by K. C. Crowne
Especially my daughters.
A lump formed in my throat as I thought about the possibility that I could end up in prison. I wouldn’t be able to keep my promise then.
Elle
Whistleblower Believed to be Dead, Mayor Called in for Questioning
Lucy’s article hit my desk prior to printing early the next morning. She took the lead since I felt like maybe I was too close to all of it. I didn’t want to be accused of bias.
As I read the article, I knew it had been the right decision.
Jesus, Jeremiah. What’s going on here?
James Fitzhenry was believed to have been in the car found at the bottom of the lake. It was James’ car, and while the remains were pretty hard to identify in their current state, he was behind the wheel. He was missing. And his wallet had been found at the bottom of the lake too - with his ID in it.
The whistleblower who talked about Jeremiah taking bribes was likely dead. Sure, it could have been suicide, which wasn’t ruled out yet. But there was no indication that James was suicidal - especially since he’d agreed to work with prosecution regarding Jeremiah’s corruption and there was no note. He’d just bought the BMW found at the bottom of the lake not even a month prior. He’d also bought a new house and had booked a vacation to Tahiti next month.
Not that things couldn’t have gotten really bad at the last minute, but those weren’t the actions of someone who didn’t have a plan for the future. Which only made people question what was happening even more than before.
I closed my laptop, my eyes burning from staring at the screen for too long. I’d read and re-read the damned thing, looking for some flaw, something I could argue with and tell her she was wrong, that it couldn’t go to print. Because I wanted to believe it was wrong.
I wanted to believe Jeremiah was innocent.
Maybe everyone was right. I was too close to it.
I closed my aching eyes and leaned back in the chair, rubbing my temples.
“Please don’t tell my dad,” I begged, my voice slurring as I spoke. “He’ll kill me.”
Jeremiah sat behind the driver’s seat of his truck with a stoic look, staring straight ahead. “Elle, he’s going to notice.”
“Why? I can hide it,” I giggled like a little girl, and once I started, I couldn’t stop. Even I knew I was too drunk to hide it from anyone.
Jeremiah side-eyed me. I stopped laughing. That one look was enough to straighten me up, to almost sober me up. But not quite.
“What should I do?”
“You should walk in that door and tell him you’re sorry and that it won’t happen again. And you better mean it, because you’re too young to fuck up your life like this.”
“It was one party.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve never been drunk before.”
“Yes, but that’s how it starts. One party becomes another, and then another. I’m just grateful you didn’t get behind the wheel of your car.”
I had called him. I was smart enough to know I couldn’t drive. I could hardly walk. I knew if I called my dad, he’d scream at me the entire drive home. But Jeremiah would be more reasonable. He always seemed to be the most reasonable man I’d ever met. He was so easy to talk to, so understanding.
Even when he was angry, he was so handsome. His face was utter perfection. Some people might have thought he was too old, and he was technically too old for me - I was only sixteen. But I had a crush on him. It wasn’t just his good looks, though; it was also his kindness, the goodness I saw inside him. The fact that he was always there for me when I needed him to be.
Jeremiah’s truck lurched forward and stopped. I faced the front windshield, surprised to see that we were at my house already.
I let out an audible groan. “Can we go to the diner? Get me some coffee first?”
“No,” Jeremiah said sternly, undoing his seatbelt. “I’m not going to lie to your father, and neither are you. He’s a good man, Elle. He only wants what’s best for you.”
I rolled my eyes, but inwardly, I knew he was right. My father was a good man; he was just a bit too strict sometimes. If he could have put a tracker on me to know where I was at every minute of the day, I’m sure he would have.
I stayed in the car until Jeremiah walked around and opened my door. “Come on.”
My stomach roiled, partially from alcohol, partially from the nerves. I stared into Jeremiah’s eyes, begging him to let me wait a bit longer. But he took my hand and helped me from the car, steadying me on my feet as I wobbled.
He walked me to the front door.
He stayed with me.
We walked into the house together, and my father was already on his feet and at the door when we stepped inside.
“Elle? Where were you?” He looked at Jeremiah. “What’s going on?”
“She needs to tell you,” Jeremiah said. “Just remember that she called me for help instead of doing something that could have made things far worse.”
Dad’s eyes turned to me, anger in them. But not as much as I thought. No, there was an entirely different emotion in his eyes.
Disappointment.
And that hurt far more than him being angry at me.
“Elle?”
“Daddy, I’m sorry,” I mumbled, slurring my words. My legs wobbled, and Jeremiah was there to help hold me up. He was my rock. “There was this boy, Shane, and he was having a party and—”
“I thought you went to Josie’s,” Dad said, his eyes narrowing.
“I—I lied,” I admitted. “Josie is out of town visiting family.”
Dad’s fists balled up at his sides, and I didn’t need to finish. He knew.
“Just remember, Carl, she could have driven home drunk. She called me. She did the right thing, even if she fucked up. We need to make sure she knows she can come to us when she’s in trouble.”
My eyes filled with tears. I didn’t hear the rest of what Jeremiah said, but he didn’t mention what else had happened - how Shane Wilson had led me to his room and tried to have sex with me. I didn’t want to; I fought him. As soon as I got out of his bedroom, I dialed Jeremiah in tears.
I felt safe calling him.
I felt like not only would he not get me in trouble, he would help me.
My father would have helped me too, of course, but I didn’t feel comfortable calling him. I knew I’d get a lecture, and at that moment, I didn’t need a lecture. I knew I’d fucked up. I just wanted to go home and get into my own bed, where it was safe and there weren’t pervy boys trying to take my clothes off against my will.
The buzzing of my phone pulled me out of the memory. My heart raced as I tried to remember where I was and that I was no longer a scared sixteen-year-old girl in need of help. I picked up the phone, and saw it was Josie.
“Hello,” I croaked.
“Are you alright?” my best friend asked.
“Just tired…it’s been a long day,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink?” Josie asked.
God, did I…but I knew there was something else I needed to do instead. “I’m sorry, but I just want to go home. Like I said, long day, and I have one hell of a headache.”
“I’m sorry,” she sympathized. “Want me to bring you anything?”
“No thanks, but let’s have drinks soon, alright?”
“Of course, Elle,” Josie said. “Feel better.”
I hung up, feeling bad for not meeting my friend, but I needed to help Jeremiah. I dialed his number, and it rang so many times, I thought I’d get voicemail. But Jeremiah’s voice came from the other end of the line.
“Elle?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” I said, knowing full well I sounded weak and pathetic. I felt pretty weak, but I couldn’t go home and forget about all this. I needed to do something. “Can we talk?”
“About what?” Jeremiah sounded guarded.
“About what I can do to help you.”
He was quiet for a long t
ime before saying. “Elle, there’s nothing—”
“No, listen to me, Jeremiah. I know you’re innocent. There’s no way you could do the things you’re being accused of,” I insisted. “And I’ve got skills, I know how to dig deep for information. I can help you.”
“You don’t need to get involved in my business, Elle. As much as I appreciate it—”
“Think of the girls,” I reminded him. “Think about them. If you go to prison, who will take care of them? Their mother? Is she even around?” He was silent for a long time. “Jeremiah?”
“Yes.” He sounded annoyed. “I’m here. I’m just…I can’t let you get involved in this.”
“You didn’t have to get involved with my problems growing up, but you always did. You always helped me. Let me repay the favor. If not for you, then for the girls. Let me do this for them.”
I didn’t give him a chance to argue with me. I hung up the phone, packed up my computer, and grabbed my things. I locked the office, knowing full well that when I came back the next morning, all hell would break loose over Lucy’s article.
I needed to be prepared for anything. But that was tomorrow.
Tonight, it was all about trying to help clear Jeremiah’s name.
Jeremiah
“Dammit, Elle,” I muttered under my breath. I had half a mind not to answer the door, but I knew she would stand out there all night, knocking and calling out my name. She was as hard-headed as her dad had been.
I put Amelia down in the pack and play in the living room next to her sister. Neither baby was sleeping - they were both fighting it, even though it was obvious they were tired. They had been cranky all evening, their little eyes trying to close, but they kept on fighting for some reason. Every time I thought one of them was about to doze off, the other would start crying and wake her sister. They were feeding off each other, and likely feeding off my stress.
Why did I think I could be a single father? I suck at this, I thought, as the two babies cried and squirmed. I wanted to hold them both, snuggle them close and tell them it would all be okay. But I wasn’t sure if it would be and didn’t want to cause them more stress with my own discomfort.
“Jeremiah, I know you’re in there. I hear those babies,” Elle called loudly, punctuating her words with more knocks.
I sighed and headed for the door. I swung it open, and without an invitation, Elle walked inside, her laptop bag in one hand, her Michael Kors bag in the other.
“Let me at ‘em,” she said with a determined smile and a teasing chuckle. She dropped the bags on the floor and walked to the babies, picking up the loudest of the two, Amelia, and cradling her.
“Shh, sweet girl,” she whispered, rocking her and kissing the top of her head. Amelia quieted within a few seconds.
Damn, she was good.
I walked over and picked up Grace, who was whimpering but no longer crying. Once Elle had stepped into the room, the stressful energy vanished. It was like she re-set everything just by walking in a room.
I was jealous.
As if she read my mind, she said, “You’re too stressed. You need to relax, Jeremiah.”
“You keep telling me that, but it’s easier said than done,” I grumbled.
“How can anyone be stressed around these sweeties?” Elle said, running her hand over Amelia’s head and through her silky hair. The baby stared up at her with curiosity.
“You’re just so good with them,” I murmured. “You’ll make a great mother one day.” Elle visibly flinched as if my words had been a fist coming at her. “What? Did I say something wrong?”
“No, it’s just…” Elle nibbled her lower lip and refused to meet my gaze. “Well, I’ve always wanted to be a mother, but I fear it may not be in the cards for me. It’s a touchy subject.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I had no idea—I mean, I don’t know what your situation is, but there’s always adoption and…” Elle looked at me and I said, “Sorry. I should change the subject now.”
Grace’s little eyes began to close, and Amelia was already asleep in Elle’s arms. Just like that.
“No, it’s fine. It’s just, I’m not sure if I’ll meet the right guy, and if I do, either my career or the children will have to suffer. I’m not sure I can do both, not with how much I work.”
“I understand.”
Elle’s face fell, but she noticed Amelia asleep in her arms and a smile appeared on her face. “At least I can be a part of their life. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“Well, you’re always welcome to come over and help. God knows I need it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll always be around to help. You’ll never have to ask me twice to watch these little angels. Should we put them to bed in the nursery?”
“Yes, follow me,” I said, lowering my voice since Grace had just dozed off.
Elle followed me into the nursery, and we carefully put the babies down. Quietly, we snuck out of the room, and once we were back in the living room, I laughed quietly.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to do that.”
“Have you had a chance to eat?” she asked.
It seemed like an odd question, but I hadn’t had a chance to have dinner yet. “No, afraid not. You hungry?”
She nodded. “Yeah, but I was more worried about you. You’ve got a lot going on. Let me make you dinner?”
I was taken aback by her offer. No one had ever come into my home and offered to make me dinner. I scratched my beard. “Not sure if there’s much to work with.”
“That’s okay. I’m good at improvising,” she said with a shrug, heading to the kitchen before I could stop her.
She kept calling my daughter’s angels, but I had to wonder if she was one too.
Her hips swished as she hustled down the hallway, and my gaze fell to her ass. I couldn’t help it, though as soon as I realized what I was doing, I scolded myself.
It was hard to imagine she was the same little girl I helped Carl with all those years ago. She was no longer a precocious child; she was a woman - and a beautiful one at that. Both inside and out.
She’ll make a very lucky man very happy one day, I thought. If only I could find someone like her. Someone who loved my girls as much as she already did, who was as good with them as she was. Someone with a heart as big as hers.
I shook my head at myself. I shouldn’t be holding my best friend’s daughter up as the ideal woman for me, but it was true.
I needed to find me someone like Elle, but closer to my own age.
I followed her into the kitchen, and she was bent over, digging through one of the cabinets near the floor. Her skirt had risen, and I caught a glimpse of pink panties. My cheeks turned about as pink as the lacy fabric, and I had to adjust myself in my pants, turning away from her as I cleared my throat, announcing my presence.
“Where do you keep your skillets?” she asked, oblivious to the fact that I had caught a glimpse of her underwear.
“Uhh, check the dishwasher.”
“You’re not supposed to put those in the dishwasher!”
I heard the cabinet close, and it felt safe to turn around. After all, it would look pretty silly to be staring at a wall instead of looking at the person I was speaking to.
She was standing up, thankfully, and shooting me a disappointed look.
“What? I’ve been busy, I didn’t even think about it,” I defended. “I don’t always have time to breathe, much less wash dishes.”
Her frown disappeared, and a more sympathetic look replaced it. “I’m sorry, I should come over and help you more.”
“No, you shouldn’t. I’m a grown man and can take care of myself.”
“You’re also a single dad to two infants. It doesn’t make you less of a man to ask for help, Jeremiah.” She pulled out the skillet and shook her head but didn’t say anything more about it. She walked over to the fridge and pulled out something. “Make a shopping list, and I can pick things up for you tomorrow
after work and drop them off.”
“I can go to the grocery store myself.”
“I have to take Mom a few times a week anyway. It’s no bother, really.”
“It’s alright. I can handle the shopping, Elle. You just caught me in a bad time.” Yeah, because I’ve been spending so much of my time being questioned about crimes I didn’t commit.
She didn’t argue with me. I heard sizzling from the frying pan, and the smell of bacon hit my nose. I hadn’t really been hungry before that moment, but my stomach growled at the smell.
“Breakfast for dinner will have to do,” she announced. “Bacon and eggs, no biscuits or anything. Does that sound alright?”
“Yeah, it sounds perfect. Better than what I would have had on my own.”
She looked over her shoulder, and I hated that look of pity on her face. I hated that she felt sorry for me.
“Would you like a beer?” I asked, moving to the fridge.
“Sure, but you know I don’t drink much.”
“I know,” I said with a chuckle. “Ever since that lecture I gave you that night.”
She blushed cutely and turned away from me, focusing on the food. I handed her a beer and wandered to the kitchen table, where I popped open mine and took a big swig.
Elle finished cooking fairly quickly, plating the food and bringing it over to the table.
“My dad always loved breakfast for dinner,” she said, chuckling. “He always said, food is food, it doesn’t matter—”
I finished her sentence for her— “what time of day it is. It all goes down the same.”
“Yes! God, I miss his French toast. I don’t know what he did, but he did something that made it taste better than any I’ve had before.”
“Nutmeg and cinnamon in the egg mixture,” I said, taking a big bite. The food tasted delicious; the bacon was crispy but not overdone, just the way I liked it. Just the way Elle liked it too. We’d had breakfast together many times, when I’d stop by for a visit at her dad’s place early on the weekends.