The seats were about half full, and it was easy to spot Chris and his parents sitting in one of the front rows. I took a seat a few rows back, not sure if I’d missed anything. Before I could ponder it too long, though, the judge called Chris’s name and he rose from his seat. It was only then that I noticed the woman who had been sitting on his other side. She rose with him and led him to one of the tables at the front. I could only see her back, but the hairs on my neck stood at attention and my heart rate involuntarily kicked up. I knew that auburn hair pulled up into a tight bun, and I knew that pert ass, even in a business suit.
What in the hell was Emmy doing here? And with Chris? Just then, Chris glanced behind him and caught sight of me, his face lighting up despite the visible beads of sweat on his forehead. He looked even younger than usual, dressed up in an ill-fitting grey suit and blue tie. I forced myself to give him an encouraging smile and a chin lift, despite my state of utter confusion.
In the next moment, Emmy turned to see who had caught Chris’s attention and her eyes widened almost comically at the sight of me. Completely at a loss, I acted like a colossal moron and gave her a thumbs-up. A fucking thumbs-up. Way to go, asshole.
Her expression turned from one of surprise to one of “Call the police!” and I was desperately tempted to just flee the scene and pretend I’d never been there. But I couldn’t do that to Chris.
Jesus Christ. She probably thought I was stalking her and preparing to dry her skin in my basement before turning it into a cozy winter hat and scarf set. Chris leaned over and whispered something to her, after which she turned and pinned me with a death glare that shrank my balls. WTF?
It seemed I had just blown any chance I might have ever had with her, and I didn’t even know how it had happened.
I managed to make it through the proceedings without either running for the hills or approaching the bench and asking the judge for an opportunity on the stand to explain myself. The fact that there was no actual stand was only a small deterrent. By the time it was all said and done, Chris received probation, fines, and community service as we’d all hoped. He hugged Emmy, and she graced him with one of her beautiful smiles that I was pretty certain would never be pointed in my direction again. Then he hugged his parents while I stood at the back of the room trying to decide my next move.
Emmy continued to chat with the older Hardacres as Chris filtered his way through an incoming group of people and found me.
“Hey, Coach. Thanks so much for coming.”
I put a fist to his arm. “No problem. I’m glad to see it all worked out.”
Chris glanced back to the judge’s bench and then to me again. “Yeah, well, it’s not ideal but I’ll take it.” He gave me a self-deprecating grin. “That’s what I get for being a jackass, I guess.”
I shrugged. “Don’t beat yourself up too much. We’ve all done stupid things. Even me, if you can believe it.” I gave him a mock surprised face and he laughed.
The next case was getting ready to start, and I saw Emmy and Chris’s parents making their way toward us. Shit. This was awkward.
I raised a hand and gave a little wave—you know, because I hadn’t made a big enough ass out of myself already. The Hardacres were smiling, surely out of relief that their kid wasn’t going to juvie. Apparently, I’d been forgiven for my role in this shit show.
Emmy, on the other hand, looked downright disgusted. What in the hell had I done to her?!
“Hey, Gavin.” Mr. Hardacre put out a hand and I had to tear my gaze away from Emmy’s scathing look, leaving myself vulnerable in the event she chose to attack or something. At this point, anything was possible.
I took his hand and we shook. “I’m so glad this is all over with,” I said.
“No kidding,” replied Mrs. Hardacre. “And we definitely owe you for arranging Ms. Scott’s help.” She squeezed Emmy’s arm and some of the pieces started coming together in my brain.
Seeing Emmy for the first time at Jake and Bailey’s shower and then being referred by them to an attorney named Emerson Scott. I never even thought to look at her last name on the Academy forms because, in my head, she was Emmy Miller. Stupid! She’d said she and Jay had different dads. It still didn’t explain why she seemed to suddenly hate me, but I was sure she would be only too happy to explain.
“Wait,” Emmy—Emerson—said in a surprised tone. “What does he have to do with our introduction? I was referred by Jake and Mark Beckett.”
The Hardacres looked at each other and then back at Emmy. Emerson. Ms. Scott. Whoever the fuck! “We don’t know any Becketts. Gavin called us with your information.” They all turned their gazes to me.
I scratched the back of my neck and tried to explain. “They’re friends of mine. Mark is actually my boss.” I looked back at Emmy, still feeling confused. “I thought it was Jake and Bailey who knew you. How do you know Mark?”
She took a breath and let it out like she was losing patience and just wanted to get the hell out of there. “Long story. Anyway, all’s well that ends well, right?” She pasted a smile on her face and shook hands with all three Hardacres. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow to follow up,” she said
And without another word or glance in my direction, she left the courtroom and left me feeling more bewildered than ever.
I had to stay and make small talk with Chris and his family or I’d look like an asshole. By the time I made it out into the main corridor, Emmy was long gone. Just like our coffee date, I surmised.
“So, tell me exactly how you know Emerson Scott?”
“Shit,” said Mark as I barreled my way through the door he’d just opened. “Well, come on in and make yourself at home.”
“What do you mean, ‘shit’?” I turned back to face him as he closed the door behind us. He eyed me, hands on hips with his ridiculous Popeye muscles practically tearing the arms off his t-shirt. Jesus, just buy a bigger shirt, man.
“I think the better question is how you know Emerson Scott,” he responded.
It was one of my rare nights off, and although I had homework to do, I hadn’t been able to focus. I needed answers. Without thinking too much about it, I’d hopped in my car and driven to Mark’s place. Well, actually Fiona’s place, but she and Mark were attached at the hip—or probably more accurately, the crotch—so it hadn’t been hard to find him. Fiona has a slick condo in a high-rise downtown and, if I were Mark, I’d ditch the rental house he lives in and move in here. This place is sweet. Floor to ceiling windows on a high floor, a granite and stainless-steel kitchen, and girl furniture. Fancy shit.
“I just saw her in court today. You know, helping out my dumbass player who decided he was Mario Andretti.”
“Dammit. I knew that was a bad idea,” came another male voice from the direction of the kitchen.
I turned around and found Jake and Bailey both leaning against the kitchen counter with drinks in their hands. “Where the hell did you two come from?”
“Uh, free dinner at Fiona’s? Have you met me?” asked Bailey, pointing unnecessarily to her protruding belly that looked like it was about to explode. Her blond hair was in a messy ponytail and she looked like she was wearing Jake’s clothes.
Well, that explained things, I supposed. Fiona runs a catering business with Mark and Jake’s mom and she cooks the absolute best food. I was suddenly a bit put out that I hadn’t been invited.
Fiona poked her head around the corner, surprising the shit out of me while simultaneously reading my mind. “You’re always at games or training sessions on weeknights. How was I supposed to know you had the night off?”
I made a face at her before remembering my mission and getting back to it. “And you knew what was a bad idea?” I asked Jake accusingly.
“Putting that woman anywhere in the vicinity of you and your adolescent libido.” He came closer and dropped onto the couch, beckoning for Bailey to sit next to him. She did so with some difficulty, looking a bit more like an elderly person balancing a giant pumpkin on
her lap.
I put my hands on my hips. “I take offense to that. My libido is a very mature twenty-four. A shitload better than your ancient ass, I’m guessing.”
He put his arm around his wife. “Whatever you say, Junior. I haven’t gotten any complaints.”
Bailey pretended to contemplate that for a moment before confirming, “That’s true,” and patting his knee.
Yuck. “Okay, let’s drop it. I’ve met Emerson, we’ve been introduced, so it’s too late anyway. I want to know how you all know her.”
Bailey looked back at me and sighed. “Fine. It’s not like she’d ever go for you anyway. We were just trying to save you the embarrassment of panting after her like a puppy. Don’t think we didn’t all see you at that shower with your tongue hanging out.”
“Ohhh! I remember her. I liked her.” Fiona emerged from the kitchen, suddenly way too interested in the topic.
Bailey nodded at her with a wicked grin before explaining to me, “Remember my douchebag ex—the one who tried to sue Mark? She was his attorney.”
Huh? “Wait. I thought Fiona’s guy was your attorney.”
Mark barked from behind me. “Not my attorney, idiot. The douchebag ex’s attorney.”
I gave each of them an incredulous look. “What the fuck? You recommended someone to me who not only tried to sue you, but lost?! What the hell kind of friends are you?”
Mark and Jake both shrugged and this made them all laugh uproariously. Jesus Christ.
Finally, Fiona seemed to conjure up some basic human decency. “Oh no. Did your kid lose the case?”
That shut all of them up. Bastards.
I shuffled my feet a bit and said, “No,” which made them laugh even harder. I had to shout to be heard. “But that’s beside the point!”
Fiona just patted my arm. “Come eat some leftovers. They’re still warm.” She led me toward the kitchen.
I scowled at her. “You can’t placate me with food, you know.”
She just nodded and patted my arm again. “It’s stuffed pork chops with baked apples and a Dijon butter sauce.”
“Oh.” I replied and let her lead me to it.
After Fiona fed me, I took my ass home and did some work. I may have dropped out of college when I lost my baseball scholarship—okay, I can’t blame the scholarship; it was me feeling sorry for myself—but I’d been able to keep the two years of credits I’d built up. And once I’d stopped acting like a spoiled brat, I realized I was halfway to a Sports Science degree. That was nothing to sneeze at. And nothing to throw away.
It had actually been Gerry who’d encouraged me to step up and finish my degree. Being an assistant coach at the Academy was fun and full of valuable experience, but it didn’t pay all that well. Construction paid better, but I couldn’t do that full time, and it wasn’t where I saw myself in the long run. A degree in Sports Science, combined with the coaching experience I was getting, could lead to a solid future in coaching—hopefully at the college level, eventually.
I’d enrolled in online classes in January and I was hoping to complete my degree in another couple years. Brett was the only one who knew about it at this point, since he’s my best friend and it was kind of hard to hide what I was doing on my laptop all that time. Naturally, he’d assumed a porn addiction in the beginning, but he finally figured that even I didn’t have the attention span for that much fucking. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t want anyone else to know. Maybe I felt like everybody was still waiting for me to fail or revert back to my sorry old ways. Maybe I was afraid of that myself. I didn’t want to expose myself to that kind of pressure.
I shot my professor an e-mail with my latest assignment and closed the laptop for the night. Immediately, my mind went back to the scene in court earlier in the day. Should I try texting her?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed my phone and sent a message.
Gavin: Hi.
Brilliant, Gavin. You’re a regular Shakespeare.
Crickets.
I figured a beer was in order since I’d kicked ass on my assignment—and I needed a distraction from the blank screen of my phone. One beer and two episodes of Archer later—What? It may be a cartoon, but it’s for adults—and my phone finally sounded with a text notification.
Emmy: Hello, Gavin. What can I do for you?
What could she do for me? What was this? I felt like I was in the principal’s office or something. Hmm, wait. I think I had a naughty fantasy about that once…nope. Lost it.
I got up to get another beer while I thought about my response. Leaning against the counter, I typed it in.
Gavin: I think we had a miscommunication of some kind. How about if we work it out on Wednesday over our coffee?
Emmy: I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry, I’m going to have to cancel.
WTF?
Gavin: I think I at least deserve an explanation, don’t you?
Emmy: It’s just for the best. Let’s leave it at that. Good luck, and I’m sure I’ll see you at some of Jay’s games.
Huh. Well, there wasn’t much I could say to that, now was there?
Chapter Nine
Nope
EMERSON
Ugh.
I put my phone back on my bedside table. There. I’d let him down gently and it was done. I breathed a sigh of relief, not realizing until right then exactly how keyed up I’d been about the impending coffee date. Coffee non-date.
I should have trusted my instincts from the beginning. I had absolutely no business forming any kind of friendship—much less a remotely romantic one—with a guy who still acted like a teenager.
When I’d turned around in court and caught sight of Gavin in the back of the galley, I’d felt my blood run hot. Then cold. My brain could not compute any plausible scenario that would place him in the courtroom. Thoughts flew directly to him being there to see me. But how could he have known I’d be there? I hadn’t even told him I was a lawyer. That’s when my thoughts raced right to psycho town and I considered the possibility that he was a crazy stalker. That would be just my luck.
But when I realized that Chris obviously knew him, and Chris explained exactly how he knew him, understanding dawned. I really shouldn’t have been all that surprised to find out that Gavin Monroe was just as damned immature as I’d feared. He had been the family “friend” who’d told Chris to go along with the other teenagers’ antics and do what he needed to fit in. What kind of advice was that? Damn idiot kids. Gavin included.
This was exactly why I always trusted my gut and kept the big picture in mind. I didn’t have the time or the freedom to let undesirable or unsuitable people into my life.
Sighing, I sank down into my pillow and pulled my blanket up to my chin. I felt the soft fibers brush against my neck and immediately felt a bit better. It was my go-to comfort. Yes, I realized the irony of my disdain for childish behavior while simultaneously clinging to what essentially amounted to a toddler’s blankie. But it was soft. What can I say?
However, even my blanket couldn’t entirely calm the storm in my head. My thoughts drifted back to last fall’s debacle that had started this whole thing. I’d known that damn pro bono would eventually come back to haunt me. And I’d been right.
Last year I’d taken on a different pro bono case at the request of Bradford Schenk, one of the managing partners. It was a personal injury case in which his daughter’s friend had been assaulted and had some property damaged in the process. The client was an artist named Anton Germaine, and he seemed both sincere and distraught when I first met with him. He explained that he’d broken up with a woman, and that woman’s friend hadn’t taken kindly to it. In fact, the friend had responded by threatening Anton and then punching him as well as ruining an expensive painting Anton had been in the process of selling to a client for a large sum of money.
Mr. Schenk’s daughter, Amber, explained that Mr. Germaine was a popular local artist who had a successful exhibit at a local gallery in progress
at the time of the assault. Not only had he been punched and had his property ruined, but he also feared for his safety and was unable to continue with his current work due to the constant stress.
While I hadn’t really bought the whole idea of not being able to work, I wasn’t exactly the creative type, so what did I know? Well, I’ll tell you what I did know. Bradford Schenk had asked me to represent this guy, so that’s what I was going to do. I informed the party we were intending to sue—whose name was Mark Beckett—and scheduled a settlement meeting, hoping to avoid court.
Little had I known, Anton Germaine turned out not only to be a crappy artist, but he was a crappy liar too. In the end, his story fell apart faster than a house of cards. As far as I could discern, yes, he’d been punched, but he’d also deserved it. In fact, I would have liked to deliver my own punch when all was said and done. He’d manufactured the bit about the destruction of property as well as the inability to work. And then he’d proceeded to assault the ex-girlfriend right in front of me. Bailey Murphy—no, Beckett now since marrying her friend’s brother—was certainly better off without the ass of an artist.
But I’d felt bad about my part in it, so when the Beckett clan asked for help last week, I hadn’t hesitated long. And, besides, the client was a fourteen-year-old kid who’d taken some awful advice from a family friend—one I now knew to be Gavin Monroe. I thanked my lucky stars that my little brother was self-possessed enough not to fall for lame life lessons from an overgrown child.
I rolled over and punched my pillow, giving a huge huff. Maybe I should steer clear of pro bono cases for a while. Yeah, that’s what I should do. I took a deep breath, let it out, and finally fell asleep with my blanket cushioning my cheek.
“I still can’t believe the coincidence,” Ari said as we waited in line at Starbucks the next morning. She was wearing slim black pants and a flowy red blouse that brought out the burgundy in her hair. Her nose and eyebrow piercings were missing, a requirement of her receptionist job at the conservative realty office where she’d be heading after coffee.
The Game (Carolina Connections Book 4) Page 8
