by Vivian Wood
He opened his mouth to argue, but clamped it shut again. That charge was bullshit. It had been almost an ounce of cocaine, that was it. Ashton could have shoved that up his nose in a week, easy. And the prescription Adderall with some random girl’s name on the bottle? He’d never figured out where the hell that had come from. The handful of Valium was a mystery, too. It had to have been some of Ashton’s stash, because Sean never touched that shit. I’m just a drunk, he wanted to yell. Not a fucking pill and blow junkie.
“ … the charge with the theft of Adderall, and using a prescription that isn’t yours, along with possession of a controlled substance …”
Would you just shut the fuck up? But Sean listened, dutifully, as T continued to tick off the charges. She was fed up with him, he could tell. And Sean had started to consider whether maybe the scripts really had been his. Or, more accurately, that he’d stolen them. He’d been so fucked up on fifths of whiskey every day back then, who knew what he’d done? Maybe he had stolen those pills, or even a prescription pad, but he didn’t have a clue.
“So?” T asked impatiently as she maneuvered toward the courthouse. “Have you decided yet? Guilty, not guilty, no contest? This is unprecedented, you know, refusing to give me an answer—”
“I told you,” he said as rage bubbled inside. “I’m innocent of anything having to do with drugs. But everything from the day of the arrest is my fault. The assault, being drunk, all that.” He looked out the window as green parks whipped by. It might be the last time he’d see them.
He saw her purse her lips from the corner of his eye. T glanced at him and something in her face softened. “You’re a first-time offender,” she said softly. “You probably won’t get much time. Unless you want to make trouble.”
“I don’t,” Sean said quickly.
“Okay. Well, stay quiet unless the judge asks you a direct question.” T parked the car in a reserved spot and slapped a small sign onto the dashboard. “The judge is friendly, so hopefully we’ll get good news today. My goal is for less than half of the charges to stick.”
Sean nodded as T led him toward the special entrance for arrested defendants.
He’d imagined a scene like in a movie, a courtroom with rich mahogany wood everywhere and a big, thick desk he’d sit behind with T. It wasn’t like that. Instead, he was ushered into a room that was absolutely filled with people, T by his side. She directed him onto a bench where he was squeezed next to a large blonde woman who smelled of cheap perfume.
The judge, a burly man who looked like he doubled as Santa Claus in December, was already naming a punishment for a girl who looked like she couldn’t be older than eighteen. She hung her head and let the greasy locks hide her face.
“Uh …” he muttered and leaned toward T. She shushed him quickly.
As the bailiff called up the next defendant, this one a slim black man dressed in a suit that looked bespoke, Sean scanned the crowd. Some of them looked like criminals, and hadn’t even bothered to dress up. Others looked like accountants, mothers, yoga instructors and teachers. You never could tell.
He spotted Connor and Sam, though Sam seemed enraptured by the judge. Connor gave him an awkward smile and nod. But there was no sign of Harper. He felt his shoulders sag at the realization. Of course she didn’t come. Why would she? He hadn’t done anything even close to what they’d accused him of, but he couldn’t blame her.
“Sean Cavanaugh.” The bailiff’s deep voice boomed through the courtroom.
T grabbed his arm firmly. It felt like she had the strength to lift him up, even with her thin brown forearms and sky-high heels.
Sean listened to the click of those heels as he followed her to the front of the courtroom. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Connor and Sam again, but he felt all eyes of the courtroom on him. Some were bored as they waited their turn, but others drank him in like they could really use some juicy gossip.
He’d only partially heard the charges of those who came before him. Compared to him, they were lightweights. There were traffic crimes, animal abuse charges, and simple DUIs that just involved alcohol. Sean wondered how many of these people were actually here for a crime, and how many wandered in for the drama. He hadn’t realized that in most cases, these courtrooms were largely open. Just about anyone could sit in as long as they passed security at the door.
As the judge began reading the charges, he heard T’s all-business voice. It was surprisingly soothing, but he couldn’t concentrate on the words. Just keep quiet, that’s what she said to do. That was easy enough.
Still, as he stood before the room with the chipped furniture and the probing eyes, all he could think of was Harper. He couldn’t blame her. And wasn’t that what he’d been afraid of all along? He’d get attached, she’d get attached, and then he’d fuck the whole thing up?
He should have listened to his gut. The whole mess was one self-fulfilling prophecy. He’d tried, he really had, for so long to push her away. He’d warned her, he’d showed her glimpses of who he really was—he couldn’t have shown her the whole thing, that would have scarred her for life.
Behind him, somebody coughed and he heard the phlegm in their throat. Sean turned to see a downtrodden young woman, no older than twenty, with a glint of glee in her eyes. What the hell are you so happy about?
“ … not guilty to the charges of possession with intent to distribute …” T’s voice cut through his thoughts. Not guilty. Who would believe that? It was true, but it was what everyone said.
Still, when he stole a look at the judge, he saw nothing. Just the broad face of a man who looked like he had heard it all.
How did it all get to this point?
2
Harper
Harper watched the last of the cigarette crumble to dust between her fingers. P would never miss the ones she kept filching. Besides, he’d seemed to intuit for the first time in their long friendship her need for quiet.
P had been a sweetheart about the whole thing, she had to give him that. Unlike her catty roommates—all except Molly—he hadn’t pushed and prodded when he’d heard about her life falling apart. His eyes hadn’t lit up with the promise of some irresistible gossip. Instead, he’d quietly but firmly demanded that she move right in.
It was selfless, graceful, but that didn’t make sleeping on the living room couch any more comfortable. Still, when your boyfriend just got arrested in front of you, any couch made a perfectly good place to plop down and cry.
That had lasted three full days, while Harper took breaks to lick at her wounds in the empty loft. P spent most of his days either at work in the leather shop or tucked away into one of the shared spaces he leased for designing.
Alone and all cried out, day four had turned into the day of perpetual cleaning. Harper looked around. It was like the past few days of nonstop cleaning had been pointless. For my bestie, you really have some nasty guy habits, she thought. P hadn’t even said anything in the past week when he dragged himself home. The sudden lack of empty sugar-free energy drinks and used coffee mugs hadn’t made an impression on him.
On the other hand, he was certainly doing his part on keeping pace with her. More nights than not, he came home drunk. Harper would stick her head under the thin blanket until she could figure out if he was alone or not. Whether P had company or not, it didn’t stop him from rampaging through his loft while he dropped takeout gyros on the floor and fumbled for what he called a “gentleman’s nightcap.” On his worst nights, she spent most of the next day picking up his mess.
It was ten in the morning on a Tuesday when Harper flopped onto the couch after her morning cleaning session. The vibration of the Dyson vacuum still growled in her palms. She was exhausted, but if she scoured the want ads, at least she’d feel somewhat productive.
“Jesus, what the hell was that?” P emerged from his bedroom, gauzy violet bathrobe with lace-trimmed sleeves clinging tightly to his forearms.
“Oh my god!” Harper jumped into a seated position
on the couch and instinctively tried to neaten up her sweats to look semipresentable. “I thought you were at work!”
“Bitch, since when do I work on Tuesday mornings? It sounded like there was a construction crew in here. But I don’t see any hard hats. Besides, well, the morning wood—”
Harper threw a pillow at him while he made a display of his crotch beneath the silk folds. “It was your vacuum,” she said.
“Huh. I didn’t know I had one of those. God, can you get me some water? I’m hungover as hell.”
She rolled her eyes and pushed herself toward the kitchen. The coolness of the concrete countertops brushed against the sliver of bare skin between her rolled-up sweats and tank top.
P had already draped himself over the couch when she returned with two bottled waters. “Want ads, huh?” he asked before he tossed the paper onto the coffee table. “How did the interview with Sophia go?”
Harper scrunched up her face. How did it go? Sophia took one look at me and instantly started in about her expertise in anorexia. Sure, she’d been nice about it. But within two minutes she’d said Harper wouldn’t be “suitable for the job” until the situation was “resolved.” She sighed. “It’s not a good fit right now,” she told P.
“Bitch. Her loss,” he said as he downed the bottle in one chug. “So, uh … don’t take this as a hint or anything, okay? But I’m assuming this means you also can’t move. Especially with everything up in the air with Sean.”
She groaned. The last thing she wanted to think about was Sean. “As far as I know, he’s in jail,” she said.
“You haven’t talked to him?”
“No. Haven’t heard from him at all.” That was true. But she’d spent many sleepless nights thinking about the arrest.
“Good for you. Curiosity killed the cat. Luckily for me, I don’t have a pussy. Don’t want anything to do with them. That’s why I looked him up—”
“P!”
“What?” he reached for his notebook. “Don’t act like you don’t want to see.” P went to a bookmarked page of recently released mugshots from LA County. And there he was—along with a long list of charges.
Harper was taken aback, even as P pushed the notebook into her hands. “This … this isn’t right,” she said. The list of charges was substantial, and most had nothing to do with that night. She focused her eyes away from his face, so striking even with the veil of alcohol over it. The raven in the flowers that creeped up his neck shot a pang of regret through her. “These charges …”
“Intense, right?” P said. He pushed himself up with a groan. “I have to get ready for the afternoon shift,” he said. “But, babe?” P paused in the doorway to the small hallway. “You can stay here forever. You know that right? But you gotta figure out what you’re gonna do with yourself.”
“I know.” She smiled up at P. “Thanks.”
When P left, low-carb, no-sugar protein bars in hand, she went right back to the want ads. P was right, get your shit together. But there was nothing there for her. Everything required experience and degrees in industries she knew nothing about.
Harper had almost dozed off to a rerun of Keeping Up with the Kardashians when the bell blasted through the fog. She glanced at the video display on P’s notebook, which lit up instantly with the ring. “Holy shit,” she whispered. It was Connor. She’d only met him once, but he was so striking she’d never forget him.
He looked impatient, and Harper scrambled for a hair tie as she raced to the door. At least she didn’t have to look like a total mess. “Connor?” she asked at the intercom to the door. “Come on up.”
Harper caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and moaned. She tried to smooth out the wrinkles of the white cami, but it was no use.
The sudden hard knock at the steel door brought her back to reality. “Hi,” she said shyly. “Come on in.”
“Nice place,” Connor said as he surveyed the loft. “Kind of messy, though.”
“Yeah, my, uh … my roommate isn’t much of a neat freak.”
“So … how are you?” Connor asked. He sat awkwardly, perched on the edge of the couch.
“I’m fine … how did you find me?”
“I have to admit, you weren’t easy to track down,” he said. “The last address I could find for you was where all those models are staying. And some weird Russian lady.”
“Yugoslavian,” she corrected. Stupid. Who cares?
“Oh. Okay,” Connor said. “Well, anyway, nobody there knew where I could find you. Or at least they wouldn’t say. That Yugoslavian woman seemed really protective.”
Harper smiled grimly at the mention of Helena. “Yet, here you are.”
“Yeah,” Connor said. “Sean was no help. He didn’t want me to find you, didn’t want to bother you. But … I think you should know.”
“Know what?”
“That he’s being charged with a bunch of stuff he didn’t do.”
“I’m aware of that,” Harper said coldly. Connor didn’t need to know that she’d just been made aware that morning.
“Oh. Well … Sean’s attorney thinks that he could get off if he can show that he was going somewhere stable. In life, I mean. And … I think it would be better if he had someone to talk to, when and if we get him free.”
Harper raised her brow. “And you thought of me? I’m what you think is stable in his life? Was?”
He bristled at the tense correction. “You’re the only person other than his sponsor that he knows well enough to live with out here. Sam and I can move here, but … I wanted to try this first.”
“Connor,” she said, “I don’t—Jesus, I don’t even have a place for myself to live! I’m sleeping on this couch.”
He glanced down, suddenly aware that he’d been lounging on her bed.
“I mean, I’m just staying here temporarily.”
“I’m sure we can finance it,” Connor said with a shrug. “This sounds really bougie, but money isn’t really an object. We’ll take care of the funding, and you’ll be his ‘stable place to live’ for awhile.”
No. There’s no way I’m letting you bankroll me. Harper had always felt somewhat like a whore during some modeling campaigns. But this? This was way too close. “Can I think about it?”
“Of course!” Connor said, eager at her almost-yes. “Just don’t think about it too long, okay? Because we’re back in court the day after tomorrow.”
They both looked up as heavy footsteps appeared in the doorway. P’s overpriced sunglasses were perched on his shiny obsidian head. He clutched a paper bag in his hand. “Harper?” he asked as his eyes shot back and forth between them. “Who’s this? I thought you might want some lunch on my break …”
“P! This is Connor, Sean’s brother. He … tracked me down.”
“Oh! Sean’s brother. Yes, I can see the resemblance,” P said. He turned up the charm and started to preen.
“Good to meet you,” Connor said as he stood up.
“I have enough for everyone! I went to that new Whole Foods by my work—”
“Sounds good, but I’m actually just leaving.”
“Oh, well if you’re sure—”
Connor couldn’t get out of there fast enough. As soon as the heavy doors clicked shut, P turned on Harper. “What the fuck was that about?”
“He wants me to live with Sean.” The words sounded foreign in her mouth.
“He what?” P’s mouth dropped open.
“Just for a little while! So he can say in court that he has a stable environment to return to.”
“Sweetie, you don’t have a stable environment to go to. And all of a sudden you’re supposed to change your entire life to do some guy a favor? Someone you haven’t heard a peep from since his arrest?”
“Yep.” She looked up at him bluntly.
“Look, I’m not here to tell you what to do. But you know you’ll always have a place here. Just you, though.”
“Thanks,” she said. Harper began to toe the sharp-co
rnered edge of the table. “Really,” she said. “I mean it.”
P retreated to his bedroom. She heard shuffling in the drawers. There’s no way I can stay here forever. She mulled over the offer in her head. It was generous, that was for sure. Still, there was a sting that the first time anyone in Sean’s family had contacted her, it was for a favor.
But the feeling of security she’d had in his arms was impossible to resist. She missed it with a physical pang she’d never felt before. There was nothing like it.
How do you even know you’d feel the same way about him now? She fell back onto the couch and cradled her head in her hands. What am I supposed to do?
3
Sean
Sean craned his neck up as the jail cell was opened. “Cavanaugh, you’re being released,” the guard said brusquely. “Not you, Johnson,” he warned the newbie who’d shared Sean’s cell for the past twelve hours.
“Fucker,” the new guy muttered under his breath.
Sean pulled himself up wearily. “Released?” he asked. “What happened? My lawyer didn’t—”
“I’m just a guard, not a messenger,” the middle-aged man said. He shifted his weight. “You coming? Or you prefer to sit a spell more?”
Sean followed the beast of a man out the doors where he was reprocessed. A pretty, petite officer instructed him to sign for his phone and wallet, the only two items that had been in his possession during the arrest. He was lucky he’d had those, though the phone was long dead.
In the reception area, T, Connor and Sam jumped on him. Sam hugged him tight, though he’d only met her a few times. Connor gave him the same boyish, shit-eating grin he’d known since childhood.
“How’d you do it?” he asked. “I didn’t even know—”
As Sam let him go, he saw Joon-ki and Harper over her shoulder. His sponsor looked sheepish, but all was forgotten as he drank Harper in. Goddamn, does she look gorgeous. Somehow more amazing than his memories or fantasies could capture.
