Absolution Road

by Rachel Blaufeld

  With two arrests for assault on Jake Wrigley’s record, he would normally be classified as violent, but when I’d heard why, I’d become sympathetic to the criminal with the velvety voice. He’d spent the better part of being detained by the police hitting on me. Well, he actually had been free to go, but I kept him a bit longer, questioning what happened, curious about his motives.

  That was a mistake. I should have just accepted at face value that the gorgeous man in front of me on that bitterly cold Christmas Eve was a criminal, but I’d asked for it. If the charges had stuck and I’d been tasked with representing him, I would have gone for the jugular and gotten him off.

  Jake Wrigley was a protector. Did he have the strength to hurt someone? God, yes. Rippling with muscles and nearly bursting through his tight-fitting clothes, I imagined he could take Rocky Balboa down with one blow.

  “Jake, you can’t hoard Camper all to yourself!” Roman tossed back toward the door while he spun around the female in question, breaking out into an impromptu dance in the middle of the restaurant.

  She giggled and laughed at the attention, batting her eyelashes and feigning embarrassment. Her loose-fitting cropped sweater hung off her shoulder, revealing a thin black lace bra strap, and when Rome spun her, her tight butt came into view, encased in form-fitting jeans.

  Camper. She must be the girl Mr. Wrigley was defending that night.

  Drew was talking, saying something about his firm taking on a big national case, but I didn’t hear a word he said. I was fascinated by the woman in front of me. Her curves were round and perfect, her hair was wild, shiny and free, and her skin was a golden brown. No freckles in sight. She was just like the girls who would bake in their mini-ovens while I sat in the corner. She was perfect, and I was not.

  Amazing how I could be incredibly confident in an interrogation room or a courthouse, but not in my own skin. I believed in the law and giving my clients a just defense, but not myself. When it came to me, I didn’t know what I deserved.

  “Yeah, yeah, Rome. She works for me and answers to me first.” Jake came up behind the two and tugged Camper away, guiding her toward the bar and pulling out a stool.

  “You two eating here tonight?” Rome asked them as he headed back toward the kitchen.

  “Yep. Left the new girl in charge, giving her some space, and I owed Camper here a meal for all she’s done this month.”

  “Aly? Hello? You okay? Where’d you go?” Drew’s voice drew me out of my bout of voyeurism.

  I shook the cobwebs from my head. “I’m good. I just got distracted for a moment.” I took a sip of my water and plucked an asparagus spear from the plate in front of me. “So, you were saying?”

  “Well, this national case, the guy who went on a multi-state shooting spree? We got it, and I’m representing the guy. At least, I’m one of the lawyers on the case. He’s got like five or six. Two or three are definitely in it for the spotlight. I’m not sure, but we’ll be dealing with multiple jurisdictions, so it could mean some travel, but definitely a ton of hours.”

  “Wow! I guess,” I said. “You know I get conflicted with the way you handle matters. Of course, he deserves a strong defense—I don’t know what his motives were or if he’s been wrongly accused—but it’s all the witnesses paid on the side and expert testimony you bring in. I can’t help but think they’re people for hire and just plain dirty.”

  Drew ran his hand through his hair, and I noticed there was a tiny bit of gray appearing along his temple. “You know what? Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Sounds good.” I smiled at the thought of being let off the hook. After all, this was just salad.

  “Any big weekend plans?” Drew asked.

  “Not really,” I mumbled, my attention drawn to Jake and Camper in my peripheral vision.

  Jake’s arm was flung around the back of her chair, and he was leaning in and whispering in her ear. She, of course, was laughing like he was the funniest, wittiest guy in America, and he probably was. His thumb ghosted across her bare shoulder and back again as he leaned in and hung on her every word.

  I’d had to try so hard that night in the interrogation room to remain professional and not laugh when he teased me about my name. Yeah, it was annoying, and I’d heard it all before, but the way he said it was the worst song ever. His honesty was hilarious. I wanted to welcome more of it, beg him to continue to chat, to spend the holiday with me.

  Camper ran her hand down Jake’s cheek and placed a soft kiss on his temple. He ran his hand down her slender arm that was now bare. She’d removed her sweater, leaving her in a sleeveless black tank. It was the dead of winter, but she probably wasn’t cold cuddled up next to him. He’d gone to jail for her, and even though he played it off that he only was “tapping” her sometimes, it certainly looked like more.

  Lucky girl. If you want a bad boy, that is. Although, he didn’t look so bad at the moment.

  Thankfully, our food arrived. Drew and I finished our meal in comfortable silence, only interrupted by a few mumbled declarations over how good the food was. He tossed Rome a thumbs-up when the check came, then paid and helped me from my seat.

  For a second, I wished I’d considered dessert because we were going to have to walk right past Jake on our way out. As we stood from the table, Drew helped me put on my enormous parka. I busied myself with zipping it and fastening the waist belt, keeping my head low as we walked toward the door.

  “You gonna be back, Aly?” Rome bellowed as he pulled out a pizza from the brick oven.

  I waved and muttered a quick thank-you, desperate not to call attention to myself.

  Rome wasn’t having it, though. He tossed the pie on the rack and hurried out. “Was it all good, babe?”

  He winked and pulled me in for a hug. No one could accuse this chef of sticking me in the corner. Prying myself out of Rome’s arms, I tripped over my own feet, overwhelmed with the unexpected display of affection and suddenly flustered with all the attention. Of course, my hip dipped right into Camper’s bar stool before I stilled myself with my hand on the back of the chair.

  “Excuse me,” I whispered, then turned and addressed Rome quietly. “It was awesome. Thank so much. Good night.”

  Pivoting toward the door, I heard Drew saying good-bye to Rome. When a loud, “Hey!” rang out, I walked on as if I hadn’t heard it.

  “Hey, you! Ms. Road?”

  I stopped in my tracks but didn’t turn around.

  “Aly?” Drew raised his voice from behind me. “Someone’s calling you.”

  Running my hand along my sleek ponytail, I swiveled around. “Mr. Wrigley.”

  “Jake. Remember, just J-A-K-E.”

  I nodded. There was nothing else to say; I wasn’t about to mention we met in jail or that I’d fantasized about him a few times since. Both were against the rules and were considered inappropriate conduct.

  “Drew Burnes.” My dinner companion smiled and offered his hand.

  “Jake Wrigley, and this is Camper.” His lips pressed tight, Jake poked the bubbly blonde on the shoulder, but she couldn’t even be bothered to turn around when he tried to introduce me. Her curls bounced like a shampoo ad on TV, making me wonder what type of conditioner she used.

  “Camp, this is Alyson Road.”

  “Shut up! Like the song? That’s hysterical.” Camper now whipped around in her seat, gawking at me. “That’s the dumbest song. I can’t believe you’re named for it.”

  Jake’s mouth turned down into a formidable scowl, and although he was trying to be discreet, it was hard not to notice him give the overzealous Barbie a pinch on the arm.

  “Well, not exactly. It’s just a coincidence,” I said, not entirely sure why I was gracing her with an explanation. “And I go by Aly,” I felt compelled to add, which was strange since I usually only allowed those who were close to call me by my nickname.

  “I never thought of the coincidence,” Drew said in an attempt to join the pointless discussion.

&nb
sp; I rolled my eyes and wasn’t entirely sure, but it looked like Jake’s scowl deepened.

  “Probably why I stay friends with you. It’s an age-old joke that I’ve been hearing for over the last decade.” I threaded my arm through Drew’s down-coat-padded elbow. “Well, it’s nice running into you, Mr. Wrigley.”

  I tried to walk away again when I saw the wheels turning inside Camper’s head. Her gaze was pinging wildly between Jake and me, her brow scrunched tight. She was chewing on her lower lip with such fierce concentration, I thought she was going to eat right through it.

  “How do you know each other? Is this the new investor for the third gym?” She waved a hand between the two of us.

  Jake shook his head and a loud laugh rumbled through his chest. He was nothing like the anxious inmate I met in jail.

  “Nah, why in the hell would you think that?” He turned an eye Camper’s way, and it wasn’t an overly friendly eye. Something dark lurked behind its blueness.

  “Because she keeps calling you Mr. Wrigley.” Camper trailed a territorial finger down Jake’s bicep, placing some type of primitive ownership in her touch after she realized I wasn’t a work contact.

  “Ms. Road was the lawyer on duty when I got arrested for beating up your boy toy.”

  “Ha!” She burst out laughing, almost doubling over in her seat. “I almost forgot about that! God, I can’t believe I slept with that Nazi prick,” she said, shocking me by discussing what I believed to be private matters in front of the whole restaurant.

  Her cavalier attitude about Jake’s sacrifice annoyed me, and out of nowhere, I felt compelled to defend the man. “Well, Mr. Wrigley went to jail for it.”

  “You let someone out of jail after committing a crime?” Drew feigned being flabbergasted, drawing in a deep breath and bringing his hand over his chest.

  “From what I recall, he was defending this young woman’s honor,” I explained. Why, I had no idea, but I felt compelled to stick up for Jake.

  “Fuck right,” Jake said. “No one insults Camper—or any woman—in front of me. No fucking way.”

  “Wait, you didn’t tell Bess?” Camper pulled on Jake’s sleeve. He shook his head and murmured, “Later,” but didn’t elaborate any further on Bess. I was clueless as to what that was all about, but it wasn’t any of my business. Yet, somewhere in my gut I wanted it to be.

  “But you should learn to use your words, Mr. Wrigley and not your fists.” I couldn’t believe we were standing here having this conversation in some suburban Italian bistro. The hilarity of it hit me in a quick swoop, and I had to hold back my giggle. “Listen, it’s been lovely running into you, Mr. Wrigley, but we really have to go.”

  “Wait! Thank you.” Jake held his hand out to shake mine. “And yes, I know. I’ve been working on using my words.” He winked as I slid my hand into his, his fingers wrapping around mine in an easy handshake. It must have taken a great deal of effort to be that gentle because Jake Wrigley was a big, strong man.

  “It’s my job, just doing my job,” I reminded him, and allowed Drew to lead me out of the restaurant and drive me home to my small, run-down apartment.

  Jake

  Two weeks later

  I was shifting into fifth gear as I came out of the tunnel when the Bluetooth rang through the car, interrupting the Led Zeppelin pumping through the speakers. There was finally a hint of spring in the air, so I’d decided to ditch my Hummer and chase the blue skies in my BMW coupe this morning, and didn’t want to be disturbed.

  Emotionally, I’d made limited progress over the last year, but I was killing it business wise. One of the reasons being I finally dug my head out of my ass and started listening to my millionaire mogul twin brother when it came to running my two—soon to be three—gyms. Even though his shit advice did take away from my goofing off (a.k.a. fucking around) time.

  “What’s up, bro?” I answered the call after seeing it was Lane on the screen.

  “I’m heading down to Pittsburgh later this week. Want to grab a beer?”

  “Yeah, sure. When?”

  “Looks like Friday. I hate to be away from Bess and my baby girl over the weekend, but one of the head honchos from the new big hotel conglomerate building downtown is going to be there Friday afternoon, and he wants to meet. This deal would be serious money, so there’s no way I’m saying no. I’ll meet him on Friday, and then meet up with you, spend the night at the hotel, and head back on Saturday.”

  Flicking my turn signal to head up the ramp toward Oakland and my original gym, Fizzle Fitness, near the University of Pittsburgh campus, I asked, “You sure?” I knew he really didn’t like being away from his wife and daughter, let alone on a weekend.

  “James is coming back to visit on Wednesday, and—”

  I smirked to myself. Leave it to my brother to fall for a girl whose best buddy was a gay-blade hotel concierge she met in South Beach.

  “She wants you to check up on me,” I said, finishing his sentence, forgetting James and the paces he put Lane through for a moment. I knew my sister-in-law, Bess, had a soft spot for me, the bad twin brother. Lane was always the responsible one, the good one, and me? Well, I was the fuckup.

  “Jake, she cares. You know I don’t really give a fuck. I know you’re doing better and going to be fine after I make you an even richer son of a bitch, but you know Bess. She worries, so yeah, she wants a report.”

  What the hell did he know? Lane had it all, and probably thought that me making money was going to fill the hole inside my heart, or lighten the darkness in my soul.

  I ran my hand along the steering wheel and took a calming breath. “I’m still in therapy, what else does she need to know? I’m doing it for her. Ever since I saw the tears in that girl’s eyes when we pulled that last bait-and switch routine, taking advantage of being twins. Shit, when all the truth came out and Bess realized you were there the night she hit rock bottom, I knew I needed to grow up and stop playing games. It’s all thanks to Bess that I realized how important the truth is. Tell her that.”

  Christ, Bess could be so infuriating, but she meant well. Yeah, she’d been a major druggie and a drunk in college, but she didn’t need us to tiptoe around her these days.

  “Jake! Are you listening to me? You know she doesn’t like secrets, and she won’t be happy unless I sit you down and check in with you,” Lane shouted through the car’s speakers.

  “Yeah, yeah. Friday. I assume the Tap Room?” Only the best hotel and beer joint for my fancy bro. He might be pussy-whipped and moved out to rural Pennsylvania, but he was still as cosmopolitan as they came.

  There was no fucking way I was getting out of it. Bess was a determined little bird. She was the one who held it together when Lane had some type of breakdown over our secret, the one we’d never told anyone. Bess blew the whole fucking thing wide open, making it all right in the end. For him, anyway.

  “The Tap Room. I’ll text you when I’m done,” Lane said, closing the discussion as if it ever were one, and hung up.

  Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” filled the car when the Bluetooth disconnected, but I was no longer feeling it. I turned down the volume as I turned the car into my spot behind the gym. I got out of the car and slammed the door behind me, my Timberland boots thudding heavy on the ground as I stalked toward the back door of Fizzle, still knee deep in regret. Fucking Bess. But she was right; I still needed help.

  “Hey, Jakey!” Camper hollered at me over the 50 Cent blaring from the gym area. She was waggling her fingers, trying to be seductive, but her eagerness killed the whole effect.

  “What are you doing here today?” I demanded. “How come you’re not in the burbs?” It came out a little gruffer than I expected, but I was moody after my little walk down memory lane. Lane could be such a pain in the ass.

  “Nice to see you too, boss. I have a meeting with Rosie here for our combined marketing campaign. How’s the new site coming?”

  “Fine. Fucking contractor is screwing me big-time, so I’m
going to have to haul his ass outta there and get someone new soon, but yeah, it’s fine.”

  I stomped toward my office, running my hand through my hair. It was longer again. For years, I’d kept it buzzed, other than those few months when I kept it real long in the front like Lane. Lately, I’d come to terms I wasn’t the cocky D-1 baseball player I’d been in college, and grew my hair into a “style.” My hairdresser convinced me one night after blowing me in the back of her salon.

  “Want to see the new billboard ads?” Camper called after me.

  “Nah, I trust you. Don’t forget to send them to Bess for the website.” My voice carried through the hall until I was finally in my office and about to shut the door. Yeah, Bess worked for me too because the meddling wench had infiltrated every single facet of my life.

  “Sure you’re okay?” came a whisper from the doorjamb.

  I nearly jumped a foot, grabbing my chest as I caught my breath. “Shit! Camper, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  Camper was a case in point; she’d been Bess’s neighbor and partying mate in college. In fact, she was one of the few to bear witness to Bess’s downward spiral, and then Bess cut her off when she went to rehab. Lord only knew why she let Camper back into her life, but she did. Somehow I had tangled myself well and good in their web.

  “I mean it,” Camper said. “You seem upset. Still mad at the way I made fun of that lawyer?”

  “No, not that, but that was a shit thing to do, Camp. Bess is on my case. She’s sending Lane down to check on me.”

  I sat down on my desk and sifted through the mail. Invoices and more invoices for the new construction and equipment for my newest venture, Fizzle Cubed. I pulled on my hair, breathing deeply, and considered changing and jumping on the treadmill.

  “Who made Bess the Godfather?”

  Lifting my head, I gritted out, “What did you just say?”

  Camper narrowed her eyes at me. “Bess. You all jump every time she says jump. She’s an ex-junkie who wooed your brother. So, what gives?”

  “Are you fucking serious, Camper? She’s your friend and my sister-in-law.” I stood up, and my height loomed over her petite figure.