I drift. In and out of nightmares. Breaking glass. Harsh laughter. Thin, reedy voices. Pounding on doors. My cries awaken me. And then I drift again.
In the haze of sleep, I imagine the bed dips. An arm wraps around me, holding me tight. A warm body spoons me, keeping me safe and warm. The deep rumble of a voice soothes me. A hand strokes my hair and brushes the tears from my cheeks. I cling to the dream. I try to remember the feel of the body pressed tight against mine, the rise and fall of a solid chest, the pounding of a heart in time with mine. I imagine I curl my fingers into his and hold his hand tight against my cheek as I am pulled under again. But this time I don’t dream.
When I awake, I am alone. The bed is cold, empty. The couch is bare.
Jake is gone.
Chapter 20
THOUGHT YOU WERE A FIGHTER
“Got bad news for you, Amanda.”
Monday morning, ten days after Jake and I broke up, still an emotional mess, I raise an eyebrow as Ray drops into the chair across from my desk.
“Is this in retaliation for me swapping out your Victorian monstrosity for my nice blue corporate couches over the weekend?” I lean back in my chair and give him a resigned look. “I already explained it to Penny, I need paying clients, and they’ll be expecting a professional firm with a corporate image. I’ve been too relaxed about everything. Letting things slide. I’ll never be successful if I don’t treat this like the serious business it is.”
“Old Amanda’s back.”
“Exactly. At least you understand. Penny gave me a hard time when I told her I wouldn’t be doing any more off-site witness interviews or lunches during work hours. You do your job. Penny can do her job. And hopefully, we’ll see some justice done and make enough money to pay the bills.”
“What about your pro bono cases?”
My eyes flick to the pile of cases on my credenza beside the empty space where Jake’s microwave used to sit, and I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’ll have to transfer some of them to one of the other attorneys in the community legal aid clinic. I need to free up some time for paying clients. Maybe after I show everyone I can make a success of the firm and we’re in the black, I can pick them up again.”
For a while, we sit in silence and then he says softly, “You miss him.”
And suddenly days of battening down the hatches and shoring up my heart are blown away in an unexpected and unwanted gust of sympathy from the one person who is supposed to be as hard as me.
Gritting my teeth, I stare down at my desk and blink the tears away. “Ray…” My voice cracks, breaks. I take a sip of coffee and follow it with a long, deep breath. “You said you had bad news. Let’s discuss that.”
“Right.” He tosses a disk on my desk and leans forward. “You asked me to find out why the women on the witness list you put together from the names you got from Jill Jackson suddenly started canceling their interviews and stopped returning your calls this week. I visited everyone on that list. No one will talk. And I mean no one. It’s like Farnsworth knew exactly who you were going to contact and got to them first. Some of them were definitely scared.”
“So, you’re saying he had the list? Maybe that’s what the intruder took when he broke in. The witnesses didn’t start clamming up until after Jake and I…” My throat tightens. “After the break-in.”
Ray leans back and crosses his ankle over his knee, brushing his thumb over his lower lip. “Could be. Or maybe someone hacked into your computer system. I’ll call a guy I know and get him to sweep the place for surveillance.”
“Sounds exciting for my humble little office.”
“Sounds fucking suspicious.” Ray leans forward in his chair. “You should be more worried.”
Swallowing hard, I shrug. “I would be, but to be honest, I’m thinking of giving up on Farnsworth…and my new firm. The things he’s done so far are only the start. Every day he files a new motion or makes a new request, or comes up with another way to make my life hell. I can’t keep up, and as we get closer to trial, it’s only going to get worse. Max’s in-house attorney has been helpful but I can’t call him every day. Farnsworth has all the resources of Farnsworth & Tillman, LLP behind him. I have me. Even if I hired someone to do the work, either contract lawyers or even a firm, the fees would kill me.”
Ray’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “You have Penny and me. You have friends and family. You have colleagues that left the firm. After everything that’s happened, all the work you’ve done, you’re going to let him win because you still can’t bring yourself to ask for help?”
Sweat trickles down my back. He makes it sound like it was an easy decision, but it has kept me up night after night. I’ve thought through all the options and possibilities but, in the end, although I may have a case, I am an unarmed, impoverished David to the Goliath that is Farnsworth & Tillman.
“No one could help me, Ray. Even if I asked.” With a sigh, I slide a check across the desk. “I settled Sandy’s case for her last week. There was just enough to cover office rent and expenses, your contract fee, and Penny’s salary. I don’t have the money from the house sale yet. I can’t take out any loans with Max’s loan outstanding. And, except for a few small cases I’m doing for a couple of the Redemption fighters, I have no more paying clients. The big case I’m doing for them, I’m doing for free ’cause they’re like family and they wouldn’t have been in that alley if it wasn’t for me.”
Ray frowns and leans back in his chair. “Thought you were a fighter too.”
My brow creases. Who is Ray to judge me? He doesn’t understand what I’m dealing with. He isn’t drowning under a sea of Farnsworth & Tillman embossed paper. He isn’t alone.
“I’m no fighter. I went through all that training. I suffered through Get Fit or Die. And for what? An intruder showed up at my office and what did I do? Did I rush into reception and knock him over with a double-leg takedown? Did I wrap him in a gogoplata? Did I hit him with a right hook? No. I locked myself in my office, screamed, and busted my microwave. There was a message in there for me. I’m an attorney. I should do what attorneys do, and really the best place for me to do that is in a big firm where I can work hard, bill high, and maybe one day make my parents proud.”
Ray studies me for a long, uncomfortable moment. “And Redemption?”
“I’m cleaning out my locker today. Even if I wanted to stay, it’s Jake’s gym. He trains there. He teaches there. Those guys are all his friends. They won’t want me around now.”
His response, a disdainful sniff, sets my teeth on edge.
“So that’s it. You give up. What about justice? What about the pro bono clients who think the world of you and who have nowhere else to turn? What about Pen? Did you know she left Farnsworth & Tillman on bad terms after storming up to Farnsworth’s office to give him a piece of her mind? How will she get another job without a reference? What about the next woman Farnsworth blackmails, and the next? Whether you like it or not, you created something here. Something you believed in. And you made others believe in it too. You can’t just walk away.”
He pushes himself out of the chair and stalks across the room. Just before he opens the door, he hesitates and then turns.
“Although you’re hell-bent on pushing people away, you are not alone.”
***
Saturday afternoon, after another hellish week fighting Farnsworth, fielding visits from the police about the break-in, managing workers sent by Jake to fix the door and install a security system, and dithering over whether to close up shop forever, I am awakened by my phone vibrating on the night table.
I pull the pillow over my head to block out the sound. No. This is the one day I need to catch up on my sleep if I’m to keep up the pace of long days and longer nights. I need a break. A big break. A quiet break.
But there is no respite from the noise just as there is no respite from the t
orrent of emotion raging through me. Even after two weeks, I can barely make it five minutes without thinking about Jake and what I did wrong.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Over and over and over again. If I had a flyswatter, I would get rid of the damn phone once and for all. Since I don’t have a flyswatter, I answer it.
Shayla barks my name into the phone and follows it with an angry string of questions. “Where are you? What are you doing? Why haven’t you picked me up? Did you forget we are going to the Redemption prefight barbecue this afternoon at Blade Saw’s house?”
Oh God. The barbecue. Last thing I want is to spend the evening with the Redemption fighters. Especially since Jake will likely be there. I give her my regrets.
She calls me a few choice names. I compliment her on her foul mouth. She tells me that’s nothing. If I don’t show, I’ll be getting a personal tour of her foul mouth because she’s gonna eat me alive. Even when I tell her I’m an emotional wreck because Jake and I broke up, she doesn’t relent. She tells me she’ll get me so drunk I won’t even remember his name. Oblivion. Alcohol style. Oh, and by the way, Jake is outta town on business.
Two hours later, we are drinking champagne on the terrace of Blade Saw’s mansion, secreted away at the edge of a lake, the grounds lush with acres of flower gardens and beautifully manicured lawn.
“Can’t fucking believe it,” Shayla says for the hundredth time since we arrived. “Lookit this place. You see Blade Saw wandering around in his old clothes at Redemption, all quiet and unassuming until he gets in the ring, and you would never think he runs the biggest distillery in the U.S.”
On Sandy’s advice, she has purchased an actual dress, a straight navy sheath with a thin white belt. On anyone else it might look plain, but Shayla is super fit and has an amazing figure. The belt highlights her tiny waist and the short, tight skirt showcases her long, lean legs. Low-rise pumps, straightened hair, and the faintest brush of makeup make her look almost girly. Too bad her discomfort is so evident. She constantly shifts from foot to foot and smoothes down the dress, although we haven’t once sat down. I silently dare Fuzzy to thump her on the back, but he hasn’t shown up yet.
“So you really did need a wingman?” I wave vaguely over her dress and she nods.
“Not good with the girly stuff. But I figure if I can’t get Fuzzy’s attention being me, I need to try something more drastic. You’re so girly it makes my teeth ache, so I thought you’d be able to help me out. Plus, Sandy’s easily distracted when there are guys around.”
“Maybe he’s just not the right guy for you.” I take a long sip of champagne and let the bubbles dance across my tongue. At least one part of me is enjoying the party. “Maybe you need a guy who likes you for who you are.”
Glass in hand, Shayla beckons to one of the waiters carrying a tray of what appear to be mini éclairs. Hurrah! As I reach for a little bundle of heaven, my thighs rub together in warning. I take only two. When the waiter raises an eyebrow, I take two more. Then I take six.
“I’m depressed,” I tell him. “Nothing is better for depression than high-calorie, cream-filled, chocolate-covered snacks.”
Another waiter refills my glass. I sip and sip and sip. I eat and eat and eat. My dress starts to feel tight and I wish I’d worn my sweats, always good in times of depressive episodes and extreme self-indulgence.
Cheers and laughter from the doorway draw our attention, along with calls of “Fuzz” and “Renegade.” Shayla’s smile fades and she pats her hair. My heart sinks and I pat my new belly.
“You said he was out of town.”
Shayla shrugs. “I lied. Don’t know what’s going on with you two, but whatever it is won’t be solved by staying away from each other. You can thank me later.”
My heart hammers in my chest as the cheers get louder. I twist the gold rope belt on my white layered chiffon dress and wish I were actually an angel so I could fly away.
“Hey, Shilla.” Fuzzy pushes his way through the crowd and then pulls up short in front of us. His gaze rakes over her and then he frowns. “How are you going to fight in that getup? Blade Saw is setting up a ring out back and everyone’s gonna have a go at taking Rampage down.”
“Well, damn.” Shayla deposits her glass on a nearby table and holds her hand out to me. “I’ve got my fight clothes in a bag in your car. I’ll go get changed.”
“I’ll come with you.” I pull my keys from my bag. “I need to get going.”
Fuzzy frowns. “You can’t leave now. The party’s just getting started. You gotta have at least one drink with me and then have a go at Rampage in the ring.” He and Shayla share a glance and then he snatches the keys from my hand and tosses them to her. Before I even finish my “hey” of protest, she is pushing her way through the crowd.
“That wasn’t nice.”
His face softens. “Not nice, but necessary.”
Catching his drift, I quickly change the topic. “So, did you notice anything different about her?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. She’s wearing a dress. Totally impractical for fighting.”
Clueless. Poor Shayla. Definitely not the guy for her. And maybe Jake isn’t the guy for me.
Before I can make a quick escape after Shayla, the crowd parts and I catch sight of Jake, breathtakingly gorgeous in his snug, ripped jeans and hand-tooled leather belt. His thick, gold hair curls just above his collar, broad shoulders straining against his linen button-down shirt.
And there is Sia. A dark sprite with wide green eyes, high cheekbones, and a full, generous mouth. She is gazing up at him and her heart is in her eyes.
And there is Jake’s arm around her shoulders, holding her tight against his side.
And here is my heart, squeezing in my chest so hard I can barely breathe. He didn’t waste any time.
Five minutes pass and then ten. Fighters join Fuzzy and me on the terrace. I make small talk but barely follow the conversations. Sweat trickles down my back. My head aches from too much champagne and too much tension and the effort of conversing when really all I want is to escape. Belatedly, I realize it doesn’t matter when Shayla brings the keys. I am in no condition to drive home.
When Fuzzy is called away to help set up the makeshift fight ring, I slip away from the party and wander through the mansion in search of Shayla. As I turn down yet another marble hallway, someone calls my name.
Jake.
Hope dies a second death today.
Within seconds he is in front of me, sweat beading his brow, his chest heaving as if he was just running. His face is a curious mix of puzzled alarm and irritated anxiety, but still so painfully beautiful to me, my heart squeezes and longing grips me so hard I can barely breathe.
“Where are you going?” Cold. Abrupt. To the point.
“Home. I’m trying to find Shayla. She’s got my keys.”
Jake studies me for all of three seconds and then frowns. “You are in no condition to drive.”
“I’m well aware of that. I’m going to call a cab, but I need my keys first; otherwise I won’t be able to pick up my car tomorrow.”
He scrapes his hand through his hair. “I’ll take you home.”
“I’d rather take a cab.”
“Still can’t accept help?” His jaw tightens and suddenly we’re back to the question game that so devastated me two weeks ago.
“This is who I am,” I say with a quiet voice that belies the turmoil inside. “I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. I learned to be independent and self-reliant by necessity. I learned to trust only myself because inevitably people let me down. You want me to give that up. You want both of my feet over the line. You want me to give myself completely to you. I tried, and it terrified me. Clearly, that’s just not something I can do.”
“People change.”
Shayla races past us wearing fight shorts and a spandex bra top. Her hair i
s scraped back into a ponytail and all traces of her makeup are gone. She tosses the keys to me and then yells “Rampage, you’re going down,” as she hits the patio, fist pumping in the air.
“Maybe on the outside they change,” I say to Jake as I tuck the keys into my purse and pull out my phone. “But at heart, they are always the same. We just have to find the person who will love us for who we are.”
“You think I let you down?” He looks at me aghast. “You think I gave up on you?”
“No. True to form, I did it all by myself.”
***
“’Manda! Where you been? You missed a lot of classes. Fuzzy is foaming at the mouth.” Rampage drops his duffel bag and gives me a big hug as I step through the doors of Redemption a few days after Blade Saw’s party. He is freshly showered and looking very unlike his fighter self in a pair of designer jeans and a fresh white shirt.
“Busy at work.”
“Poor ’manda.” He pats my head and the gentle gesture almost tips the bubbling cauldron of emotions I am so desperately trying to hide.
“Um…I just came to empty my locker and get you and the other guys involved in the Hellhole case to sign some documents. Are they around?” My heart pounds in fearful anticipation of encountering Jake. Although Shayla assured me he wasn’t going to be in tonight, I still can’t stop myself from shooting covert glances down the hallway and toward the locker room.
Rampage shakes his head. “Everyone’s gone to the Protein Palace. I’m heading there now if you want to join us.”
“Protein Palace?”
He throws an arm over my shoulders and leads me back to the door. “New establishment. Run by a coupla retired MMA fighters. Protein is their specialty—protein shakes, grilled meat, eggs, and every supplement you could want. Very popular, especially before big events since everyone is dieting and trying to make weight. They’ve decorated the place to look like a ’50s-style diner. You’re gonna love it.”
In Your Corner Page 25