Just Let Go

by Courtney Walsh

  “Did you even go home last night?” Grady asked, though he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t care how many hours this guy had been on duty.

  “I did. Came back this morning when one of my deputies called to tell me something that happened in our little town was trending on Twitter.” He said it with disdain.

  “What?” Grady sighed. “Great. That’s just what I need.”

  “Figured. I did a little digging. You’ve been having a heckuva year.”

  He didn’t need the reminder. “Is my manager here? Did he call? Name’s Pete Moran. I called him last night.”

  “Sorry, son. No calls for you unless you count the reporters that have flocked to town.” He walked over to the computer sitting on an oversize metal desk just outside the cell. He turned the monitor around to reveal a paused news video, enlarged to fit the entire screen. He hit the space bar, and there was footage taken from inside the diner the night before. Judging by the angle, it was one of Jimmy’s friends who shot the video and probably uploaded it to his social media accounts while Grady was standing outside on the sidewalk, the blood on his lip still fresh.

  “Turns out, you’re kind of a big deal.”

  The crawl on the bottom of the screen read Latest in a long line of disasters for Olympic skier Grady Benson.

  Images of Grady’s wipeouts from the last three competitions flashed across the screen. He could still feel the pain that screeched through his body as he fell, his dreams of a comeback dashed away in a split second.

  He’d been working to get stronger, to fix his mistakes ever since. But after this past weekend’s poor showing, he was starting to believe the press. Was he really washed up? Was he done skiing forever? And if so, where did that leave him now?

  His thoughts turned to Benji. His brother was counting on him—he owed it to him to do better. So why did he keep messing up?

  The computer screen flashed to a newscaster on the sidewalk outside the turquoise-colored restaurant, Hazel’s Kitchen. She was standing next to the wild-haired waitress from last night.

  The bottom of the screen read Betsy Tanner, owner, Hazel’s Kitchen.

  She was the owner? He’d send her a check. A big one.

  The reporter held a microphone and turned toward Betsy. “Miss Tanner, I understand this was a lot of excitement for Harbor Pointe last night. I suppose you don’t often have fights like that break out—with Olympic athletes, no less.”

  Betsy pushed her glasses up and looked into the camera—uncomfortably. “I waited on Mr. Benson and he was perfectly kind. I think there must’ve been some kind of misunderstanding.”

  “And the damage to your property?”

  “We’ll get it fixed.” Betsy smiled. “I just hope Mr. Benson recovers so he can get back to doing what he does best. We’d sure miss seeing him on the slopes at the Winter Games.”

  That woman should be furious with him; why was she defending him—to a reporter no less?

  “Would you mind turning it off?”

  The sheriff paused the video. Grady sat back down on the cold metal bench in his cell. “So, what now?”

  “Wait to see a judge, I suppose. Sounds like they’re going to bring you over yet this morning.”

  Grady reached up and felt his swollen, cracked lip. He probably had a black eye to go along with it. Oh yeah, he’d make a great impression on a judge.

  The door of the station opened, drawing the sheriff’s attention.

  “Is that Pete?” Grady stood, hands on his hips, ready to lay into his manager for taking his sweet time getting there.

  “No, son, that’s just Quinn.”

  His eyes followed the sheriff’s toward the front of the space, where he saw the pretty blonde from the night before setting a tall vase of flowers on the front desk.

  “Arlene loves daisies,” she said with a smile. “Thought this place could use a little brightening up.”

  “Your face does that,” the old man said.

  She started toward him, carrying a small bag with a logo on the side that said Hazel’s Kitchen and a cup of coffee. “You’re not biased or anything.” Her glance at Grady was a passing one, barely a footnote in her mind—like she had no idea who he was, nor did she seem to care.

  The sheriff pulled the girl into a hug. “I heard congratulations are in order.”

  She squeezed him tightly, then moved from his grasp. “It’s finally mine.”

  “So proud of you, honey. I knew you could do it.”

  “Well, there’s still a ton of work.” She offered the bag and coffee to the old man. “Cheese danish. Black coffee.”

  “How’d you get into Hazel’s this morning? Looked like they were closed.”

  “Betsy let a few of her regulars in through the back door. Nate and his brothers and Ryan Brooks are all in there cleaning the place up. She’ll be back up and running in no time.” Now a sideways glance at Grady, who quickly looked away.

  The front door swung open and another officer walked in. He was tall and thick, and didn’t appear to be in any kind of hurry. Grady supposed that was the difference between this small town in Michigan and every other place he was used to spending time.

  Except home. Home had that same relaxed feel—a certain kind of nonchalance he hadn’t felt anywhere else. At least it used to. But that was years ago. Mostly, the thought of going back was about as appealing as a root canal.

  What he needed was to get out of here so he could go back to training, competing, and proving to the rest of the world that he wasn’t what they said he was—a disappointment.

  “Quinn Collins.” The deputy eyed the blonde as he approached.

  She straightened. “Hey, Deputy Jones.”

  “How’s it looking outside?” The sheriff stepped in front of Quinn, protectively, almost like he didn’t want his deputy anywhere around her. And who could blame him? Grady had spent ten seconds in the same room with this guy, and already he could tell he was a pig.

  “It’s a mess.” He turned to Grady. “Quite a disaster you’ve caused out there.”

  Grady glared at the guy but said nothing.

  “Quinn, why don’t you wait for me in my office?” the sheriff asked.

  She glanced at Grady, barely, avoided the deputy’s gaze, and did as she was told.

  Once she’d gone, the deputy pulled his handcuffs out. “Judge wants to see him now. Should I parade him out front so the press can get a great shot of their former hero in all his glory?”

  “You do that and you don’t need to bother coming in tomorrow. That’s not how we do things around here, Deputy Jones.”

  “Lighten up, Sheriff. I was just kidding.”

  The sheriff looked at Grady. “Walker here will take you through the back way. Probably still going to be press in that courtroom, but something tells me you’re used to that.”

  Grady gave a slight nod. “Can I call my manager again?”

  The sheriff glanced at Walker, who didn’t move, but then pulled a cordless phone off the desk and handed it to Grady. He dialed Pete’s number and turned away, willing his manager to pick up.

  No luck. At the sound of the tone, Grady sighed. “Pete. Where are you, man? I’m in some trouble. I need you to get here and handle this mess. Harbor Pointe, Michigan. I have to be in Colorado tomorrow. There’s another race this weekend and I need the points. . . . I’m running out of time, man, and I’ve got to get back on that team. Get out here, Pete. Today.”

  He clicked the phone off and handed it back to the sheriff.

  Walker stuck a key in the cell door and pulled it open, motioning for Grady to turn around so he could cuff him.

  “Is that really necessary?” Grady asked.

  “I saw the video,” the deputy said. “Don’t want you taking a swing at me.”

  The sheriff stepped away. “I’ll be over in a few minutes. Just need to finish talking with my daughter.”

  His daughter. That made sense. Grady glanced up and saw the girl sitting on the desk in the offi
ce where her father had been when Grady first woke up. She had absolutely no expression on her face, as if she didn’t have a single thought about the mess he’d caused. That or she didn’t have a single thought about him.

  Either way, what did it matter? He was on his way to finding out how much he had to pay so he could get out of this place, and it wasn’t likely he’d be coming back anytime soon.

  Walker must’ve caught him staring at the blonde—Quinn—because he gave his arm a jerk. “She’s off-limits.”

  Grady looked away but said nothing. Usually with guys like this—guys who had something to prove—Grady did better when he kept his mouth shut.

  Which he almost never did. Today he would, but only because he was already in trouble and couldn’t afford to tick anyone else off.

  Walker pulled him through a back door of the station and out into a parking lot. “Nobody comes back here. Not even those reporters you brought with you.”

  “I didn’t bring them with me,” Grady muttered. “I’d love nothing more than for all of them to lose interest in talking about my every move.”

  Walker pulled him through another door, just a few yards away from the one they’d just exited. “Maybe if you’d stop making such stupid choices, they would.”

  At that point, even Grady thought the handcuffs were a good idea.

  Walker led him down a hallway and through a few doors until finally they were in front of a door labeled Courtroom.

  A small woman with her hair piled on top of her head appeared in the hallway. “This him?”

  Walker glanced at her. “Janice. You’re looking radiant this morning.”

  “Save it, Walker.” She eyed Grady. “My kid idolizes you. Wish you’d clean yourself up, so he doesn’t have to watch another one of his heroes crash and burn.” She pulled the courtroom door open, and Walker gave Grady a tug.

  They followed her into the courtroom, her words heaving themselves onto his shoulders. It wasn’t the first time a parent had chastised his way of life, but he was an adult. He could live however he saw fit. It wasn’t his job to make sure his choices were kid-appropriate.

  Even as the thought entered his mind, he knew it was crap. His coaches had drilled it into their heads that the world was watching and they had a responsibility not to let them down.

  Maybe that worked for the rest of the team, but Grady didn’t appreciate being told how to live his life. His coaches were there to help get him stronger and faster on the slopes—not to make sure he didn’t get in a fight in a bar or spend the night with the wrong kind of woman.

  The courtroom was small, but it was filled with reporters and cameramen who were clearly camped out and waiting for any juicy bit of gossip about their favorite bad-boy athlete.

  Walker led him over to a table and took off his handcuffs, then motioned for him to sit down next to a small man wearing an ugly brown suit and an even uglier red tie.

  “This is Stuart Landen,” Walker said. “Your lawyer.”

  “This guy is not my lawyer.” Grady sat.

  “All attempts to reach the people whose names you gave us failed. Since you don’t have a lawyer, one has been appointed to you.”

  Stuart turned toward him. There was only one way to describe the expression on his face: fearful. The man’s dark hair had been slicked down and combed off to the side, and he looked like a pubescent teen who couldn’t quite grow facial hair but who desperately needed to shave, just to keep from looking ridiculous.

  He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I’m a huge fan, Mr. Benson.”

  Grady drew in a deep breath. “Shouldn’t we have met before now?”

  Stuart shrugged. “I came into work this morning, and they handed me your file. I haven’t even had time to look it over.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring.”

  The door behind the judge’s bench opened and the sheriff appeared, followed by a large African American man with a gray beard and a matching ring of hair outlining a bald head. He wore a white dress shirt and tie under a long black robe. Stuart tapped Grady’s arm, motioning for him to stand. The nameplate in front of the bench introduced the man as Judge Harrison, and by the looks of it, he and the sheriff were pretty chummy. Grady wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

  He watched as the sheriff stepped down and sat in the row behind him.

  The judge smacked his gavel down. “No cameras.”

  A low hum of chatter filled the room as the reporters groaned.

  “Keep it up, and I’ll kick everyone out.”

  Everyone with a camera slowly packed up their equipment. The judge didn’t move until the last cameraman had exited the room. While Grady was thankful he wouldn’t allow cameras, he had the distinct impression Judge Harrison was the kind of guy who might find importance in making an example out of him.

  And that was just what he needed to take this year from a huge mess to an absolute disaster.

  “You can sit down,” Judge Harrison said, looking at Grady.

  Stuart took a breath. “Your Honor—”

  “Stop talking, Mr. . . . what’s your name again?”

  “Stuart Landen. Attorney for Grady Benson.” He said it like it was something to be proud of. As if he’d been picked first for the dodgeball team in gym class. As if he’d forgotten nobody else was offered as a choice.

  “I think we can handle this quite simply, Mr. Landen. Mr. Benson, before I decide on your punishment, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  Grady glanced at Stuart, whose eyes went wide, urging him to speak up. But what could he say? He wasn’t sorry for clocking that idiot.

  Betsy Tanner’s face appeared in his mind. He was sorry for messing up her restaurant.

  Grady pushed himself up out of the chair as the back door to the courtroom opened. Before Grady could speak, Jimmy stormed into the room and glared at him. A trail of bruises lined the space just underneath his eyes, and he had a bandage on his face.

  “That guy broke my nose,” Jimmy said. The reporters scrambled to write on their little notepads, and the sheriff sat, stoic, one eyebrow raised as if there might be some part of him, buried deep down, that found this whole thing amusing.

  “Mr. Hanner, sit down. You’ll get your turn in court.” The judge was clearly no fan of Jimmy’s. At least he and Grady could agree on that.

  Jimmy pointed at Grady. “I want to make sure this guy gets what’s coming to him.”

  “That is not your job, Mr. Hanner. That is my job.” The judge peered down at Jimmy, then glanced at Walker. “See him out.”

  Walker grabbed Jimmy by the arm and dragged him up the aisle and out the door.

  The judge turned his attention back to Grady. “You were saying?”

  “Your Honor, I’m not from here,” Grady said.

  “Yes, I know,” the judge said.

  “I was trying to enjoy a bite to eat after many hours in the car, and this man—a stranger—provoked me.”

  Beside him, Stuart groaned.

  “As you can see, the man is easily worked up,” Grady added.

  “You did break his nose,” Judge Harrison said wryly.

  Grady shifted. “Sir, I will write a check to pay for the damage to that restaurant.”

  “You will, huh?” Judge Harrison didn’t look impressed.

  “Of course, Your Honor. I’ll have my business manager wire the money if that’s better.”

  The judge lifted his chin. “That does seem like an easy way to settle this dispute.”

  “I’m all about easy.” Grady’s off-the-cuff comment was met with an elbow to the ribs from Stuart.

  “I bet you are,” the judge said. “Which is exactly the problem I see with so many young people today.”

  Grady glanced at his lawyer. “Now you’ve done it,” Stuart whispered under his breath.

  “I’d like to make amends for my mistake, Your Honor,” Grady said, wondering if there was any way to get back on the man’s good side when his mere presence seemed to
have put him on his bad side in the first place.

  “And you think throwing money at this will do that?” The judge still eyed him, perched several feet above where Grady and his dodgeball buddy of a lawyer stood.

  “My client isn’t suggesting he would throw money at Ms. Tanner, Your Honor,” Stuart said. “He would issue a formal apology and truly make this up to her and the rest of the town.”

  This was the part when the judge slapped a fine on Grady, he called Pete and had him wire the money, and finally—finally—he could get out of this town, which had proven to be far more trouble than it was worth.

  The burger was good, but it wasn’t that good.

  “We’re a small community here in Harbor Pointe, Mr. Benson. We aren’t accustomed to this kind of attention from the press.”

  Grady shifted from one foot to the other.

  “I don’t like it,” the judge said. “We believe in our business owners, and we expect their property to be taken care of and our people to be respected.”

  Grady didn’t like how this sounded.

  “You did neither of those things last night. I know you have plenty of money to make this little mistake go away, but then you’ll probably find yourself back in another courtroom just like this one in a few months’ time. From what I understand, this isn’t your first run-in with the law.”

  “I’ve learned my lesson, Your Honor,” Grady said so lamely even he didn’t believe it.

  “Not yet, Mr. Benson. But you will.” The judge leveled his gaze, focused on Grady like a hawk on a wire who’d just spotted a field mouse. “You’re going to help clean up the mess you made at Hazel’s Kitchen. That means not only will you pay for the repairs, but you will help make the repairs. If you don’t know how to swing a hammer, son, it’s time you learned.”

  “Your Honor, I’m not sure if you know who I am or what I do, but I’ve got a competition coming up, and I can’t miss it. If I do, I won’t have the points to qualify for the Olympic team.”

  The judge’s eyebrows lifted. “Perhaps if you’d had a better weekend, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “But, Your Honor, there are only a few races left before the deadline.”

  Judge Harrison narrowed his gaze. “I see. Well, you’ll have to find a competition that’s scheduled for after your five weeks here in Harbor Pointe.”