[2016] Bad Judgment

by Meghan March

  “Enough.” The word comes out like a Doberman’s bark.

  Kristy shakes her head slowly. “She wouldn’t give you the time of day for years, and then all of a sudden she’s your new study and fuck buddy? You don’t think those two things have anything in common? You’re not usually this much of an idiot.”

  Anger vibrates through every cell of my body, and my fists clench against my sides. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, and if you say another word about this to me or anyone else, I will rain down hell on you and your mom.”

  Kristy’s triumphant expression morphs into something ugly and cruel. Why did I ever think she was attractive?

  “I guess we’ll see what the dean has to say about it. Little Miss Perfect 4.0 might find herself out of school anyway. There’s got to be some violation of the student code of conduct.”

  I meet her gaze with a glare. “You say anything to the dean, and I’ll make sure my dad blackballs you from every job worth having after graduation.”

  Finally, a flash of uncertainty crosses her features. “He wouldn’t dare.”

  “I swear to God, I won’t stop until he does.”

  Kristy sputters, searching for something to say in response, but I’m not waiting around. I need some answers right the fuck now.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Justine

  I’ve spent two weeks working at the firm, with the majority of my time taken up by the first project Vito assigned me, which we finally wrapped up yesterday when he filed the brief.

  The box containing all the information about Chad’s DUI sits in the corner; knowing it remains almost untouched has been killing me. I need to know if there’s any chance at an appeal. Yes, he was drinking and driving, but someone else caused the accident that led to his arrest. What’s more, as far as I know, that accident is still considered an unsolved hit-and-run to this day.

  I’m just about to dig into the court transcripts when Vito sticks his head into my office.

  “There’s a whole crew of us going out for drinks to celebrate an appeal we just won. You should join us, because filing that brief deserves to be celebrated as well. Drinks are on the firm.”

  I look around my little office at the stacks of files I’ve accumulated. “I appreciate the invite, but I’m sure the new girl should probably work instead of play.”

  Vito waves off my protest. “Not a chance. There’s always tomorrow. You need a break, and you should see that firm life isn’t all work. We have fun too. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

  I want to tell him that I honestly have no intention of ever working at a firm like this after graduation, so it doesn’t matter what my impression is. When I open my mouth to decline, Ron peeks around the corner.

  “You coming? We’re just heading to AJ’s across the street.”

  “She’s coming.”

  Across the street, AJ’s is filled with the happy-hour crowd, including one big table filled by people from the firm. It appears that this isn’t really just a celebration for the appellate group, but a drinks are on the firm, so come out and have one situation. Merica told me what it was like as a summer associate—drinks every day after work, parties, ball games, concerts, you name it. Apparently the work hard, play hard mentality continues all year long.

  Legal Aid was nothing like that. I mean, we had drinks together the Friday of my first week of work and the last Friday of the summer before I came back to school, but that’s it—and we all paid for ourselves. There’s not exactly an entertainment budget when you don’t have money for coffee in the office.

  I pick a seat next to Vito, as he’s one of the only two people I’ve really worked with, but he doesn’t stay long. He’s up and talking to another partner, and a paralegal slides into the seat he vacated.

  “Hi, I’m Janie. I meant to introduce myself the other day, but I’ve been slammed. I work for the appellate group too.”

  I shake her outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Justine.”

  “I heard! You’re the one that Justice Grant sent us. That’s so nice of him to always be helping out students. My daughter clerked for him when she was in law school. She graduated three years ago. Nice guy. It’s just a shame about his wife.”

  “A shame?”

  Janie looks like she’s brimming with gossip as she looks around, making sure no one is going to overhear her. “She took a leave of absence. The firm never actually came out and said why, but we all know she’s in rehab. They’ve kept it really quiet, and I’m sure the family has too. No one wants it to be public knowledge, especially with Justice Grant holding such an important position on the court. Some people just have a harder fight with their demons.”

  Rehab? “I had no idea.”

  Janie’s eyes light with that special oh, you didn’t know look. “Yes, it’s really hard for them, I’m sure. She’s been gone a few months. It all happened really quickly—one Friday she was in the office, and Monday the firm casually mentioned that she’d be out for an extended period of time due to a leave of absence. I have no idea what finally happened to push it over the edge, but something must have, you know?”

  I’m absorbing the impact of what she said, and one thing stands out glaringly. “When did that happen?”

  Janie tilts her head to the right as if searching her memory for the date. “I think it was the weekend of my youngest’s college graduation. So the third weekend in May, maybe?”

  The weekend Ryker was supposed to help me move. If they had to go check his mom into rehab, then that explains why he didn’t show.

  Janie’s about to say more, but Vito comes back and she goes silent.

  My mind turns this new information over and over while people drink and chatter around me.

  I understand why he would have stayed quiet at first, but now? After everything?

  Why didn’t he just tell me?

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Ryker

  Phone clenched in my hand, I hold it to my ear as frustration rides me. My father is still in court. My message is short and to the point.

  “How long did you think you could keep the deal you made with Justine secret? Because if you were trying to keep it under wraps, you’re doing a piss-poor job. We need to talk. I want answers.”

  I end the call, recognizing that it’s a good thing he didn’t answer. I don’t trust myself to talk to him yet. Or Justine.

  Fucking secrets. They always get out.

  Kristy’s threat to expose everything she told me plays on repeat in my brain as I turn my car in the direction of the bar where I’m supposed to meet Brandon. I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do next, because I honestly have no fucking clue.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Justine

  I end up staying at AJ’s longer than I expected, which means I miss the bus I intended to take. I’m stepping out of the bar when my phone vibrates in my hand, surprising me enough that I almost drop it on the sidewalk. I expect to see Ryker’s name on the screen, but instead it’s a number I don’t recognize.

  “Hello?”

  “Justine, this is Jon Grant.”

  I recognize his voice immediately, even though Justice Grant has never called me before.

  “Is something wrong? Is Ryker okay?”

  Why is it when someone calls you unexpectedly, your first assumption is that something is terribly wrong? My pulse speeds up with every moment as I wonder what could have happened to Ryker. A million possibilities spin through my head, starting with some kind of horrific accident.

  “He just left me a voice mail, and he knows.”

  My stomach drops to the cement beneath my feet. “What?” The word comes out on a harsh breath. He can’t know.

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No.” Ice freezes where my spine is supposed to be. “I told him you got me a job at your wife’s firm. I didn’t tell him anything else.” Guilt mixes with dread. I should’ve told him. “Whi
ch part of the deal does he know about? All of it?”

  “He didn’t say. I didn’t want to call him back without talking to you first. This is going to be a delicate situation. How do you want to handle it?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Do you want me to explain?”

  I shake my head, but realize Justice Grant can’t see it. “No. I . . . I’ll figure it out. As long as you’re okay with me explaining.”

  “You have my blessing to tell him everything. I’m concerned he’s only got part of the story.”

  The icy fear grips more of my body with every word he speaks. “The worst part, right?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Justine. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’m sure you can explain it to him and he’ll understand.” His tone is forced hope, and I think we both know it won’t be as simple as that.

  I want to ask Justice Grant more questions, but I know he doesn’t have the answers.

  I can only imagine how pissed Ryker is. I need to track him down. And . . . what? Tell him I had no other options? Use the awesomely cliché phrase it’s not what you think?

  “I’ll let you know.”

  We hang up, and I stare down at my phone.

  Why hasn’t Ryker called me demanding an explanation?

  I tap out a text.

  Justine: We need to talk. Please, just let me explain.

  The little gray bubbles appear on the other side of the text screen for a moment and then disappear. He read it.

  I wait for over a minute for the bubbles to reappear, but they don’t.

  Really? That’s it? I’m not even worth a reply?

  My phone shakes in my hand as I shove it in my bag. Bus stop, here I come.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Ryker

  Brandon is already at the bar with a beer when I walk in.

  “Hey, man. What do you want? I’m buying.”

  “Shot of Johnny Walker.”

  Brandon’s eyes widen. “Rough day?”

  I drop onto the stool beside him and shove my hands through my hair. “Fucked-up day, that’s for sure.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. I just need a fucking drink.” And that’s the truth. What the hell am I going to do?

  He waves the bartender over and orders my shot—but makes it a double. “Best advice I have—get drunk enough not to have to think about it until tomorrow. I’ll haul your ass home. My turn to be DD, right?” He pushes his bottle away.

  The bartender pours the Johnny Walker, and I don’t hesitate to knock it back.

  Maybe Brandon’s right. Getting drunk enough not to think about this until tomorrow sounds like a hell of a plan, even though I know it’s not the smart choice.

  I have to talk to Justine . . . but what the fuck am I going to say to her?

  My phone vibrates with a text, and I pull it out of my pocket.

  Justine: We need to talk. Please, just let me explain.

  So dear old Dad called her instead of me. I guess that’s what accomplices do. I stare at my phone, but I have no idea what the fuck to say.

  I toss it on the bar next to Brandon’s instead.

  “Glad to see you still have the same good taste as I do.”

  Our phones are identical, but his isn’t staring back at him waiting for him to answer a text that changes everything.

  “I need another shot.”

  He waves the bartender over, no questions asked, and starts talking about college football. I couldn’t give a shit less about it right now, and my mind goes right back to the same place it has for months. Fuck, years. Justine.

  Do I really need her to explain? She was desperate; I’ll give her that. I saw that desperation with my own eyes when she walked into Déjà Vu looking for a job.

  The shot glass is filled over and over, and I keep tipping them back. Brandon gives up on trying to talk to me and leaves his stool to talk to a redhead at the pool table.

  Good. I’m not fit for company right now.

  The front door whooshes open and a group of laughing people come in. Students. I recognize a couple of them. One in particular.

  Fuck. Maybe she won’t see me.

  No such luck. Merica eyes me with curiosity as she leaves her group behind and comes toward me. She nods to the empty shot glass on the bar.

  “What the hell are you doing drinking alone?”

  “Does it matter?”

  I debate ordering another shot, but instead reach for a handful of popcorn in a basket Brandon left behind. I misjudge and it flips, popcorn spilling everywhere.

  “You’re shitfaced, aren’t you?”

  Before I can deny it, she has her phone out and her fingers move furiously over the screen.

  It doesn’t matter whether I’m shitfaced or not; I know exactly who she’s texting. I snatch her phone out of her hands, hoping I’m quicker than her thumb on the Send button.

  “Hey! What the hell!”

  Merica reaches for the phone but I swivel around on the bar stool, keeping it out of her reach. The words are blurry on the screen, but I can read the message.

  Merica: Ryker is drunk off his ass at Spartan’s Brew House. You might want to get down here. I think something’s REALLY wrong. Did you tell him?

  I’m staring at the last part of the message, letting the meaning sink in, when she yanks it out of my hands.

  “What the fuck is your problem, dude?”

  “How much did you know? How much did she tell you? About the deal she made with my dad?”

  Merica’s eyes widen but there’s no confusion, only surprise.

  She knew.

  “She told you everything, didn’t she?”

  Merica scans the bar and looks back at me. “Look, you need to talk to her.”

  It’s all the answer I need to confirm my suspicions.

  How many times did Justine dodge my questions about how she was paying her tuition? How many times did she have the chance to tell me the truth? Too many.

  “How did she tell you? Just casually mention she found a creative way to get her tuition paid after she lost her scholarship? I’m really fucking curious about how you tell someone that, because apparently she couldn’t find the words to tell me.”

  “Who told you?” Merica asks, her eyes still wide.

  “Doesn’t fucking matter, because it wasn’t Justine.”

  She lays a hand on top of the bar. “Your dad?”

  “No.” The word comes out harsh, because he should have told me. One of them should’ve fucking told me.

  “Look, you need to talk to her. Or your dad. Because there’s a lot more to the story than you realize. I mean, why do you think she took that job at the firm? She’s paying your dad back. She’s not taking shit for free.”

  Shock floods my system, and I try to fit this new information into what I already know. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head. “This is why you need to talk to them. Get your facts straight before you go off half-cocked. You don’t think it would’ve been easier for her to just let him keep paying her tuition? She’s going to take a job at Legal Aid where she makes next to nothing, and still she decided she couldn’t be with you unless your dad agreed to make it a loan.”

  Her words sink in slowly. A loan?

  “Are you sure?”

  Merica arches an eyebrow. “Sure that you’re being a jackass? Absolutely. Now, go fucking talk to her and try not to say something you’re going to regret.”

  “I have to talk to her. Now.”

  Merica’s right. This fucking changes everything, including any leverage Kristy has to threaten her.

  “First smart thing you’ve said since I got here. Why don’t you call a cab and go do that?” She pats me on the shoulder. “Next time, don’t be a douche bag.”

  “Right.”

  She turns and heads back to her group. I grab my phone an
d look for Brandon by the pool table. He and the redhead are both gone.

  That motherfucker.

  It’s not the first time he has bailed on me for pussy. Apparently some things never change. Asshole.

  I return to the bar to pay both our tabs, and head out the back door.

  I have to find Justine and talk to her in person. Now. I need to understand what the hell is really going on.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Justine

  I hear it before I see it. The horrible scraping of metal against metal as a car sheers along the guardrail on the opposite side of the road before coming to an abrupt stop.

  A gray Camaro.

  Oh my God.

  Jumping to my feet from the bus station bench, I yank my bag over my shoulder and run toward the car. In my gut, I know it’s Ryker.

  The horn blares as I rip open the driver’s side door. His face is pressed against the steering wheel, but thank God there’s no blood.

  “Ryker! Ryker! Are you okay?”

  His head falls back against the seat and he blinks up at me. His face is red where it was pressed against the steering wheel, but there aren’t any other visible injuries.

  “Fuck. Shouldn’t have driven.”

  “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I scan him for any signs of blood or wounds, relieved to find there are none, but the smell of whiskey on his breath is strong. “What the hell did you do?”

  “That was my question for you.”

  His words are slurred. He’s drunk.

  And if the cops come, he’s fucked.

  I don’t know what possesses me, but I smack him across the chest with the back of my hand and then unbuckle his seat belt. “You’re a fucking idiot. Now, get in the passenger seat. We have to get out of here.”