by Emma Scott
I sighed. “I’m not going to fail, Max. That’s what my family is expecting. But I’m better than I have been. I have my massage license, a good job, a fresh start. I have to hope my worst days are behind me, right?” I grinned weakly and slugged him in the shoulder. “I’m going to prove my parents wrong, you’ll see.”
Max’s expression softened. “I can’t tell you how to recover, Dar. That’s a long dark road that each addict takes on their own. As your sponsor, all I can do is point out the road signs you don’t want to miss, ones that I’ve passed myself.”
“And?”
“And from my pseudo-professional opinion, I don’t think you’ve passed as many as you think you have.”
I started to argue, but then snapped my mouth shut. That’s what addicts do. They talk about how they’re not addicts anymore. But I was recovered. Actions mattered more than words.
“Then I’ll prove you wrong, too.”
Sawyer
“Let me get this straight,” Jackson said, pressing the bar up and holding it. Sweat ran down his temples to the bench beneath him. I stood over him as a spotter.
“This new neighbor of yours…” He eased the bar down to his chest. “She’s hot, funny, great with Olivia, so—naturally,”—he grimaced and pushed the weight up—“you kicked her out.”
I helped him set the bar on the rack, and he sat up, sucking in air.
“It wasn’t quite like that,” I said.
My best friend fixed me a look. Hastings gym was never crowded this early in the morning on a Monday, he had nearly the entire place to himself in which to lecture me uninterrupted.
“I love you, bro, but you have lost your ever-loving mind.”
“Come on, Jax, you know my deal.” I went to the tricep rope machine. “What the hell was I supposed to do?”
“Is this a trick question?” Jackson moved to a rack of hand weights. He hefted a forty-pounder in each hand and faced the wall mirror. “Forget your deal, and ask her out. Or take her to bed. Or take her out and then take her to bed.”
Take Darlene to bed.
Instantly, there she was in my mind’s eye; naked and curled against me, her dark hair spilled over my pillow, her brilliant smile muted in the soft light of morning.
I shook my head, irritated.
“You can’t have a one-night stand with a person who lives in the same building as you. That’s madness.”
“And something beyond a one-night stand is impossible?” Jackson said, his eyebrows raised.
“Yes. If it goes south—which it will—I’ll have to move.”
He chuckled, then narrowed his eyes. “Hold up. If the whole situation with the lovely Darlene is hopeless, why tell me about it? Because you want me to talk sense into that thick skull of yours, am I right?”
Shit.
“Wrong,” I said. “I told you because it was newsworthy. She’s a new person in my building.” I heard how stupid that sounded and kept talking as if I could bury the words with more words. “And we’re not compatible anyway. We’re too different. She’s…”
Weightless.
“She’s not serious,” I said. “And I am.”
“Understatement of the century,” Jackson muttered. “So she’s fun? You need fun. You’re in desperate need of fun.”
“What I need is to graduate, then pass the bar. Besides,” I added in between reps, “she’s not interested in dating. She said she moved here to work on herself, which is code for, ‘I’m a young, hot girl who doesn’t want to hang out with a guy and his toddler.’” I pressed the ropes down, hard as I could, my muscles screaming. “She’s going to go out. Party. Have dates. I don’t have the time or funds for either one, never mind the mental energy to put toward a girlfriend.”
“Hold the phone.” Jackson’s triumphant smile was blinding. “In all the five years I’ve known you, you have never used the word ‘girlfriend’ in my presence.”
“Because I’ve never wanted one.”
“Wanted? Past tense?” Jackson said through the strain of bicep curls. “The plot thickens.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t have girlfriends and I’m not doing casual hook-ups around Livvie. And I can’t ask Elena to babysit more than she does already so I can take someone out. I don’t see Olivia enough as it is.”
“That’s noble, my friend. And stupid,” Jackson said. “You need to blow off steam before you have a mental breakdown. Remember Frank? In our second year? All the guy did was study. Got busted snorting rails of coke between classes to stay awake.”
“I’m not going to do drugs, for fuck’s sake. I have a kid.”
“Not saying you are, but the pressure of law school breaks people down. And you’re buried.”
“I’ve got it under control.”
Jackson looked like he was going to pursue it, but he stared at me for a moment, then went back to his reps. “So what does this Darlene do?”
“She’s a dancer.”
“Ooh, so she’s flexible. Bonus.”
I shot him a dirty look. “The dancing’s a side thing. She’s a massage therapist.”
Jackson dropped his arms and glared at me through the mirror.
I stared back. “What?”
“She’s a massage therapist?”
“Yeah? So?”
“Jesus, man, have you lost your game entirely? Tell her you’re stressed out—not a lie— and that she can practice on you. Do you need me to think of everything? Hell, if you won’t date her, maybe I will.”
The sudden rush of blood to my face shocked me, and the rope slipped out of my hands. The weights clanged on the rack.
“Wow, easy there, tiger,” Jackson said. “I was kidding. Possessive, are we?”
“What? No…fuck, I’m just tired. I’ve got a few more weeks of law school, the bar, and in two months, I can petition to get my name on Olivia’s birth certificate. Until then…” I shrugged and grabbed the ropes again.
“Nada,” Jackson said. He heaved a sigh. “Okay, then. But don’t blame me if your dick shrivels up and falls off from lack of use.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Jackson grinned. “How’s everything else? How’s your scholarship fund holding up?”
“It’s going to run out just in time for my first clerkship paycheck to come in,” I said. “Of course, I have to actually get the job.”
“A minor detail,” Jackson said. “And Olivia?”
“She’s perfect.”
“No sign of Molly?”
“No.” I pressed down as hard as I could. My triceps burned. “How’s the job at Nelson and Murdoch?” I asked before he could ask me anything else. “It’s been two months. Have they made you partner yet?”
“It’s only a matter of time,” Jackson said, resuming his reps.
He’d been hired straight out of Hastings, before the notice came in the mail he’d passed the bar. I was only half-kidding about his new firm making him partner so fast; Jackson was a genius tax attorney, but I’d never say it out loud.
“But for real, tell me about your shot at the clerkship with Miller,” Jackson said. “Has your competition cracked yet?”
“No, but I got this,” I said after one last pull. I let the weights crash down and leaned against the machine, sipped from my water bottle. “We have a progress report this afternoon. Judge wants to make sure we’re both on track for finals and the bar.”
“Are you?”
I snorted. “Of course. I can see the damn finish line. The last thing I need is to get sidetracked by—”
“A beautiful massage therapist with dancer-flexibility who’s great with your kid and lives ten feet away from you?” Jackson batted his eyes at me. “Solid plan, Haas.”
I laughed despite myself. “Shut up, Smith, or I’ll remind Hastings you haven’t returned your gym card.”
I showered, changed, and went to two classes—Advanced Legal Research and Analysis, and American Legal History, then took the Muni home. I’d enough
time to grab a fast lunch, change into a suit and tie, say hi to Livvie at Elena’s, then head to the Superior Courthouse for the progress meeting with Judge Miller.
I’d just opened the front door of the Victorian when I heard a commotion by Elena’s place. She was coming out with her phone in one hand, Olivia cradled in her other arm, all the while gently guiding a sniffling Hector into the hallway. The little boy was holding his elbow and tears streaked his face. His little sister, Laura, followed behind looking nervous.
I rushed over and took Olivia out of Elena’s arms. “What happened?”
“I was just going to call you on the way to the ER,” Elena said with a sigh of relief. “I think Hector broke his elbow.” She gave him a stern look overlaid with worry. “He jumped off the couch—again, though I told him a million times no—and landed funny.”
“Oh damn.” I knelt in front of Hector. “You okay, buddy?”
He sniffed and nodded, his little mouth stiff with repressed tears.
“Brave man.” I ruffled his hair and straightened. “Let’s go.”
“No, no, we’ll be fine. The Uber car is coming,” Elena said, then put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, and you have your special meeting today...”
“Don’t even think about it.”
I walked them to the front door, and held it open for them so that Elena could help cradle Hector’s arm as they walked. The car was already pulling up to the front of the house. I helped Hector into his seat and buckled him in while Elena took care of Laura.
“We’re fine,” Elena said from the backseat. “You stay. Maybe a friend can watch the baby?”
“I’ll figure it out. Shoot me a text when you know he’s okay.”
“I will.”
I stood on the sidewalk with Olivia patting the top of my head and giggling as they drove away.
The prospects of making my meeting vanished down the street along with that car, and I wondered if I’d blown my chance at the clerkship. Roger Harris, the other candidate was probably camped outside Judge Miller’s chambers with a box of cigars at that moment, the little ass-kisser.
My mind scrolled through a mental rolodex of people I could call, last minute, but even if one were available, getting to me in time was impossible.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“Shih,” Olivia said.
“Is that Sesame Street’s word of the day?” asked a voice behind me.
I turned and blinked. Darlene was practically glowing under the blazing afternoon sun in her white spa uniform.
“What happened?” she asked. “Where was Elena running off to?”
“Hector broke his elbow,” I said.
Darlene put a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no, the poor little guy. I hope he’s okay.” She bent toward Olivia. “And what are you doing, sweet pea? Just hanging with Daddy?”
Olivia cooed laughter, and Darlene started to touch her hand but pulled it back and straightened quickly.
“Sorry,” she said. “I know you’d prefer I…not. But I can’t help it. She’s too cute for words.” She cocked her head at me. “Are you usually home this early?”
“No, I’m not,” I said, carving a hand through my hair. “I came home to change for a meeting with Judge Miller. I’m a clerkship candidate. If I miss it, I could be sincerely screwed.”
“Scrooo,” Olivia said and kicked her foot for emphasis.
“And I’ve just taught my one-year-old daughter two curse words in the space of a minute.”
Darlene laughed. “You won’t miss your meeting. I got her.” She gave me a look when I hesitated. “Really?”
“Darlene…”
“Look, I know the score, but you need help and I just happened to have a cancellation that brought me home early.” She grinned. “I’ll teach her the word ‘babysitter’, I promise.”
I rubbed my chin. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. Happy to.” Her eyebrows rose. “Are you sure?”
No, I was not sure. Not by any stretch. Darlene was a natural with Olivia—I didn’t doubt her babysitting abilities. But already, I was having a hard time keeping my eyes off of her and my thoughts in line around her. It was only going to get worse the more we came in contact.
My inner alarms blared.
Judge Miller! Because of Darlene, you aren’t going to miss this meeting after all. Do not fuck this up!
I shook my head. “Yeah, yes, of course. Thanks.” A sigh of relief that began in my feet gusted out of me. “Yeah, thank you.”
In the Victorian, Darlene ran up to her place to change out of her uniform, while I put Olivia in her playpen and threw on gray suit pants and white dress shirt. Darlene knocked, then peeked her head in while I was tying my tie in the living room mirror.
“You decent?”
“Yeah, come in.” I glanced at her through the mirror, then quickly away.
Darlene had changed into leggings and an oversize white shirt that came down to mid-thigh. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it draped over her lithe body, somehow highlighting her elegant lines and soft curves just as perfectly as if she were wearing skin-tight clothing.
You haven’t been laid in ten months. She could be wearing a bag and you’d get hard.
I cleared my throat and sought sanctuary behind my desk. “So…emergency numbers are on the fridge,” I said, pawing through papers and throwing those I needed into my briefcase. “But honestly, if anything happens, call 911 first, me second.”
“Got it,” she said. Olivia was squawking to be picked up. Darlene lifted her and set her on her hip. “Oh, but I don’t have your phone number.”
I scribbled my number on a piece of paper and moved to hand it to her. “Write yours down,” I said, and shrugged into my suit coat I’d set out on the desk chair.
Darlene put pen to paper as Olivia played with her hair, then she frowned. “Wait. You can’t take my number with you; I need to keep your number. Let me get my cell; I’ll punch yours in.”
“No need,” I said. I picked up the paper and took a mental snapshot of Darlene’s phone number, then handed it back. “Got it.”
Darlene’s smile was ridiculously beautiful. “Mega-mind strikes again.”
I leaned in to kiss Olivia on the cheek, and caught a whiff of Darlene’s perfume and the faint scent of massage oil.
“Call for any reason,” I told her and hurried to the door. “I’ll be back in an hour and a half. Two, tops.”
“No problem,” Darlene said. “We’re good, aren’t we, sweet pea? Say bye-bye to Daddy.”
“Bye-bye, Daddy,” Olivia said from where she was securely fastened to Darlene’s slender hip, both of them smiling at me and waving.
My stupid perfect memory took a snapshot of that too.
Sawyer
My competition, Roger Harris, stood at attention outside the judge’s office at the Superior Courthouse, looking impeccable and put-together while I flew in with sweat slipping between my shoulder blades and my tie flying over my shoulder. I’d made it with a minute to spare. Roger glanced at his watch and gave me a smug nod in greeting.
In his office, Judge Miller went over our Hastings curriculum progress, results from latest finals, and read the mock briefings he’d assigned us since the last meeting a month ago.
Judge Jared Miller was a kind man but he never gave compliments or reprimands; his poker face was legendary in and out of the courtroom. He nodded with equal fervor—hardly any—at both Roger’s and my progress.
“Your final assignment before I make my decision,” Judge Miller said, regarding us both. “Write a brief regarding a personal incident in your lives and how you would handle it as prosecutors. That’s it. Until next month.”
I blinked then eased a breath. I’d been expecting something difficult, but this was easy. I knew already what I’d write about and what I’d say.
My mother. I’ll write about my mother.
“Mr. Haas, may I speak to you a moment?”
Roger’s eyes flare in panic be
fore he recovered himself. I returned his smug smile earlier with my own. “Of course, Your Honor.”
Judge Miller sat behind his desk without his black robe looking less like an acclaimed federal judge and more like a grandfather. Framed photos of his family lined his desk and hung on the walls beside degrees and honors from various universities. An 8x10 of what looked to be a granddaughter the same age as Olivia, shared wall space with a certificate of appreciation from the San Francisco Police Officers Union. He’d removed his tie and loosened his collar, then sat back in his seat, regarding me.
“Your finals are in the next two weeks,” he said.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“No real chance you won’t pass with flying colors.”
“I hope not, Your Honor.”
“And you’re registered for the bar in Sacramento next month.”
I nodded. It had cost me a small fortune and I’d had to tutor other law students after Livvie had gone to bed for two weeks but I did it.
“All set.”
He nodded. “I like you, Mr. Haas. I think you’re a brilliant lawyer.”
I fought to keep my face neutral. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
He’s made a decision. He’s going to give it to me. Holy shit, all that work and struggle and long nights.
“On paper,” he said.
My body stiffened. “Thank you.” It almost came out sounding like a question.
“Your brief today was impeccable; not a precedent missed, every argument meticulously researched. It was better than Mr. Harris’s in that regard. But do you know what his briefing had that yours lacked?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Life.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand…”
“You have a little girl, do you not?”
“Yes. Thirteen months old.”
Judge Miller smiled and inclined his chin at the photo on the wall. “My granddaughter, Abigail, is about that age. She’s a joy.” His smile tightened. “I want to give you the clerkship, Mr. Haas, but if I had to choose today, I would pick Mr. Harris.”
My galloping heart stopped and plummeted to my knees. I straightened my shoulders, determined to take this like a man, but my mouth had gone dry.
