[2016] Bad Judgment

by Meghan March

  I carried so much guilt for not coming clean, and all that time, he knew.

  I’m in the shower, my wine on the shelf just outside but still within reach. The spray beats down at me as I replay the events of the morning over and over in my head.

  “Jus! You’re going to want to see this! I’m recording it for you. Hurry your ass up!”

  I have no idea what Merica is yelling about, but I don’t think she’d interrupt me at this point for anything that wasn’t crazy important.

  “What’s going on?” I yell through the bathroom door.

  “Press conference. Justice Grant. You need to see this.”

  I shut off the water and grab a towel to wrap around me before rushing into the living room.

  “What?”

  Merica rewinds whatever she recorded on TV and presses Pause before tossing me the remote. “I’m supposed to go to work, but you need to watch this. And then you need to figure out what the hell you’re going to do about Ryker. Because . . . damn, girl, I don’t have any advice for that one.” She looks at me again with sympathy. “I can call in sick if you want me to. I feel like shit leaving you here.”

  I shake my head. “No, go. It’s okay. I’ll be okay. I just need some time alone to think.” I wrap my best friend in a hug. “Thank you for everything.”

  “Anytime, babe. You know I’ve got your back. Always.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you more.”

  I sit on the couch in stunned silence, retrieved wineglass clutched in hand, as I watch the press conference for the third time. Tears are streaming down my cheeks because I don’t know how else to react.

  The former Justice Grant is a strong, proud man, but he looks so humbled as he delivers his resignation from the state supreme court.

  “As justices, we are held to the highest standard, and I have not lived up to that standard. Beneath these robes, I am only a man, and that man would do anything to protect his family. The choices I made are my own, and so must the consequences be. As of eight o’clock this morning, I have resigned my position on the court. My wife has also officially resigned her position at Grant Bentham Beckett. We understand the cycle of addiction and have all become victim to it. Today, we break the cycle. We end the lies, the shame, and the hiding. There is nothing we can do to take back our actions, but we will accept all responsibility for them.”

  His words hit me hard. We end the lies, the shame, and the hiding. Justice Grant isn’t the only one who has been a victim of the cycle. Ryker has been brought up in this world where you hide the truth to protect others. You keep the shame secret. You tell no one for fear of upsetting the balance.

  Maybe that’s all he knows . . . how to hide the truth? Wasn’t I doing the same thing?

  God, what a fucked-up situation this is. Too many secrets to count.

  How could I expect him to turn his mother in to the cops when I couldn’t bring myself to turn mine in the night she broke into my apartment? And I hadn’t seen my mother in years.

  So really, how much can I fault him for protecting her? What son wouldn’t?

  I hit the button to rewind and replay the press conference again, but a knock on the door interrupts me. Wrapping my towel tighter around me, I set my still half-full wineglass on the table and go to the door.

  A glance through the peephole reveals Ryker, with hair mussed like he’s been jamming his fingers through it. I yank open the door, and he steps inside before pushing it shut behind him.

  I wait in silence, because I truly have no idea what to say.

  “I’m sorry, so fucking sorry, that I didn’t tell you—about my mom and that I knew about your deal with my dad. I can’t lose you over this. I can’t lose you over anything. I won’t let it happen.” Ryker’s blue eyes are tormented with emotion. “Just . . . give me a chance to get it all out before you say anything.”

  I swallow. “I’m so freaking tired of all these lies. If you want to tell me anything, it has to be the truth.”

  Chapter Seventy

  Ryker

  Two months earlier

  As I waited for Justine to grab whatever she needed to head to class, my dad watched me carefully from the bar where he sipped his coffee.

  “What?”

  “Your mother would really like you to call her. She’s making significant progress.”

  “And you need to do something for Chad France. He fucking dropped out of school, Dad. How is that fair? Mom’s in cushy rehab and he’s . . . gone.”

  “The board of trustees sent a letter when they received notice of his withdrawal stating that although there was no guarantee, the conviction could be explained to the character and fitness committee of the state bar, and that the school would help him in that process.”

  “And?” I still couldn’t get over the raw deal Chad got.

  “And he never replied. The second letter went unanswered as well. We can’t help him if he doesn’t want to help himself.”

  “How do you know he even got the letters?”

  My father shook his head. “We don’t, but if I keep pushing the issue, it’s going to raise suspicion.”

  The whole situation left my stomach in a knot, but what the fuck could I do? Turn my mom in to the cops for leaving the scene of an accident while she was too drunk to drive? What kind of son would that make me?

  But not saying anything made me feel like a shitty human being every fucking day. Why did she have to drive? Why didn’t my dad admit she had a problem and force her into rehab before she could spin out of control?

  “Fine. I’ll call her. What’s the number?”

  My dad reached for his pocket. “Crap. I keep forgetting I left my phone on my desk at work. It’s on the paperwork in the office too. Want me to grab it for you?”

  “I can grab it. Finish your coffee. Where is it?”

  “In the file cabinet. Second drawer. It’s labeled Pine Crest Manor.”

  “Always so organized.”

  “Have to be or I’d lose everything.”

  My dad turned back to his coffee and paper, and I strode toward the office.

  As I was going through the filing cabinet, I spotted the Pine Crest file. Right behind it was a folder labeled Porter, J.

  What the hell?

  Pulling it out, I flipped it open, expecting to maybe see notes from her externship when she worked for him last semester, but that wasn’t what I found. Instead, it was a contract.

  I skimmed the terms and my stomach twisted into a knot.

  What the fuck?

  My dad was paying Justine’s tuition in exchange for tutoring services. I thought back to last night. How she told me she couldn’t do this.

  The words of the contract burned into my brain, I made a quick copy on the printer behind my father’s desk and shoved the file back in the cabinet. Paper clutched in one hand, I leaned against the file cabinet and let the knowledge sink in.

  What the hell am I going to do with this?

  My mind twisted the information over and over until it hit me. It was so fucking simple.

  Justine was desperate; I saw it firsthand when she walked into the Vu. What else would she have possibly considered if my dad hadn’t made what I recognized as one of his magnanimous grand gestures?

  I just wished to fuck he would have clued me in.

  What did he think I’d say? No, I want Justine to drop out. Not a chance in hell. She wanted this more than anyone I’d ever met, and now I had the ability to make sure she could reach her goals, achieve her dreams . . . and spend time with her. Win her over. Make her mine.

  This way, we’d both get what we wanted.

  Folding up the paper, I stuffed it in my back pocket and headed out of the office. I’m not going to fuck this up.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Ryker

  Present Day

  “You’ve known since that morning? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because it didn’t matter. You needed your tuition pai
d, and I didn’t want you to have to drop out of school.” Pausing, I reach out and wrap my hand around hers when she stiffens. “I know that makes me sound like a dick, but why the hell do you think I studied so fucking hard for the midterm to make sure my grades didn’t slip? I was already halfway in love with you, and there was no way I was going to let you down. Your degree was way too important for me to fuck up.”

  “But the deal we made—”

  “I wanted you, and I knew you wanted me. I figured that you were pushing me away because you didn’t think you could have both me and the tuition money. I wanted you to have it all, so I did what I had to do.”

  “Then why did you go to the bar and get drunk when you found out? And drive into that guardrail?”

  I can’t help but grit my teeth about that. Fucking stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

  “Because Kristy threatened you. Threatened to expose all of it. I was fucking pissed—at her, at my dad for leaving you vulnerable to that kind of attack—and for a few minutes, I was pissed at you for not trusting me enough to tell me the truth so we could fight this together.”

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Justine

  “Why didn’t you tell me then?”

  I wait for Ryker to answer my question, my mind still trying to keep up with this new revelation.

  “Because of everything that happened with your parents. I couldn’t. But I wanted to tell you last night—”

  And I distracted him by getting him naked . . .

  I shake my head and reach for my wine to gulp it down. “Everything between us is built on a foundation of lies. How the hell can we recover from that? How do we even try to move forward?”

  Ryker closes the distance between us and lifts his hand to cup my chin. “That’s not true. The first time I kissed you, it had nothing to do with tuition, losing your scholarship, or any of that shit. That was as honest as it gets.”

  “You demanded it as payment! How does that count?”

  He lowers his mouth to mine, stopping only an inch away. “Because you wanted that kiss as badly as I did. Tell me that wasn’t the beginning of everything for us. That was our foundation.”

  “But we both—” I start to protest.

  “We both fucked up. We both lied. We both kept secrets. Hid the truth. However the hell you want to describe it, neither of us is innocent here. Fuck, is anyone ever truly innocent? The real crime would be throwing away everything we have now.” His blue eyes plead with me to agree.

  He’s right. Neither of us is innocent.

  How can I hold it against him that he knew about the agreement but didn’t tell me, when I didn’t tell him about it to begin with? We’re both at fault. We both share the blame. And at the end of the day, even knowing what I know now, I still love him.

  “Tell me I didn’t lose you, Justine.”

  I swallow because any feelings of betrayal I had have drained away. “You didn’t lose me.”

  “Thank fuck.” Ryker crushes his lips to mine and for long moments, nothing exists but this kiss.

  When he finally pulls away, he stares down at me. “I swear to God, there’s nothing else. No more secrets. I’m done hiding anything from you.”

  “Me too.”

  In my ear, he says, “But that means you need to know that my parents are both unemployed, my free ride to law school is gone now that my dad’s no longer a trustee, and I’m going to have to take out student loans to cover the rest.”

  I pull back and can’t help but laugh. “Sounds like we’re not all that different, are we?”

  “We’ve never been all that different, Justine. Ever.” His lips find mine again, and anything else I have to say is lost to his kiss.

  The rest of the world might be spinning out of crazy control, but this I understand. This, I will always understand.

  Epilogue

  Ryker

  Eighteen months later

  “Where are we going?”

  I’m leading Justine down a sidewalk, but with the blindfold over her eyes, she can’t see a damn thing. I turn her in the direction I want her to be facing, and pause. I really fucking hope she likes this.

  I pull the blindfold away from her eyes and point across the street. “There. That’s where we’re going.”

  She blinks twice and confusion is clear on her features—until she sees the sign.

  Porter Law Clinic

  Justine’s head jerks around toward me. “What is that? Did you do that?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I did that.”

  She looks from me to the sign and then back to me again. “Are you serious?”

  The surprise and excitement and disbelief on her face is everything I wanted to see. As a matter of fact, it’s the same expression she had when the university’s mail room tracked her down to let her know they’d been holding a letter for over a month that was sent to the dorm she lived in during our first year of law school—the last address her Gramps had for her.

  The life insurance check wiped out everything she owed my father and enough to cover the rest of her tuition for the year. She graduated debt-free, summa cum laude, just like she and her gramps had dreamed about. I was proud as hell of her.

  I was also proud when she got her job at Legal Aid after we both found out we passed the bar exam, and I started clerking at the court of appeals. But three months ago, budgets were slashed and Justine’s position was cut. I expected her to be brokenhearted, but that wasn’t the case. She finally admitted she’d been frustrated for months because of all the bureaucracy involved in her job, and she wasn’t making the difference she’d hoped to make.

  She told me about her new dream—to have her own firm. To help clients who didn’t qualify for low-income assistance but couldn’t afford to pay for big-firm help. She wanted no rules except for the ones she put in place herself.

  So she started working out of our condo—the one she’d moved into with me shortly after my father’s press conference. However, meeting clients at Unwired wasn’t exactly the most glamorous option.

  So I decided to make her dream a true reality.

  “You want to see the inside?”

  “Are you nuts? Of course I do.” She presses both hands to her face and looks from the sign to me again. “I can’t believe it’s real. You did this. I can’t believe . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  I thread my fingers through hers and pull her across the quiet street to the front door of her new office. Fishing the keys from my pocket, I hand them to her. I even picked out the keychain specifically for her—it’s a small Wonder Woman Pez dispenser.

  Her laugh echoes down the street, and it’s my favorite sound.

  “Really?”

  “You think that Wonder Woman costume was forgettable? No way in hell.”

  Her hand shakes as she pushes the key into the lock and turns it. The glass door opens, and we step inside the small waiting area.

  “If you hate the furniture, they’ll let us swap it out for something different.” I picked simple chrome-and-black chairs with a matching receptionist’s desk.

  She’s practically bouncing with excitement when she unlocks the door to the interior office and peeks into the two small conference rooms and two offices. The biggest office has two desks facing each other.

  Justine looks at me in confusion.

  “I thought you might want a partner in crime.”

  Her eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

  I nod. “There’s no one I’d rather work with, baby.”

  “But you don’t want to work at a firm.” She’s only half right.

  “I didn’t want to work at a big firm, but you sold me on making a difference. Let’s do it together.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Justine throws herself at me and I lift her up in my arms.

  “I love you so much. Thank you for this.”

  “I’d do anything for you.”

  When I finally set her down, she g
oes through the office, opening every door and drawer. Her squeals of excitement reassure me that I made the right decision.

  Now, I just can’t wait to see what she says when she finds the bride Pez dispenser with the ring box . . .

  The End

  Keep reading for a glimpse of my newest addictive alpha, Lincoln Riscoff, in Richer Than Sin, which is available now, by tapping on the title.

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  A Riscoff and a Gable can never live happily ever after. Our family feud is the stuff of legends.

  Ten years ago, Whitney Gable caught me off guard with her long legs and grab-you-by-the-balls blue eyes.

  I didn’t know or care what her name was.

  Like any Riscoff man worth the family name, I went after what I wanted. And we burned like a flash fire until she married another man.

  She hates me, and she should.

  I objected on her wedding day.

  Now she’s home, with those same long legs and man-eater stare, but there’s no ring on her finger.

  They say a Riscoff and a Gable can never live happily ever after . . . but I’m not done with Whitney Gable.