by Harlow James
“Okay. Tessa, please make those calls for me and start on the debrief for the Young case,” I call out to her after she leaves the room.
“On it!” she yells back as Byron Kennedy, my boss and owner of the firm where I work, comes down the hall.
“Judge Matthews, what brings you here today?” He reaches out to shake his hand as my father reciprocates.
“Byron. Pleasure to see you as always. Just here to take my daughter out to lunch. I hope she’s been working hard and living up to the family name.”
“Nonsense. Sydney is fantastic. I know I can always count on her to pick up the slack when I need her.” He winks in my direction as I fake a polite smile. I love my boss, I do. But I have a complex about saying no and he knows it. And I’m fairly certain he uses it to his advantage. Most of the other lawyers don’t put in extra time like I do, although I am single and don’t have a family waiting for me at home like the others do.
“That’s my girl. Ever the team player. Alright, darling. Let’s get going. Nice to see you, Byron.” I grab my purse as my dad places his hand on my back and leads me out of the office. He offers to drive us both, but I insist on taking my own car so I can leave if need be.
As the waiter fills our water glasses and my father orders a scotch, I unfold my napkin and place it on my lap, preparing myself for the lecture I’m about to receive. Even though I want to believe that this lunch invitation was one that doesn’t have an agenda attached to it, history has deemed that to be unlikely.
Here’s the thing. George Matthews doesn’t yell and intimidate his family into behaving the way he wants us to. No. He uses a delicate manipulation tactic that makes you think your way of thinking is always wrong. I’m not saying that my stepfather doesn’t love me, I know he does. He took me in as his own when he married my mother, knowing that her three-year-old daughter was part of the package deal. But after formally adopting me and changing my name to his, he took his role as a father and protector very seriously. He’s adamant about upholding the Matthews name in a certain light, and if something threatens to derail that standard, he’s not afraid to let you know about it.
My father lifts his glass to his lips, but speaks before he takes a sip. “So how are things?” I watch the amber liquid swish in his glass before I answer.
“Um, fine. Good, actually.”
“Have you seen any more suspicious activity around the firm? What about your condo?”
I shake my head, reaching for my glass of water, quenching my thirst as my throat grows dry. “No. But I haven’t been sleeping well again.”
“I’m sorry that my job has made you fearful, Sydney. I can increase your security detail if that makes you feel better?”
“No, it’s fine. I think it was just that case that caused the irrational behavior from the community. But I actually was thinking about doing something to make me feel safer when I’m on my own.”
His eyebrows raise as he waits for me to continue. “Is that so?”
My head bobs up and down in acknowledgment. “Yes. First, I applied for my concealed carrier’s permit.”
“Well, as a resident of the great state of Texas, I’m surprised you waited this long for that God-given right.”
I struggle to refrain from rolling my eyes at the gospel spoken in our state. “Yes. Well, I think I’ll feel better knowing I’m armed at all times. But I was also thinking about taking a self-defense class.”
“All women should know how to defend themselves adequately. In fact, I’m angry I didn’t think of this sooner. I’ll contact Samuel and have him set something up.” He reaches for his pocket and fetches his phone, most likely to text Samuel, our head of security.
My father may only be a judge, but he comes from a very wealthy family that has made a fortune in the oil industry and by managing investments. So when I say we have a head of security, I’m not joking. There’s about twenty different men that tail me, my parents, and my brothers at any given time. And after the threat that was made to my life a few months ago, my personal team has grown by four.
Wanting to stand tall and advocate for myself, I clear my throat to interrupt him. “I actually already found a place.”
“Oh?” he says, as more of a question, shock lacing his voice as he rests his phone on the table. “And where is this place you deem fit?”
I sigh. “Dad. I know you want to protect me, and I love you for that. But I’m twenty-eight years old and am capable of making decisions for myself. You can’t protect me forever.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Sydney.” His refusal to acknowledge my declaration does not go unnoticed.
“The Elite Gym over on Madison.” I cringe, anticipating my father’s reaction.
His jaw clenches as he grits his teeth, displeasure seeping through his pores. “Madison? You mean on the other side of town?”
“Yes,” I confirm, knowing what’s going to come next. “The reviews online were stellar and it would be easy to stop by on my way home from work.”
“So, rather than let my elite team of professionals equip you with the skills to defend yourself, you’d rather sulk into the very community whose gangbangers threatened your life and let them teach you instead?” His skin is turning red from the fury building in his body, a telltale sign that I need to anticipate any unwelcome reaction coming my way.
“Dad,” I whisper, reaching across the table to rest my hand on his, attempting to bring his blood pressure back down. “I need to do this. I need to feel some sort of control in these circumstances. Surely, you can understand that.”
“All I know is that you are my daughter and I want what’s best for you. You may think you can take care of yourself, Sydney. But there are certain protections that money can provide. Andrew’s family can do the same for you.” There it is—the pushpin seeping its way into the conversation that I felt was the intent of this lunch.
“What does Andrew have to do with any of this?” I fire back, leaning away from him in my chair now, preparing to wage this battle for the umpteenth time.
“I’m just wondering when you’re finally going to accept the fact that you belong together?” His hand draws his glass back up to his lips.
I shake my head at him, seething with irritation. “You make it sound like we’re living back in the days where daughters’ hands were handed down in business arrangements, complete with dowries.”
“Nonsense. I just know compatibility when I see it.”
“Well, maybe you need to get your eyes checked then.”
“Sydney, Andrew and his family can offer you the same type of security that I can. And he’s voiced his interest in you countless times. He’s the type of man you should be looking for. It’s time for you to start thinking about your future.”
“Boy. What an archaic way of telling me that I’m not getting any younger.” I cringe as a boulder of unrelenting defeat rests in my stomach. This same issue has been clouding every interaction with my father lately. And while deep down I want to believe that a part of him just wants me to be taken care of, another part aches for him to see that I’m capable of doing this, or anything really, on my own.
Our waiter comes back to the table, volleying his eyes between the two of us, taking in the palpable tension. “Are we ready to order?”
I stand and remove my napkin from my lap, placing it calmly on the table even though my true desire is to throw it down. “I’m no longer hungry.”
“Sydney …” my father warns, as we participate in a silent stare-off.
“I need to get back to work. Next time you decide to surprise me, make sure it’s worth my time. I love you, Dad … but this manipulation tactic is getting old. I will be taking classes at Elite, and if it makes you feel better, you can have your team follow me every minute of the day. They can track my pee schedule and when I brush my teeth for all I care. But I’m standing firm on this. And most importantly, stop trying to push Andrew on me.”
I turn on my heel, lift my chin
high in the air, and stride out of the restaurant as sweat drips down my back, ruminating on the fact that I stood up to my father in a public setting and I know it was the least appropriate time to do so. But I’ll be damned if I listen to his old-fashioned values and suggestive control anymore. There will surely be consequences from my actions, but I can’t think about that right now. As my ankles threaten to buckle on each step to my car, the shakiness of my hands subsides once I grip my steering wheel and crank the engine, returning to my office to do the job that I was born to do.
Chapter 4
Javier
“Jesus Christ. What the fuck did you bring me to?” My eyes scour the room as I take it all in, trying to avoid a brain aneurysm from the flashing lights and country music blaring through the speakers.
The old, open air barn has been converted into one of the biggest displays of country culture I have ever seen, and I can’t decide if I fucking hate it, or it’s one of the most genius ideas ever and I’m pissed I didn’t come up with it.
As we step through the doors after our IDs were checked and hands were stamped, we’re immediately greeted by a long, wooden bar where twenty-something girls in cut-off shorts and equally small tops run around filling drink orders left and right, the sound of cash drawers slamming ring out over the music. And as far as the eye can see, other bars line walls and glossy wooden dance floors where cowboy boots scuff the ground as couples spin and two-step along to the beat.
Steel beams are exposed in the ceiling accompanied by HVAC ducts blowing stark cold air conditioning in the room to combat the Texas humidity outside. The walls are covered in ship-lap, giving that country feel to the 100,000 square-foot space. To the left of the entrance is the gate that opens up to the bull riding arena. Yes, there is a fucking bull riding arena in this bar, and right behind that is the tunnel that leads to the full restaurant, serving up authentic Texas barbeque.
“Now this is just what we needed!” Selena squeals as she threads her arm through her friend, Claudia’s, and they descend the small flight of stairs to reach the main floor. The four of us remain close as we weave through the crowd and make our way to a bar on the right side of the room. Neon signs flash and hover from the ceiling, directing you to different areas of ‘the world’s largest honky tonk’, or for me, my worst fucking nightmare.
“This definitely isn’t what I needed,” I mutter in her ear as we take up residence along a bar, waiting for a server to acknowledge us.
Selena turns around and shoots me a sour glare. “Yes you did. Look, I know this isn’t your typical scene …” she says and I scoff sarcastically. “But we’re here to let loose and get out of the house. So relax, big brother, and at least admire the eye-candy,” she teases as a short, Latina woman struts by us in shorts that barely cover her ass and long black hair that is practically kissing her butt cheeks as well, her eyes landing on mine as a shit-eating grin spreads across her lips.
I throw my chin in her direction with a smolder I reserve for the ladies before she turns back around and continues to walk away from me, but I take the moment to memorize her ass in case we run into each other again.
“See? Plenty of ass to keep you occupied.” She swats my chest playfully as the bartender comes over and takes our order. As I declared earlier in the week, I will not be drinking tonight. The risk of getting out of control is not worth it to me, so I settle on a Coke while Andre, my sister, and Claudia all order their poison of choice.
“I know you don’t exactly want to be here,” Andre speaks into my ear so I can hear him, “but I’m glad you didn’t leave me alone with these two.” He gestures over to my sister and her friend, the same one that has been trying to get in my pants for years. Claudia is a sweet girl and works at my sister’s salon, but she’s never been more to me than a pseudo sister I felt the need to look after. Unfortunately, that line was one I never felt the desire to cross, and I hate that I can see the disappointment in her eyes when I shoot her down repeatedly.
“What? You didn’t want to be the token Black guy in the country bar?” I nudge his shoulder with my own as we both take a sip of our drinks, watching the hordes of cowboys strut by us.
“I will always be that guy,” he chides. “But now you can be the token Hispanic guy with me. And you know I do this shit for your sister.”
I rest my palm on his shoulder. “I know. You’re good to her. You better always be too, or I might just have to kick your ass and go back to jail.”
“Shut the fuck up, man. You know she’s my life.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Boys!” Selena shouts, running over to us with Claudia at her side. She’s already at the bottom of her drink and we’ve only been standing here for a few minutes, so I know the alcohol is already hitting her. “Claudia and I want to dance. Let’s start heading toward the dance floor.”
I groan and roll my eyes as Selena grabs Andre’s hand, Claudia reaches for mine, and I let her drag me along, mentally preparing to have to let her down easy later when she comes on to me for the thousandth time, and then we follow my sister and her husband through the crowds toward the largest dance floor in the building.
A white-washed, two-rung wooden fence frames the floor with breaks in the slats to allow people to float in and out. Couples hold hands and slide along, rocking their hips and kicking their heels and toes of their boots along the polished wooden floor.
“Hurry! Snag that table!” Selena shouts as she practically dives for a table with four stools around it just as a couple leaves their seats.
“What if they’re coming back?” Claudia asks.
“You snooze, you lose,” Selena sing-songs as we place our glasses on the surface. “Come on, babe. Dance with me.” She pouts her lips at my best friend as I watch for his reaction, enjoying the fuck out of watching him squirm. She’s pleading and holding his hands while bending over to provide a view of her cleavage for him. She may be my sister, but I’m impressed with her persuasion skills.
“Fuck, babe. Fine.” Andre rolls his eyes as he rights his jeans when he stands. Glowering at me over his shoulder, he tells me with his eyes not to say a word. And I laugh, because I may not give him shit tonight, but I’m definitely going to get my jabs in about this later. “Watch the table. You know as well as I do if it gets snagged, Selena is going to have your balls.”
I chuckle while I sip my Coke. “Noted. Go. Dance with your wife.” I watch the smile on my sister’s face light up the entire bar, the gesture so normal that no one would think anything of it. But I do. Because I know that smile wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t what I did for her.
“Do you wanna dance, Javi?” Claudia purrs next to me, turning my attention over to her.
“Sorry, girl. I’m on table watching duty, didn’t you hear?”
She licks her lips and then starts to walk away from me backwards. “Too bad.” Turning around to give me a view of her ass, she marches on to the dance floor, but not before giving me a predatory wink over her shoulder. Fuck, when is this girl gonna realize I’m not interested?
I don’t have time for females and their issues right now anyway. Relationships never have been and probably never will be my thing, unless I find some woman who can handle the fact that I come with a chip on my shoulder and flare for violence.
Of course, that was the old me, not this new version I’m trying to be. But that inkling to always be looking over my shoulder, assessing the room and any possible threats to the people closest to me, the need to stand up to people who think they know who I am or what I’m capable of because of where I live or how I grew up—I don’t know if those intuitions and memories will ever leave my mind. I think people are capable of change, but there are certain inherent behaviors that are born within us that you can’t possibly overcome.
As I watch the couples dance on the floor, the song changing from a slow one to something more upbeat, a wave of anxiety radiates from my chest. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong here. This isn’t my scene, a
t all. Hell, I’m in a country bar wearing black jeans, Nikes, a gray t-shirt, and my black ball-cap on backwards. I stick out like a sore thumb, clearly indicated by the confused looks I’m getting from every white cowboy in his Levi’s walking past. The urge to pick a fight builds in my veins, a strong need to be on the defense in case someone chooses to run their mouth to me. And then I’ll be in a situation where I’ll have to decide if shutting the fucker up is worth me having to appear before a judge and defend my behavior once again.
Just as I glance over to check on Andre, Selena, and Claudia, a body barrels into me from behind, forcing my glass of Coke to crash onto the table, the dark brown liquid running off the surface and straight into my lap.
“Fuck!” I jump up, rage coursing through me as I turn around, ready to fucking punch someone. But the hunched over woman giggling stops me in my tracks when I take in her drunken state.
“Can you not watch where you’re going?” I bellow over the music.
But then her head pops up and her smile falls as soon as she sees the wet spot over the crotch of my jeans. As her eyes dance up my torso and land on my face, a spark of recognition ignites and then my brain searches through the filing cabinets of my memory, locating where I know this face from, how those aqua eyes are eerily familiar.
And then it hits me as soon as her friend comes rushing up to her, reaching for her torso and standing her up straight as they both sway on their feet.
“Sydney! Jesus Christ, woman. That’s it, you’re cut off,” the friend chastises as Sydney blinks, releasing her focus on me.
Sydney. Fucking. Matthews.
Miss Perfect, the valedictorian of our graduating class, homecoming and prom queen and all-around good girl is drunk off her ass. And I just got my drink spilled in my lap because of it.