t believe in Justice?” he asked mockingly.

  “Of course,” she said smoothly. “However, there are definite shades of gray in that argument.”

  He gave a half snort. “Whatever.”

  Jenna grinned. “So now you two can work out your project.” She stood.

  “Wait, what?” Paris asked. “What project? You haven’t said anything about what we’re supposed to do.” The panicky part of her that was screaming for detailed instructions was something she hated. Steps to follow, so she wouldn’t stray off the path or wander aimlessly and get nothing done. It wasn’t that she needed to be micromanaged, but she did need to know what was required of her.

  The thought of not knowing made her sick to her stomach. Things needed to be laid out in front of her. Expectations clearly defined. So she didn’t do it wrong. So she didn’t end up in trouble.

  So she didn’t fail.

  “You’ll figure it out,” Jenna said cheerfully.

  “No, wait,” Paris said, a hint of panic in her voice. “We don’t know anything about what the project is supposed to accomplish. Why do we need to do a project in the first place?” she asked in w
hat she hoped was a reasonable tone. Inside, her stomach twisted. There needed to be more direction, more to work with here. Didn’t Jenna see that?

  Jenna sat down again, studying Paris’s face intently.

  Paris flinched. Damn it.

  “You’re here to heal. You’re here to grow past an issue that is impeding your growth. You’re here to leave it behind and move forward as the strong, capable, caring woman you truly are.” Then she smiled that beautiful smile that was like a radiant hug and added, “So a project where you actively work on this issue is the best way forward. It doesn’t have to be about Justice, but it should be related.”

  And she got up, turned, and added, “Oh, and there is no right or wrong way to do this. In other words, you can’t fail.” With another beautiful smile, she left.

  Paris watched her leave before glancing around the room. Everyone had someone. They were all talking in pairs, discussing their projects, their plans.

  She was lost. Adrift, when she needed an anchor.

  Weaver shifted in his chair until he was directly in front of her view, effectively blocking out the others. “So what would you like to do?”

  Her gaze widened. How had she forgotten she wasn’t alone? Weaver was her partner for this project. Instantly she felt better. “I have no idea.”

  “About justice. And it’s to help you grow past your issues.”

  “My issues?” For some reason, that superior tone of voice maybe, his comment made her back bristle. “What about your issues?”

  He opened his mouth, then thought better of it and slumped back into his chair.

  “Yeah, I thought so.” She glared at him.

  “She said we were on opposite sides of the coin and we supposedly both have some work to do in that area, so really given what little she said, we need to find a way back to the middle instead of being on one side or the other,” he said thoughtfully. “Not that it’s an easy thing to do. How about how Justice has transformed our lives?”

  Instead of answering him, she studied his face as he pondered the issue. Why was he here? Everyone in Jenna’s classes were the same as she was, in need and broken in some way. Weaver looked out of place. Like he should be the lecturer, not the attendee. As if he had nothing to get over. Nothing to gain from being here. Except everyone did.

  Even him.

  She smiled. He just didn’t know it yet.

  *

  What was her problem? Weaver tried to watch unobtrusively as Paris’s lips twitched. As if she knew something he didn’t. He narrowed his gaze at her.

  As she looked around and then glanced back at him, he stood and watched her. Everything about her made her appear lost. Well, he for one was damn hungry. They’d been last or second to last in terms of getting their assignment and as assignments went, it was a complete dud. He should know, he’d just completed years of them. “Let’s have lunch and discuss our options.”

  “Options?” she asked cautiously.

  He wanted to smile but wasn’t sure what her caution stemmed from and didn’t want her to think he was making fun of her. Stepping aside, he motioned her to go ahead of him out of the lecture room. The other participants were collecting their belongings and starting to meander in the direction of the doorway. If they got to the restaurant first, he’d have a decent chance of being served faster.

  “Options for the project.”

  “Oh.” And damn if her footsteps didn’t slow. With a gentle hand at her lower back, he nudged her forward slightly. “Let’s grab a table while we still can. The group is coming behind us.”

  His steady touch propelled her forward to the hallway. He’d intended to remove his hand from her long lean back as soon as they were moving in the right direction, but something held his hand where it was, gently stroking the long lean muscles on the side of her spine. He desperately wanted to stretch out his fingers and explore the long ribs so tantalizingly close or drift around and see if his eyesight was as good as he thought it was at measuring her tiny waist. She had a yoga body and appeared muscled and fit. On one hand he yearned to know more about her, but at the same time knew her story would tug at his heartstrings and was better left alone.

  He didn’t do heartstrings.

  He’d seen so much pain, death, and anguish, he knew he was better off alone, at least for now.

  That way his buttons couldn’t get pushed.

  He also knew Jenna would have fun with him on her shrink couch. Sure, he’d come a long way, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t room for him to still travel down that road back to normal.

  Yet, he’d come far enough to feel comfortable in his own skin. And comfortable enough that he didn’t want to change that state again. Change hurt.

  The frailty of the human condition was something he understood well.

  And he didn’t want to crash and burn. Rebuilding was hard. It took a long time. He had a lot of respect for those working on their own issues. But he’d made it to a point of not having to do more. It was possible to stop here at this stage if he wanted to. He’d done enough. He was good now.

  Resetting his attention on Paris, he noticed her wispy long hair and super clean nails with the ragged edges. Her fingernails had ragged edges. He wondered at the familiarity he now recognized, the general look to her. Then he knew. It shouldn’t have taken him so long. After all, he’d met many of them.

  “You’re a nurse.”

  She spun. “What?” Her voice squeaked out just the one shocked word.

  His eyebrows shot up. Interesting response.

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to get personal. It just occurred to me that you look like a nurse.”

  Her eyes darkened as she stared at him, taking a step back. They’d been hazel, but damn if they didn’t look green now. She muttered something under her breath and turned away, almost racing toward the restaurant now.

  Skittish, like a colt, he thought to himself, content to follow at a slower pace, wondering at the woman in front of him. She was an enigma.

  And he was fascinated.

  Chapter 4

  What the hell was wrong with her? Weaver was just another man. She worked with dozens of them. Most were decent, hardworking, take-their-paychecks-home-to-the-family kind of guys. There were a few players. Nurses were notorious for getting hit upon. It had been a joke in college with the engineers. As if they were a natural pairing. The guys had certainly believed it. As nurses had been generally pretty, compassionate, and nice people, they’d always been popular. If you knew one nurse and invited her to a party, then everyone hoped she’d bring her fellow students.

  Paris got along with all the men at work, but she never got involved with any. She loved her job and would never do anything to jeopardize it. Her focus at work was babies. Mothers and babies. But mostly babies. Even being here for the week was pulling at her, making her worried about the patients she’d left behind. She trusted her coworkers; they were a brilliant team of specialists and cared about the patients as much as she did.

  But nothing compared to the joy of the babies themselves. She adored them and wanted a half dozen but knew realistically two or three were more reasonable. Even if she couldn’t have them herself. There were many babies out there needing someone to love them. And love was something she had in abundance. When the time was right, she would adopt.

  Right now, though, she wasn’t ready.

  That was partly why she was here.

  To become ready. To deal with her failures. Her belief she didn’t deserve more. To deal with her lacks. Come to terms with the things in her life she could never have. Never experience. Adjust to her situation. To the injustice of it.

  And damn, that brought her back around to Jenna and her words. Something she had said about her and Weaver being on the opposite sides of Justice. How did that work? In her head, Paris knew right and wrong was a gray area. It depended entirely on the situation. She had to believe that or else she would have turned herself in. And of course that was the problem �
�� she couldn’t believe that theory one hundred percent – but she wanted to. She was always looking over her shoulder, afraid that a mistake had been made in the system and the police were coming after her now. She wanted to be free of that fear.

  “How about over there?”

  Pulled back to the present, Paris glanced over at the window seat that Weaver had pointed out. “That’s fine,” she muttered. It was actually better than fine – it looked cozy, intimate in a way. This immediately brought to mind the heat of Weaver’s hand on her back earlier as he’d guided her here. She shoved the thought deep inside and focused on her surroundings. The hotel restaurant was busy and didn’t look to be horribly expensive. It also catered to downtown businesses and should offer a decent selection of food.

  Not that she was very hungry.

  He led the way and took the seat furthest away. She slipped into the closest one.

  With a lift of a hand, the waitress came over immediately. As soon as she arrived, he ordered a double burger, fries, and coffee. When the waitress turned to Paris, she shrugged. “I don’t even know what you have here.”

  The waitress rattled off the daily special and snagged a menu off a neighboring table. Except when she reached for the menu, the waitress mentioned fish and chips. Paris dropped the menu and said, “I’ll have that, thanks.”

  After deciding on one or two pieces, and coleslaw and the fries, the waitress grabbed the menu. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with coffee,” she said, then hurried away.

  “Have you eaten here before?” Paris asked. “You seemed to know what to order.”

  “I had breakfast here.”

  “Oh.” That explained it. Paris hadn’t slept well and had missed breakfast. She’d slipped into the lecture room with a take-out coffee and nothing else. At least she hadn’t had a sugary cookie with it. But she’d been tempted.

  Fish and chips weren’t the healthiest of choices either, but she was really hungry and stressed and the afternoon was likely to be worse.

  “So how do you see this report working?” she asked. “I’m used to being given a few more parameters than this.”