The One You Can't Forget

by Roni Loren

  She licked her dry lips, dragging her gaze from the gun to focus on the kid. On his eyes. She’d seen remorseless eyes, empty, cold gazes. Steven’s were brimming with emotion.

  She lifted her palm as if trying to calm a startled animal. “I know you’re not going to hurt me. That’s why I’m here, even though the cops don’t want me to be.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he whispered, looking down.

  “I believe you. I’m going to come closer, okay?” she said carefully. “I need you to promise me you won’t move the gun. I have a phobia about them, and I can’t promise I won’t freak out on you if you move it around.”

  He glanced up at that, guilt there, and nodded. “I won’t.”

  She approached him with painstaking steps, and when she was within about three feet of him, she lowered herself to the floor. Her eyes wanted to zero in on the gun, but she knew if she did, she’d lose her grip on staying in the moment.

  “I don’t want to go to jail,” he said as if to himself.

  “I know, honey.” She settled onto the cold tile floor as best she could. She lifted her phone. “I’m going to tell the police I’m in here and okay.” She spoke into the phone and then told them she needed a minute. She put it on mute. “Okay, they can’t hear us right now. Tell me what happened. Just you and me talking. I’m not wired, and I don’t have to tell because I’m your lawyer.”

  Steven shook his head, tears tracking down his cheeks. “I shot him.”

  “I know, but what happened?”

  He wiped a hand down his face. “He was so…angry. He came home early and caught me packing. I should’ve played it off, but I was just…over it. I told him I wasn’t coming back, and no one was going to make me because he was an abusive asshole and that he was going to lose his job. It was such a dumb thing to say. He knew I’d reported him again when I said that. He lost his shit. Told me at least if he was going to get reported, he should make it count. He punched me and knocked me down. I was dizzy, but I managed to get to my feet. He was coming for me again. I thought he was going to kill me.”

  His voice caught there, and he had to take several breaths before continuing.

  “I ran to the kitchen, and when I saw he’d left his gun on the counter after he’d gotten home, I grabbed it and racked the slide. I didn’t want to shoot him. I just wanted him to feel what it was like to be that scared. I told him to back up, to leave me alone. But he charged and grabbed for the gun. It went off, or I pulled the trigger. I don’t even know. It was all so fast.” His words stuck in his throat at that. “Is he… Did he…”

  Rebecca took a steadying breath. “I don’t know. Last I heard, he was in surgery.”

  Steven pressed his palm over his eyes, crying. “I don’t want him to die. I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

  “I know,” she said, trying to keep a soothing tone. “I know that’s what you want. And I can help you with that, but in order for me to do that, I need you around. We can build a case, Steven. You were abused. You felt threatened. It was self-defense. Your father will probably survive, and the charge will be less. There are a lot of things working in your favor. But suicide is the worst answer. That way, he wins.”

  Steven lowered his hand and looked down at the gun in his right hand, a dark look in his eyes. “He always wins anyway, so what’s the point?”

  She shook her head. “The point is he’s never met me before. I take personal issue with the bad guys winning, and I’m not afraid of bullies. I can’t promise you a certain outcome, but I can promise you that I will give everything I have to fight for you. And it’s not just me. I have loads of lawyer friends who can help us out. Plus, Chef G will have your back. He’s seen the bruises. He’s been worried about you for a long time but didn’t have enough evidence to report. You have people in your corner rooting for you.”

  She reached out to touch him, but he jolted, the gun automatically going to his temple.

  “Don’t,” he warned.

  She heaved in a breath and lifted her palm in surrender, a head-to-toe tremor working its way through her. “Please. I wasn’t trying to take the gun. I wouldn’t do that. Please point it down again. You’re scaring me.”

  Guilt flickered in his gaze, and he held her stare for a long moment, but then he slowly lowered the gun.

  Her phone buzzed. The line had dropped, and Wes’s name lit up her screen. “I need to answer that. It’s Wes checking on us, okay?”

  Steven nodded. She hit the speakerphone button.

  “Tell me you’re both okay,” Wes said. “The police line dropped.”

  “We’re okay,” she said.

  “I don’t think I can go out there, Chef G,” Steven hiccupped. “It’s too late. I’ve done too much.”

  Rebecca’s heart had lodged in her throat, and she could barely breathe after the swift move with the gun, but she managed to maintain her outward composure. “It’s not too late, Steven. You’re only sixteen. We all make mistakes.”

  He scoffed. “Sure. I’m sure lots of teenagers commit crimes and possible murder and come back from that.”

  “You can come back from this,” Wes said, his voice crackling on the line.

  But Steven wasn’t listening. They were losing him. He was getting knotted up in his own tangled thoughts.

  Rebecca swallowed past the tension in her throat but didn’t look away from Steven. I’m sure lots of teenagers come back from that. She forced herself to ignore the open line on the phone and did the only thing she could think to do to get Steven’s attention. “What if I told you that when I was sixteen I did something that helped lead to many people’s deaths?”

  Steven’s attention jerked her way, his brows low. “What?”

  Her throat wanted to close up, but she pushed past the automatic roadblock. She needed to say what she’d only ever said to her father. “I’ve only told one other person this, but once upon a time, I was friends with one of the Long Acre shooters. Secret friends, but friends. And one day, to save my own image, I humiliated him in a way that I know he never came back from, a way that helped turn him toward the choice he made the night he killed so many of my classmates.”

  Steven’s lips parted.

  “I’ve lived every day knowing that I did this horrible thing,” she said, her chest tight with anxiety. “No, I couldn’t be put in jail for it, but I’ve been where you are. After it happened, I didn’t want to go on. Ending my life seemed like the only option. But when I took a bottle of pills to make that happen, my dad caught me. And I promise you, my first thought when I got to the hospital was, Please don’t let me die. I changed my mind the instant I realized I might not make it. That gun”—she nodded at the weapon in his hand—“isn’t going to give you that option. It’s so fast, so final, you won’t get the chance to take it back.”

  He looked down, his shoulders shaking with his soft crying.

  “I’m not going to pretend that I’m past what happened back then, that I’m not still eaten up by guilt. I am. Every day,” she said. “But I’m not sorry that my dad caught me with the pills. I cherish every day of my life because I know how easily it could’ve been taken away, first by the shooting, then by my own hand. And I’m trying in my own way to make up for the bad decisions I made back when I was in high school. You can do that, too. Use your life for something good. You can have another chance. Have this be a beginning instead of an ending.”

  Steven lifted his head. His eyes were puffy from the tears, but a glimmer of yearning was there.

  That was all she needed. Hope. A sign that he wanted to live. She nodded at the gun. “Please put the gun down, Steven. I need you to trust me. We can walk out together. And yes, they’re going to take you to the police station. I can’t prevent that. But know that I’ll be there, too. We’ll start working tonight on how to get you out and get the truth told.”

  He
held her gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing. She could see the wheels turning in his head, the options being weighed, but finally his shoulders sagged. “I’m scared.”

  “I know. That’s okay.”

  He shifted, lifting the gun, its barrel flashing in her vision, but before she could freak out, he leaned forward and placed the gun on the floor in front of her.

  The tight knot of fear inside her released, letting her take a full breath. Ignoring the gun, she stood and put out her hand. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. I know a certain chef who’s going to be happy to see you.”

  Steven took her hand, his fingers clammy and cold against hers, and got to his feet on wobbly legs, tears dripping off his cheeks. Even though he was taller than she was, he looked small in that living room, hunched and young and on the verge of collapse. She wanted to hug him, tell him it was going to be okay, that the worst was over, but he didn’t need platitudes right now. He needed water, medical care, and a place where he could be safe. She could get him the first two right now. The third she vowed to make happen, no matter what it took. She put her arm around him, picked up her phone, and led him out.

  Steven lifted his hands above his head as he stepped through the front door, which looked to take all of the energy he had left. A rush of people came forward. The officers took him from her, cuffing him, and leading him away. She told him it was going to be okay, and he gave her a resigned nod of understanding. I’m trusting you.

  When they guided him toward a police cruiser, Wes ran to her and threw his arms around her. Even though she knew he—and who knows who else—had heard her confession, she couldn’t find the energy to stress about that right now. She just let herself be enveloped by the embrace.

  “Thank God. When the line went silent…” He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her tighter. “I think that was the longest few minutes of my life. Are you okay?”

  She returned the hug, leaning into the strength of him, adrenaline crashing. “I’m okay.”

  “Yeah?”

  She pressed her cheek to his chest, all the things she’d said inside opening up like Pandora’s box. He knew. People knew. “I’m not sure I’m okay.”

  Then she started crying and didn’t stop for a long damn time.

  chapter

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Rebecca sat in the waiting area of the police station Friday morning exhausted from having been up all night and hollowed out emotionally. She’d talked to Steven briefly and had wanted to make sure everything was being handled correctly, but now she could barely see straight. The realities of the night were settling into the cracks inside her, making them splinter more, breaking through the mental glue and tape and staples she’d used over the years to keep it all together. Every part of her was screaming silently.

  Wes walked in with a to-go tray of two steaming cups of coffee from the shop down the street and a paper bag. He handed her one of the coffees. “They didn’t have any breakfast sandwiches, but I got a few donuts. And sorry it took so long. I had to come in through a back door. A cop getting shot by his kid is big news, so the press is out there in full force. I also heard someone in the coffee shop mention that a Long Acre survivor was involved.”

  “Shit.” Dread settled deeper as she accepted the coffee. “This is going to blow up. I don’t want to be part of the news.”

  “Not something we can control, unfortunately.” Wes sat next to her and sent her a sidelong glance. “But that’s all they know about you right now. No one else heard the other stuff.”

  “What?”

  He stirred his coffee. “I didn’t know if you knew. What you told Steven. It was just me on the line. I didn’t have it on speaker because I couldn’t hear anything with all the racket outside.”

  She looked down. “Oh.”

  “So that, uh, information is safe with me.”

  The words hung heavy between them. He’d heard so much. How she’d hurt Trevor. Her suicide attempt. All of the ugly things she never wanted anyone to know. Before she’d gone into Steven’s house, Wes had said she owed him a conversation, but she doubted he still wanted that now. He was probably thanking his lucky stars she’d ended things last night. Who’d want to sign up for that kind of train wreck?

  “Any word on when you can see Steven again?” he asked, blessedly changing the subject.

  She cleared her throat. “I think I’m done for now. He needed to get some rest, so I told them to let him sleep. I also called a lawyer friend because I’m trained in this kind of law, but I’ve never practiced it. I’d feel better working with someone experienced. He said he’s willing to help.”

  “That’s good.” Wes tapped his fingers against the paper coffee cup. “If you’re free to go, I can give you a ride home. One of the cops drove me to my car. It’s parked out back.”

  She peeked over at him. The last time they’d been alone together, she’d sent him out of her house and straight to a bar. He didn’t owe her any kindness. But she needed to get out of this place, wash the night off, and get some rest. “That would be—”

  The door at the front of the station swung open and banged against the wall, cutting her words off and drawing both her and Wes’s attention.

  Her father burst into the lobby with a scowl on his face and his tie askew.

  Oh, shit.

  “Sir, can I help you?” the officer at the front desk asked.

  But her dad’s eyes were already scanning the area, his mission clear. His gaze landed on her and Wes, and his face reddened. “No, I’ve found who I was looking for, thank you.”

  “Incoming,” Wes said under his breath.

  Her father straightened his tie with brute force and strode over to her with that purposeful, command-the-room way he had. Like a king in his court, no matter where he went. He stopped in front of Rebecca, an examining gaze sweeping over her. “The news reports said you’re okay.”

  “I’m okay,” she said, too tired to put any emotion into it.

  “Good,” he said gruffly, betraying that maybe part of him had been truly worried. But that quickly shifted into his angry voice. “I can’t believe—What were you thinking, Rebecca? That piece of shit shot someone. He had a gun. And you just walk in?”

  “Dad, don’t talk about Steven like that,” she said, frustration entering her voice. “It’s a long story. And I can’t do this right now.”

  “Sir, Rebecca has been up—” Wes started.

  “The hell you can’t listen,” her father said, cutting Wes off like he wasn’t there. “You don’t make a man answer a middle-of-the-night phone call from the police about his only child and then tell him you don’t have time to talk.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to channel some semblance of energy to face her dad’s fury. He’d been worried. She could appreciate that. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You did scare me. And you’re still scaring me. Because I heard some other things from my contact at the news station that you better tell me real fast aren’t true.” He sent Wes a look that could strip the paint off the walls. “Will you excuse us so I can talk to my daughter?”

  Rebecca’s hand shot out and dug into Wes’s thigh. “No, he will not. Wes is staying.”

  Her father’s jaw clenched, and he dragged a chair over to sit and face them. “Fine. He can hear this too then. Might as well since it also concerns him.”

  Rebecca’s stomach rolled. “Dad, I think we should save whatever talk you’re about to give me for some other time somewhere else. I’m exhausted, and you’re clearly angry. We should—”

  “Your name is all over the news, Rebecca,” he said, ignoring her request.

  “I’m aware,” she said curtly.

  “At first it was the heroic story of local lawyer and Long Acre survivor Rebecca Lindt bravely going in to save a teen from a suicide attem
pt,” he said, his words stark and angry. “Then the truth came out.”

  “That is the truth, sir,” Wes said calmly, clearly not intimidated by her father’s blustering. “Rebecca did save Steven. You would’ve been proud. She was tremendously brave.”

  “Do not tell me what I should be proud of or what my daughter is,” her father said, sending Wes a hateful look. “The news is now reporting that my daughter, a lawyer in my firm, has agreed to represent a delinquent who shot a police officer. You better tell me this is bad reporting, Rebecca. I need to hear that right now. Say it.”

  Rebecca sat up taller in her chair, too exhausted and emotionally empty to give a flying fuck about her father’s temper tantrum. “That’s the truth. Steven was being abused. He shot in self-defense. I’m taking his case.”

  “You are not. I don’t care what this man’s put in your head. He’s got his own record, so I can’t say I’m surprised he’d swindle you,” her father said, eyeing Wes with disgust. “But I am not having my firm involved with this case. A cop killer.”

  “Steven’s dad is going to make it. This won’t be a murder trial,” she said, her anger bubbling hot.

  “That’s just dumb luck,” her father said, flicking a dismissive hand. “We know what his intention was. Do you know how this reflects on my campaign?”

  “Are you kidding me right now?” she said, whisper-yelling so the cops at the desk wouldn’t get a show. “This is a kid’s life, Dad. I know this boy. I’ve worked with him in Wes’s program. The charity project—”

  “Is a goddamned farce,” her father finished. “You’ve been used by this man. If I had known my money was going to some program that funded kids like this—delinquents, dangerous criminals—I would’ve never allowed it. My name and my firm will not be tied to that. I’m pulling the funding today.”

  Wes tensed next to her.

  “What?” Rebecca said, forgetting to keep her voice down. “You can’t do that.”