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

by Dale Mayer

  Some of them lay before him.

  He’d always felt unloved. That was his childhood speaking again. Memories rippled through his mind…maybe if his father had cared more for his son than that damn car, he wouldn’t have gotten himself killed. If he’d been more lovable, then his mother would have preferred him to her bottle. Then there was his wife. She’d obviously not loved him either. Not if he had been a stepping stone to what she’d really wanted in life.

  Up until now, he hadn’t realized how much he’d tried to keep people at a distance so he wouldn’t get hurt if they rejected him. He could have walked over to Paris’s brother and introduced himself. Instead…he’d been the one to walk away. Escape rather than face them.

  Like a little boy who had been rejected so many times, he was hell bent on rejecting everyone else first so he didn’t have to deal with the pain again. He hadn’t given them a chance to love him because he’d already assumed they wouldn’t.

  Hadn’t he grown up at all? Why was he still giving that little boy so much credit for who he was now? Especially when he’d thought he’d walked away from that type of behavior a long time ago.

  And what the hell was he going to do about it now?

  Chapter 36

  Paris shifted her position. The hallway floor was damn uncomfortable. She’d been waiting for hours. Her coffee cup was long empty. Then again, so was the one she brought for Weaver. It was after midnight and there was no sign of him.

  She didn’t know what to think. Had he left the workshop? Gone somewhere else for the night? If so – where? And was he coming back?

  This couldn’t end like this. She owed him an apology and if she were honest – a thank you. Sure it had been a shock and a tough thing to wrap her mind around, but now that she was on the other side of the meeting, she was emotionally drained but in a good way. It was a good thing he had done for her. But then he was going into the same profession as Jenna, so it made sense that he would.

  Now that she’d gotten over her shock and come to understand, she wanted to be adult about all of this. But it wasn’t going to happen if she couldn’t connect with him. They still had to do a stupid project. And she had no idea what to do about that. She’d been hoping he’d have a miracle tucked up his sleeve that would save both their asses.

  At this point, she was so exhausted, she figured she’d tell Jenna that she’d come up blank and had no project to hand in. What could Jenna do after all?

  The hard floor woke her first. And movement. She groaned as she straightened, slowly getting to her feet.

  And realized she wasn’t alone.

  Weaver stood frowning down at her.

  She swayed. He grabbed her, holding her upright.

  “Sorry, didn’t meant to fall asleep,” she whispered. “So tired.”

  “Shh.” He unlocked his door and pushed the door open. “You should be in bed.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to open them again when the world went spinning out of control. She was lifted and carried into the bedroom, briefly put back on her feet, then laid down on the cool sheets.

  “Need to talk,” she murmured, shivering.

  A blanket was tossed over her shoulders, and Weaver’s deep voice said, “Sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  She slept.

  With a smile on her face.

  *

  Weaver stared down at her with mixed emotions. In the beginning, he’d tried to detach and had given that up early on when he realized he was already involved. Opening up to caring was painful. With her here in his bed, their future unsure – it was even more painful. “What the hell am I going to do with you,” he murmured.

  “Love me,” she answered, but the words were so faint, her voice so low he thought he dreamt it. Wishful thinking on his part.

  “I got that part covered,” he whispered, his heart overflowing with emotions.

  There were huge black circles under her eyes, and even under the blankets he could see the shivers making her thin frame shake. With a muttered curse, he quickly undressed and got in on the other side. She immediately rolled over and cuddled close.

  As dawn crept forward, he realized he’d have to wake early and be ready for that talk they desperately needed to have.

  They should have done it tonight – earlier. He’d do it now, but emotions were still hot and they were both exhausted. He doubted he could wake her enough to be cognizant at this point. No, risky as it was, he’d hold her close to his heart all night and hope that they could work through this in the morning.

  He had a lot to think about. A lot of himself to assess. She’d done so much. Achieved so much. She’d shown him how to step up. He wasn’t proud of his own actions. His own thoughts. But he knew he could change. Do what needed to be done to move forward. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. It was time to leave all that hurt behind. Sure, it would rear up from time to time, but he didn’t have to let the pain and fear control him.

  Not any longer.

  As he thought about the workshop and all he’d been through, both as an attendee and an observer, he thought again about the paper he’d planned to write.

  Paris was right. He should do it.

  But not about her. Not about the others.

  But about him. She was right about that too. His experiences. His personal journey. His personal transformation.

  Because that’s what this week had been all about. He needed to let the image of who he was fall away, acknowleding that the hurt little boy still lived inside but no longer allowing him to rule his adult self.

  And let his authentic self step forward.

  What he had found with Paris was unique.

  He’d do whatever he could to keep her in his life.

  What they had together… it was so worth fighting for.

  Chapter 37

  Paris woke slowly. Heat from a furnace blasted all around her. It felt deliciously wonderful. She sighed and shifted, wincing at something digging into her side. Her bra strap?

  She came aware in an instant. She lay in the unfamiliar room long enough to reorient herself and realize that Weaver slept beside her, his arm around her waist even now keeping her close, protecting her.

  Again.

  She hadn’t done anything for him.

  How sad. Relationships were supposed to be partnerships. She hadn’t contributed anything.

  Shifting, she groaned as the waistband of her pants tugged at her skin. Her dry, irritated skin. Shower time. She felt like crap, her eyelids heavy and caked with sleep. She slipped out of the bed and winced. Sleeping in clothes sucked.

  Her shoes were on the floor by the bed. Quietly, she put them on and snuck her way to the door. This was not how she wanted him to see her. She looked and felt disgusting.

  With a last glance, she realized he was sleeping heavily. She was instantly jealous. She’d tossed and turned all night.

  Back in her room, she stripped and stepped under the hot running water, groaning in joy as her sore aching body eased back and her tender flesh shifted and moved freely. After a long soak and several washes of her hair, she turned off the water, better prepared to start the day.

  Inside, she still felt like someone had reefed her insides out, put them under a microscope for a closer look, then stuffed them back in again.

  Yesterday’s session had been brutal. Last night’s session…well, there weren’t words.

  But it was over.

  And she’d survived.

  Now to make it through today and she’d be good. This workshop had been intensive, deadly, and so worthwhile, but she wanted one more thing from it.

  She wanted Weaver.

  They needed to talk. If they had talked last night, it would have been better. Instead, he’d disappeared and she’d been exhausted – inside and out – and after searching, had parked herself outside his door waiting for him to come back. She’d wanted to spend the night with him – and she had, but not the way she intended.

  It was also lousy to
go to bed with her clothes on and wake up the same way.

  Dressed, she checked the time. He needed to be woken up to get downstairs in time for the morning. If he cared to go. She also had to check out of the hotel. Did he? She packed up quickly and grabbed her card key. She’d leave her bag at the front desk while in the morning session.

  Outside at the hallway, she walked across and knocked on Weaver’s doorway. No answer.

  “Weaver? We’re late. Time to get moving.”

  No answer. Damn.

  She picked up her bag and walked to the elevator. Maybe she could call him from the front desk. After she finished paying for her hotel room and left her bag with them, she tried to call his room and got no answer.

  Not sure what else to do, she walked to the restaurant and grabbed two coffees and two muffins for the last time, carrying them to the conference room.

  There were a few people working hard on filling out the last of the worksheets, ones she hadn’t done either. The others worked on their projects. Something else she hadn’t done. A hell of a morning.

  Setting her load down, she grabbed her homework, quickly finished the first sheet, then came to her original ripped up, folded up mess of a sheet from the first day here.

  The one she’d written on about killing her father.

  And realized how far she’d come. The dreams she’d now be able to create and the pain she’d released.

  Reading through the questions on her worksheet, she grinned. This one she might be able to do something with.

  She quickly filled in the blanks and finished that part of her homework.

  Then she pulled out her sheet with notes on the project. There was essentially nothing there. No instructions. Just something visual.

  She sighed. Great. She could sing a song, do a dance, and draw little stick figures. Anything else? Hell no.

  As she sat there frowning at the last assignment and in truth the biggest one, she was at a loss. She had no idea what to do.

  All she could do was tell Jenna.

  As she pondered the effects of actually not doing something for once, of failing…Jenna walked in. And Paris’s stomach knotted.

  Her mind whispered through all the past conditioning of failing, and she realized that it no longer mattered. Sure, failing and doing something wrong might give her some grief depending on the situation, but it wasn’t going to get her a beating. Jenna might not be happy with her, but she wasn’t going to hurt her over it.

  In fact…

  She might actually be fine with it.

  Feeling lighter and easier and happier than she had been in a long time, she took a sip of coffee and realized the second cup of coffee was missing. Somehow, Weaver had slipped into his place beside her without her noticing.

  Her whole body lit up. She smiled up at him. “Hey,” she whispered, “I didn’t see you come in.”

  His gaze was steady and searching. “You were deep in contemplation mode.”

  “Yeah, a lot of that going on this morning.”

  “And how are you?”

  “Fine.” She straightened, wanting to break down the strangeness between them. “Actually better than fine. I feel good. Younger. Freer.”

  “Good. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

  Jenna spoke up then, taking the attention off them and back to the program. They’d be given an hour to finish up their projects as several were done already and she’d be speaking with them at the back. Mid-morning, she had guest speakers coming in to talk to the group. There’d be a final lecture and time for questions, then they were free to go.

  “What the hell are we going to do about this project?” she muttered. “I’m of half a mind to not do it.”

  He laughed. “I hear you. But I think that it’s supposed to be an important step for our growth.”

  “Great, another one. So not. So, suggestions.” She gave him a wry look. “We have less than an hour.”

  He grinned. “I do. It’s more me doing something.”

  “Hey, I’m good with that,” she joked.

  “Okay, so let’s ask you. I need a sheet of paper that has some of the toughest things written down on it. Something that you wish you didn’t have to write, but they are honest and true and painful.”

  “Like Jenna’s lovely worksheets?”

  “Sure, that would be perfect.”

  She dug into her class assignments and pulled out three that had been ugly to do. “Will these work?” she asked.

  “Yes, and this one…” he snagged up the ripped up sheet. “I gather the thing you wished you’d never done and ripped out of here was killing your father.”

  She sighed and nodded.

  “Good.” He stood up. “Have your coffee. I got this.”

  And he took her worksheets and walked out of the room.

  She watched him leave until he turned down the hallway. She didn’t have a clue what to do now. Normally she was the one who did everything. Even double-checking that everything was done correctly. Instead, this time she sat there and let him do everything.

  As she sat, she realized she had transformed in the last five days. Even if Weaver was doing the final project for them both, Paris felt she should do something too. But nothing came to mind. No, Jenna had said visual. How the hell did a non-artistic person do something visual? Maybe she’d actually fail this part of the workshop.

  She didn’t have a picture of Delaney anywhere that she could use right now but if she had, she’d glue Weaver’s face over the top.

  Although that was an insult to Weaver.

  Instead of making her cringe, she was okay with that. So maybe with this project she wasn’t going to do well. That was all right too. She’d already done phenomenally well.

  She’d have to take what she could get. Besides, she was well satisfied with her progress. Delighted actually.

  An hour passed.

  And another half an hour. No Weaver, and so far Paris hadn’t been called to the back.

  Good thing.

  Then Jenna walked toward her. “Paris and Weaver – your turn.”

  Paris stood up and walked to the far corner where Jenna had set up a space for the projects. She took a glance around the room. No Weaver.

  Okay, here it went. She took a deep breath and said, “I didn’t do the final project.”

  Jenna’s gaze widened, but not in shock. Surprise and then…joy shone in that gaze. As if Paris had done something wonderful.

  She motioned for Paris to sit. “Now tell me how you feel.”

  “Like I didn’t do what I was supposed to do,” she confessed. “I don’t feel like I failed, but that I should have tried harder.”

  “And when were you going to do that?” Jenna joked. “You’ve been through a lot lately.”

  “True, and honestly I owe my transformation to Weaver,” she said. “He’s been working on me since the beginning of the week. I know about the paper that he set aside for me. It caused me a lot of trouble at the beginning, but then I forgot about it. He was there when I needed him and often when I didn’t. He didn’t let me wallow or hide away even when I wanted to.”

  She gazed down at the files sitting in front of Jenna on the table. Hers and Weaver’s folders both with photos clipped to the top. An idea came to her.

  Someone called to Jenna. She stood up and excused herself for a moment and walked across the room.

  Perfect.

  Paris grinned, leaned forward, and snagged up both photos. Grabbing a pair of scissors sitting in a container with pens, she quickly cut what she’d wanted to and with the glue stick found in the same container, she glued the cut pieces together. Feeling like a kid in primary school but having fun anyway, she quickly created her visual.

  There.

  “Weaver…” Jenna said from behind her. “There you are.”

  “Sorry, it took me a little longer to do this right.”

  Paris looked up and gasped. “Oh my.”

  Weaver had created dozens of tin
y origami birds from her worksheets and tied a fine string – dental floss, maybe, to each one. They hung from several coffee cups glued together as a hanging mobile.

  “That is…beautiful.” And it was. Delicate, imaginative, and so very appropriate.

  “Stupid,” he said. “But the theme was transformation. So I took her worksheets. The ones she’d worked hard on, cried tears over, and generally worked her ass off to do and transformed them to the wishes and dreams she’d hoped for and was working toward. Created these tiny birds to remind her of those dreams and all the hard work she’d put in to get here…and that she had the ability to make them take off and be something.”

  Paris barely heard, her eyes glued on the brilliant art piece.

  The birds were tiny, maybe an inch across and created from folded paper done so well that she had a hard time seeing the details until she looked closer. He’d written little words on their wings. Children. Family. Freedom.

  She sat back, stunned.

  “That is amazing.” She laughed, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. “And the best use of those damn worksheets I’d ever seen.”

  Jenna looked pained. “Hey, I worked hard to create those for you guys.”

  “And you did a great job. They are intensive, deep, and painful. But this…” Paris put her hand to her breast. “This is the best thing ever.”

  Impulsively, Paris jumped up and threw her arms around Weaver and kissed him. “Thank you.”

  With his free arm, he hugged her close. “Don’t thank me. You lived this transformation.” He gave the art piece a little shake. “But I watched it happen. So it was very visual for me.”

  Misty-eyed, she pulled him close. “Thanks. For being here all week. It was a tough time.”

  “But you got through it,” he said firmly, “and you are in a much better place now.”

  She nodded, but sensing a distancing from him, she tightened her grasp and looked him in the eye. “True. And I couldn’t have done it without you.” At his head shake, she grinned. “Sure, I might have done this without you, but I’m glad I didn’t have to. I’m glad you were there and that you stood by me. I know I put you in a tough spot, and so did Jenna and Delaney. I understand that you’re afraid I’m like your ex-wife and will walk away when I grow past this issue.” At his widening gaze, she shook her head and said, “But you’re wrong. I know what I want. I always have. I know how to get it most times, too.”