Cross: You stayed over with me sometimes.
That was you, I texted back, then sent another text before he could respond. Is there something you wanted? I’m kind of busy atm.
Cross: Idk. I guess I wanted to check in before we started going at each other’s throats on Tuesday. This case is going to be hard on us and cause some tension. We need to remember to keep our personal lives out of it.
Was he worried about our friendship? If so, it was a valid concern. I knew very few prosecutors who could remain friends with defense attorneys they went up against in court. Many were acquaintances at best, at least around here.
Me: Don’t worry, Cross. I’ll still like you even after I kick your ass in court.
Cross: Have a good day, Foley.
The conversation had distracted me too much to focus on work. A look at the clock showed I’d been there for over three hours, though, so I decided to call it a day. Since it was around noon, I picked up grilled chicken sandwiches and fries at a fast-food joint and drove to Ricky’s Auto Repair. Ivan was working that Saturday.
I parked around back and walked through the side entrance, the bell above the door dinging with my arrival.
“Be right with you,” Blake, a guy Ivan worked with, called from the garage.
Drills sounded and classic rock music played through the small speakers where the mechanics worked. Two people sat in the waiting room as their cars were serviced, and one had a child who ran around the room touching everything in sight. The crotch goblin ran over to me and grabbed my pants leg, and I smiled to be polite when really, I was inwardly cursing the parent for sitting there letting the kid run wild.
Blake came into the waiting room and told the lady with the wild child that her car was ready. She grabbed her duffle bag–sized purse with one hand and her kid’s arm with the other and approached the counter to pay.
“You can go back and see him, Jay,” Blake said after spotting me. “He just finished up and is about to go on lunch.”
“Perfect timing.” I stood and walked to the back garage where Ivan was wiping his hands on an old rag. “Eyes up, Marine.”
Ivan jolted at my sudden loud tone and flipped around, narrowing his eyes. “Zhopa.”
“Hey, stop calling me an ass.” I held up the bag of food. “Especially since this ass just brought you lunch.”
I followed him as he walked to the small break room. There was a table and a few chairs, a coffeepot, and a fridge.
“Have a seat,” he said, plopping down in the chair closest to him.
My gaze dropped to his knee as he fidgeted with the prosthesis. “Still bothering you?”
“Nah. I’m good,” he answered. Typical Ivan. He wouldn’t have said so even if he was hurting. “Thanks for lunch.” He pulled a sandwich from the bag and unwrapped it before taking a bite. “What’s the occasion?”
“Just wanted to see you,” I said, and it was the truth. I had made it a mission to see my brother a few times a week since he’d moved back. There had been a time when I was afraid I’d never see him again. “Wanted to see if you were rockin’ a hangover today.”
“I have a slight headache, but nothing I can’t handle.”
I ate the other chicken sandwich as we sat in silence, the radio the only sound in the room. Ivan was the only other person besides Emery I felt comfortable talking to, and I had a lot on my mind.
“I fucked Remi,” I blurted out.
Ivan nearly choked on his food. Once done with his coughing fit, he studied me. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
He continued eating. “You have sex with a lot of guys, though. Why are you fretting over this one?”
“I’m not fretting.”
“There’s a large ass crease in your forehead. You’re fretting.” He ate a handful of fries before taking a drink of the large Coke I’d brought for him. Then, his green eyes shifted back to me. “Just admit you like this guy. It’s painful to see you fight it so much. You know it’s totally normal to like someone, right? To go out on dates and stuff? It’s not the end of the world.”
“Says the guy who turned down every pretty woman throwing themselves at him last night,” I countered.
“Let it go, Jay.” Ivan averted his eyes to the half-eaten sandwich. “Pozhalsta.”
He’d told me please. That’s when I knew he was serious. Was he still in love with Megan? I assumed he’d be ready to date again since it had been six months since the divorce, but maybe his heart hadn’t mended enough yet.
“You’re right.” I rubbed the back of my neck that had become tense as the minutes ticked by. “I think I do like Remi. At least more than just a onetime thing.”
“Was that so hard to admit?”
I snarled at him, and he chuckled.
“Thanks again for buying Foss a clarinet,” Ivan said, the humor slipping from his face. He looked at me with gratitude. “He’s been practicing nonstop. Auditions are coming up for a solo piece, and he’s thinking about going for it but isn’t sure yet.”
“Want me to come over and help boost his confidence?”
Ivan smiled. “Couldn’t hurt. I tell him he’s great, and he scoffs and says, ‘You’re my dad. Of course you think that.’ If it comes from you, he might actually believe it.”
“I’ll head over there now.” I stood and tossed the trash into the bin. “He’s probably lazing around playing video games. No better time to stop by and put him to work.”
“You’re such an ass,” Ivan said with a laugh, rising from the chair. “Let the kid enjoy his Saturday.”
As expected, Foster was in his room playing on the Xbox when I got there. I tapped my knuckles on his bedroom door and walked inside. His whole face lit up when he saw me, and he paused the game before jumping up and giving me a hug. His excitement each time I came over never failed to hit me square in the chest.
“Hey, Foss the Boss. Your dad tells me you’re goin’ to audition for some kind of solo.”
He adjusted his glasses and stepped back, getting shy. “Yeah. I’m not that good.”
“Can I hear?”
Foster took a steadying breath and nodded before going over to the case he’d set against the wall and grabbing the instrument from inside. “Don’t laugh, okay?”
“I’d never laugh at you.” I leaned against the doorframe as he sat on the edge of his bed.
When he started playing, he messed up a lot and got flustered. I knew it was due to his nerves. Once he started over and tried it again from the beginning, though, he was more relaxed and didn’t mess up nearly as much. The kid was a lot better than he gave himself credit for.
“Mr. Barnett said he’d stay after school Monday and help me practice,” Foster said, after setting the bass clarinet back in the case. He treated it with the utmost care.
The mention of Remi made my heart rate spike. Goddammit.
“He’s a pretty good guy, yeah?” I found myself asking.
Foster nodded. “The best teacher I’ve ever had. He actually cares about us, you know? Unlike some teachers who act like they can’t get us out of their classrooms fast enough.” He left the room, and I followed him to the kitchen where he grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge and a bag of chips from the pantry. “Me and the other students in band are going to surprise him on Friday and play ‘Happy Birthday’ for him when class starts.”
“Friday?” I did the math in my head and released a small laugh. “His birthday is on Valentine’s Day?”
“Why?” Foster scrutinized me. “You thinking of taking him to dinner or something?”
I smiled. Dinner hadn’t been on my mind, no, unless you counted the feast I wanted to have of eating Mr. Barnett’s ass. But I kept that to myself.
“Play for me again,” I said, glad to change the subject. “Practice makes perfect.”
***
Friday morning, I dragged my tired ass out of bed and started a pot of coffee before jumping in the shower. I was exhausted, having worked late hours
all week long and going into the office early each day. I practically lived there.
The murder trial had started on Tuesday, and opening arguments had gone well. Emery had told the jury about the defendant’s kind heart and how she often volunteered at shelters and helped friends in need. Speaking to the defendant’s character was a huge defense tactic because it showed the jury they were humans with compassion. Not the cold-hearted killers they sometimes actually were.
In my opening statement, I had talked about Terry Wilson, the victim. I’d shown the jury family photos where Mr. Wilson laughed with his wife and two kids. I’d spoken to his character and how he’d been an upstanding member of the community.
“The defense will try to show a darker side to Terry Wilson during this trial, but you have to ask yourself who the real monster is when this is all over,” I had said before showing a photo from the crime scene. It definitely wasn’t for the faint of heart. The amount of blood was immense, pooled on the floor and even splashed up the wall. “And you must ask yourself if this is the action resulting from self-defense, as the defense wants you to believe… or if it was a calculated, premediated murder.”
Emery and I hadn’t talked much since the first day of trial. I didn’t take it personally. We didn’t need our close friendship getting in the way of our jobs, and both of us could be hotheaded at times when pushed.
Sputnik walked around my feet, brushing up against my leg as I left the bedroom fully dressed and went toward the kitchen.
“I’m feeding you, you beast.” I grabbed his food from the cabinet and filled his bowl. He thanked me by bumping his head to my palm, and then I was forgotten as he started to eat. “You’re welcome.”
Seeing the date, I grabbed my phone and clicked on the hookup app Remi had first messaged me through. I didn’t have his number, so it was the only way I knew to contact him. I hesitated as I tried to type out a message.
What’s the point? Sure, I might like him more than most other guys, but that still didn’t mean I wanted a relationship or anything. Contacting him would just rub salt in his wound. Wishing him a happy birthday was friendly, though.
Me: I heard it’s your birthday today. Don’t get too wild celebrating tonight.
His response came moments later.
Jazz Guy: Wow. Didn’t expect to hear from you again. And what I do doesn’t concern you, Mr. Foley.
Me: Ouch. Back to being formal. Me being in your ass before should at least put me in the close acquaintance category.
Jazz Guy: Why does it matter? You said you just wanted sex from me, and you got it. You left super quick afterward too, so I assumed you wouldn’t contact me again.
I read his message twice, wondering why his words made my chest get a little tight. Did I feel guilty?
Me: Look… I’m sorry for bailing so fast that night and for not reaching out to you since then. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday and say I hope you’re doing okay.
Jazz Guy: Thanks.
I typed out another message before I could overthink it.
Me: If you don’t have plans, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight. No one should be alone on their birthday.
As I waited for his response, I poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table, watching as the first break of light appeared in the morning sky.
Jazz Guy: Who said I’ll be alone? I actually have a date. But thanks for the offer.
He had a date? Why did that cause a weight to drop into my gut?
I didn’t bother sending a reply. I finished my coffee before grabbing my briefcase and heading to work. The trial would continue on Monday, and I had a lot of preparations to make: tracking down witnesses and working with them on their testimonies, filing a motion for more discovery from the defense, and speaking with the detectives on the case.
I couldn’t afford to be distracted by Remi.
As ironic as it might be, I was a little upset. He had moved on to another guy with ease—something I always did—whereas I hadn’t even thought of hooking up with anyone else.
The tables had turned… and I hated it.
Chapter 8
Remi
I walked toward the band room that afternoon with the conversation with Jay from earlier that morning still bouncing around in my head. Why had he messaged me? It had been random and strange.
I’d like to take you to dinner tonight.
That didn’t sound like the same Jay I knew. But then I remembered his hesitation that night before leaving my apartment, and I wondered if I even really knew him at all. I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head all week, so when a guy I used to date reached out to me, asking me out for my birthday, I had jumped at the opportunity.
I kind of regretted it now, which was stupid. I shouldn’t regret it. Nathan was a nice guy, and though the breakup had hurt me, I didn’t hate him for it. He’d moved away and was back in town for the weekend and had wanted to catch up.
When I walked into the band room, the students stopped talking in their excited whispers and turned their heads toward me. They sat in their assigned chairs, holding their instruments, all of them smiling.
“What’s going on?” I asked, all too suspicious.
And then they started playing “Happy Birthday.”
Laughing, I sat in the seat across from them and listened. I had the greatest students ever. They could improve even the worst of moods.
“Thank you,” I said once they were done. “This calls for an easy day, what do y’all think? Wanna watch a movie?”
That had been the plan anyway since they’d worked hard for weeks. Dillon rolled the TV from the back room, and I thanked him before holding up two movies.
“Which one do you want to watch?” I asked. “West Side Story or Phantom of the Opera?”
They voted for the latter, so I started the movie and sat at the back of the room as it played. Foster put his bass clarinet back in its case before bringing his legs up and crossing them in the seat, his eyes glued to the TV. When he’d shown up to school with his instrument a week and a half ago, I’d been pleasantly surprised. It was a nice one too, probably costing upward of three hundred dollars.
“Uncle Jay bought it for me,” he had said, beaming with a smile and hugging the case to his chest like it was his most prized possession.
The memory of Jay’s lips on mine hit me then. The memory of his hands on me. Beneath that cocky exterior, I had caught glimpses of vulnerability, as if most of his playboy persona was just a shield.
A shield from what?
Maybe I’d never know.
After school, I went home and spent way too long sorting through my closet trying to find something to wear on my date. Nathan had mentioned he wanted to take me somewhere nice for dinner, so I didn’t want to look too casual. But I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard either.
I narrowed it down to two button-up shirts—one short sleeve and the other long—and just as I was weighing the pros and cons of each, my phone dinged.
BlondBastard: Getting ready for your hot date?
My heart beat faster, as it always did when I heard from Jay.
Me: Why? You jealous?
BlondBastard: Damn right I am. I don’t like the thought of some other guy putting his hands all over you.
Shocked, I read his message a few times. I hadn’t expected him to actually admit to it. Another message came through.
BlondBastard: I hate this texting shit. Here’s my number. Call me.
I had the mind to tell him he could go fuck himself… but the part of me that was kind of crazy about him won the fight. I plugged his number into my contacts and called him.
“Jay Foley speaking,” he answered.
“Do you really answer the phone like that?”
“What’s wrong if I do?” I heard a smile in his voice. “Is this a certain birthday boy?”
I shoved down the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Falling for Jay was about the most idiotic thing I could do.
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“You told me to call you, so I did. What do you want?”
He tsked. “So hateful, Mr. Barnett. You really need to learn your manners.”
“I’m busy, Jay.” I refused to allow myself to be put under his spell. “My date will be here to pick me up in fifteen minutes. Whatever you want to tell me, make it quick.”
He was quiet for several seconds. And then, “Happy Birthday, Remi. I hope you get everything your heart desires. Do svidaniya.”
The call disconnected.
I stared at the screen before setting the phone on the nightstand, my hand shaking a bit. I had told him I didn’t have time to talk. Instead of being happy about it, I felt worse. Much worse. The tone of his voice before he’d hung up did something weird to my chest. Like a small crack had formed.
Damn you, Jay Foley. What are you doing to me?
Deciding to go with the long-sleeve shirt, I put it on and rolled the sleeves to my elbows before putting on my shoes and double-checking my hair in the bathroom mirror. After spraying on cologne and taking several deep, calming breaths, I went to wait in the living room.
Steps sounded outside, coming up the stairs. I got off the couch and slipped my phone into my back pocket. At the knock on the door, I went over and opened it.
Nathan looked great. Same brown hair and hazel eyes I remembered, but he was more muscled now. “Hi.” He stepped forward to give me a hug, and I returned it. Then he held out a single red rose. “Happy Birthday.”
The scene was romantic. Everything I should have wanted. However, it didn’t hit the right note with me. I hated admitting it, even to myself, but I knew the reason.
Because it wasn’t Jay doing it.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the rose. It was pretty and smelled nice when I pressed my nose against it. Maybe flowers weren’t so bad after all. “That was really sweet of you.”
“You’re welcome.” Nathan put a hand in his pocket and held the other one out to me. “Ready to go?”
His Surrender Page 8