by Laura Carter
He nods. “They stole your idea, Ben. What did I tell you? You’re David. Codaware is Goliath. I’m going to get back what they took from you. I just need you to hang in here for a few hours. Okay? Good man.”
Judge Matterson is announced to the room. When he’s seated at the bench, the twenty or so members of the public and press take a seat behind me. I spot Marty as he slips into the room and comes to sit on the bench closest to me. It’s something we do sometimes, watch each other in court. We might learn something, or we might razz each other later for some jackass statement or blip.
“Mr. Harrington, are you ready to give your opening statement?”
I straighten my jacket. “Yes, Your Honor.” I step from behind the table, where I can get the attention of the room and, more importantly, the judge and jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, today, you will learn how the industry giant, Codaware Technology, stole from my client. You will hear that Benjamin Granger, at just twenty-two years of age, could be a pioneer of technology for generations to come. How he could do great things for the industry and society. But not if we let bullies like Codaware steal from the young men and women we hope will lead our future.” I pause, giving the jurors a chance to consider my words; then I soften my tone, looking for the sympathy vote. “You will also learn that, although he has a brilliant mind, Benjamin has a lot to learn. He was naïve. He misplaced his trust in business tycoons who preyed on his youth and good nature. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let us correct that wrong. Let us bring justice to Benjamin and kids like him. Kids we want to encourage to be educated, to be special, and to strive for greatness. Let’s inspire others, our sons and daughters, our nieces and nephews, to follow in his footsteps.”
I take my seat and listen to the drivel the opposition spins to the jury, all the while feeling my buzz grow. There aren’t many better highs in the world than being counsel in a trial. Until a few weeks ago, I’d have said there were none.
My adrenalin builds as I call my first witness to the stand.
* * * *
“I thought you said a few hours, Drew? I can’t go through another day of this.”
Standing in the corridor outside the courtroom, I tell Ben, “We had a good day. We’ve got this. Everything went according to plan; it’s just taken longer than anticipated. We’ll close this out tomorrow, and you can get on with doing what you’re great at.”
He exhales slowly, his breath trembling. I swear the kid hasn’t stopped shaking all day. “Okay. Okay.”
“Now, go and get some food and try to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Ben walks away along the marble floors of the corridor, his sparkly new trial shoes sliding against the smooth surface, Marty pats a hand against my shoulder from behind. “You crack me up, Harrington. That shit about inspiring the youth of today or whatever. Brilliant.”
We walk out of the courthouse together, both fastening our jackets by one button when we step into the late afternoon gusts. “You saw the jury. They were lapping it up.”
“I won’t argue with that. The case is yours. I’ve got to tell you, Drew, another win looks good ahead of the vote on Thursday.”
“Certainly can’t hurt, can it?”
“Not at all. Steak?”
“Read my mind.”
We walk to a grill house a few blocks from the court and are seated in a red leather booth.
A waitress makes her way over to us. “Hi guys, I’m Cassie.” She hands us each a menu, and I start looking. “I’ll be taking care of you this evening. Can I get you started with some drinks?”
I don’t know why I bother looking at the menu, knowing the rump steak here is particularly good. The waitress comes back with two glasses of ice water.
“I haven’t seen you here before, Cassie,” Marty says. I don’t need to raise my head to see he’s flirting. That shift in his voice to somewhere between casual and low husk tells me all I need to know. “I’m sure I’d remember.”
She’s laughing, girly and high-pitched, and talking back as I look down the wine list for the reds by the glass. I won’t have more than one since I have to be back in court in the morning.
Cassie takes our order and leaves.
“You’ve really got it bad, huh?” Marty asks.
I know what he’s referring to but I still ask, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, that Cassie has the best rack I’ve seen in a while. She sticks her tits in your face, and you don’t even notice she exists. I’ve got to tell you, Drew, at first, I thought Becky was just another notch. When you actually dated her, I thought you were taking my push for you to appear human to the extreme. Then I started to think you liked her, and I was worried, buddy. You made a few slip-ups that aren’t like you. As a partner, I was concerned.”
I roll my jaw, slightly uncomfortable with where this could be going and the fact that his comments kind of feel like an insult.
He leans back in his chair and accepts a glass of wine from a different waiter. “As a friend, though, I have to admit, I’ve never seen you happier. Your work is back on track, and whatever she’s doing, she’s keeping a smile on your face. You’re not quite such an arrogant bastard. The other partners are noticing, and I think it’s working out well for you.”
“Well, not that I was looking for your blessing, Marty, but I do like her.” I like her a lot. A hell of a lot. My stomach tightens, and I sip my Pinotage to take the edge off.
“Does she feel the same?”
That twists the knot in my abdomen tighter. God, I hope so. I shrug. “She seems happy when we’re together. She wants to be with me.”
“Am I detecting a but?”
But there are things she holds back from me. Some kind of barrier I can’t penetrate. “No buts. We’re keeping it casual.”
The conversation sticks with me through dinner. Instead of having my mind on Ben’s case, I’m focused on keeping the sick feeling in my gut at bay. Does she like me as much as I like her? She still hasn’t said she would consider a relationship. And, yeah, I want one. I mean, we’re having one. Aren’t we? Are we?
By the end of dinner, I accept that I’m afraid. I’m no longer afraid of wanting more from her. I’m afraid that I need more, I’m craving more, and she isn’t in this with me.
I say goodbye to Marty outside the grill house and we flag separate cabs. I take out my phone and see nothing. No missed calls, no texts. I’m not supposed to be seeing Becky tonight, but the panic that’s set into my chest is making me desperate to be with her. When we’re together, I don’t worry about how she feels. She soothes my worries with every look and every touch.
I consider sending her a text message asking her to come to my place. My thumb rolls over the letters on my cell. But I decide against it. I said we’d do what comes naturally, that’s what I agreed to, only I don’t know if what feels natural is the same for both of us anymore.
I make my way to my apartment and let myself inside. The place actually smells of Becky, her perfume, the general sweet scent that isn’t anything other than her own skin. I consider texting her again, then head to the living room without doing so. I need to get a handle on these feelings before I ruin everything.
As I’m placing my briefcase and phone on the kitchen counter, I notice the electric hearth flickering. My heart starts to beat harder in my chest. I pad through the living room to my bedroom and see the door ajar. The anxiousness in the pit of my stomach turns to excitement.
I push open the door to find Becky lying on her side in my bed in only black lace underwear. One leg bent. Her head propped up on her hand. The lights are dimmed low and cast a soft glow across her skin.
My first thought is, She’s beautiful. My second is what I would like to do with that body. The third, as I slip out of my jacket and shoes and step closer to the bed, is that she came to me. She wants to be with me too. That thought forms a
lump in my throat that stops me from being able to speak. I can only look at her, completely captivated by her, as I take her hands and bring her to sit on the edge of my bed.
She eyes me as she unbuttons my vest, then pulls my shirt from my slacks and unbuttons that too, pushing both to the ground. I run my hand through her long, silk waves, and watch her slowly unfasten my pants.
I don’t just like her a lot. I’m in love with her. I love everything about her.
I hold her face in my hands and press my mouth to hers. I kiss her slowly, tenderly, because that’s how I feel. I don’t want to ravage her. I want her to understand how I feel. I want her to know the things I can’t say. And I want her to make love back to me.
I unsnap the front of her bra and push it over her shoulders. Then I draw her panties down her legs as she raises her hips to give me access. She slides up the bed, and I take off my pants and boxer briefs. The lump in my throat is still there, but even if I could speak, I don’t think my mind can form words.
I’m in love.
When?
How?
I don’t care. I just know that I want her to be mine. Forever.
I climb on the bed and move between her legs, hovering above her, my weight on my forearms. I comb my fingers through her hair, unable to tear my gaze from hers. “Let me be with you. Completely,” I whisper. “Let me feel you against me.”
Her neck tightens as she swallows, and I wonder whether she’s nervous because I’m asking to go bare with her or because she’s feeling the intensity of everything I’m feeling in this moment. She nods once and tells me, “Yes.”
The emotion that comes over me is almost unbearable. I’m already hard with need. I take a guess that she’s right here with me.
As I drop my mouth to hers, I guide my cock into her, sliding slowly deeper through her slickness. Whether it’s being bare with her, or everything that’s filling my head and my heart, moving into her takes over every part of me. Mind. Body. Soul. She absorbs my groan and moans into my mouth.
“Open your eyes, Becky.” She does. She looks deep into my eyes as I kiss her and work slowly in and out of her.
It’s slow. It’s vanilla. And it’s the most overwhelming experience of my life. With every thrust. With every turn of my tongue against hers, I wonder whether she can feel how much I adore her.
Marty was right. I’ve fallen. I’ve fallen deeply, irrevocably.
I love you.
And I’m terrified that you could break me.
I rise to an orgasm I can’t control. I’m already there when her insides pulse and she comes with me. I kiss her through our climax as my arms shake and my hips lose rhythm. She watches me until the intensity makes her close her eyes. Her mouth opens, and her hips rise, pushing me deeper. My orgasm keeps coming in waves, consuming my body and my mind, filling my head with nothing but her.
I fall to her chest, my breathing more erratic than if I’d gone at her hell for leather. I lie against her heart, listening to it pound as hard as mine. She strokes my hair as I drop kisses to her chest. I will her to say something. I want her to tell me how she feels. More than that, I want her to tell me what I want to hear. I want her to tell me she’s in love with me.
She says nothing.
With each second of silence, I feel weaker, more broken, shattered.
Chapter 21
Becky
2016
“Becky, what’s going on tonight? Is everything okay?”
I glance up from the service station where I am putting the finishing touches on a dessert and see Edmond. With unsteady fingers, I place the sugar nest over the last of four plates. “They’re ready,” I tell the lingering waitress.
I force a smile when I stand, facing Edmond. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’ve messed up two plates tonight. That’s two more plates than you’ve messed up the entire time you’ve worked in my restaurant.”
I tuck my towel into the belt of my white coat and rub a hand across my clammy temple. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Listen, I can finish up tonight. There are only a few tables left. Why don’t you take yourself home? It’s been a busy night.”
“No, really, Edmond, I’m fine. I can finish here.”
“You look tired, Becky. Stop being a martyr. Go home.”
I’m not being a martyr. Going home to Mike is the last place I want to be.
Sighing, I nod and unbutton my chef’s jacket.
I strip out of my uniform and leave it in a bag for the restaurant porter to pick up for dry cleaning. I pull on a pair of leggings and a hooded jumper and leave the restaurant to catch the train home. I take my time walking through central London. First, I catch the underground to King’s Cross Station, where I’ll take the train to Kent.
I am tired. I’m tired of my shitty life.
More than anything, I’m tired of worrying about the baby growing inside me.
Instinctively, I press a hand to my belly. It’s only been a week since I found out I’m pregnant. I’ll love it. I will. But the thought of bringing a baby into this world—the world I share with Mike—I can’t bear it.
I’m trapped. My one sanctuary is work, and now Mike is threatening to take it away from me, owing to the long hours and long commute. He doesn’t want me to risk our baby’s life. At least that’s what he says. In reality, he doesn’t want me to have anything for myself. He doesn’t want me to have independence.
God, what a mess.
Why couldn’t I have been stronger? When he found out I was still taking my pills, why didn’t I leave or find another way to keep this from happening?
I cowered away from another barrage of abuse; that’s why.
I’ve spent years under his leash and I can’t do that to a baby.
Our baby. The thought brings bile to my throat.
I make my way down the escalator to the underground and wait on the platform.
The digital overhead sign tells me it is one minute before the underground to King’s Cross arrives.
As I hear the tube approach, a pain strikes low in my abdomen. I press my hand to it, and it fades.
I take a seat on the tube. There are only eight other people in the carriage.
The pain comes again, then recedes to a dull ache.
It’s been a long night. Fridays are one of our busiest nights at the restaurant. That’s all it is.
I start to sweat with the continuous dull throb and count down the stations to King’s Cross, relieved when I can finally exit the tube.
I make my way up toward street level, in the direction of the overground trains. The pain strikes again when I’m in the middle of a concrete staircase. This time it’s bad, really bad, and makes me fold forward.
My foot slips, and I fall back, rolling down the staircase, cracking off each concrete step.
Everything goes black for a moment but I am conscious and facedown on the ground. The pain in my stomach is still there.
“She’s bleeding,” I hear a woman yell.
I groan as I roll over so I’m facing up, not sure which is hurting more, my spine, my ribs, or my stomach. I try to sit, but I feel dizzy and fall back.
My vision comes in and out. I can make out a man and woman talking quickly and hovering over me.
Two men in green uniforms move toward me and my vision starts to clear. “I don’t need an ambulance,” I tell them. “I’m fine. I just slipped.”
“All right. All right. Don’t try to sit just yet. Can you tell me your name?”
“Becky.”
“What day is it, Becky?”
“Friday.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Home. I need the overground.”
“Do you live in London?”
“No. I work in London. I’ve just finished w
ork.”
“Okay. Can you tell me if you’re in pain?”
“My stomach and my back.”
“Is your vision clear?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Becky, let’s try to sit up.” He holds me under the arms and brings me to sit. It’s then I notice blood on my jeans.
I reach up to my head and get blood on my fingers. “I cut my head.”
“You did.” He moves around me and mumbles with his co-worker. “We’re going to pop you in a chair, Becky, and get you to the hospital, okay?”
“Please, I don’t need to go to the hospital. I have to get home.”
They don’t listen, and within minutes I’m being strapped into an ambulance chair, with a pink knit blanket over me.
In the ambulance, the man who spoke to me asks, “Is there any chance you could be pregnant, Becky?”
I feel my brows furrow. “Yes.”
“Okay.” The smile he gives me is so fake, it tells me exactly where the blood on my jeans is coming from.
* * * *
I’m lying on the hospital bed in a white gown, my eyes closed to shield them from the overhead fluorescent lights. Yet, my tears keep falling.
They confirmed I lost the baby. And I’ve cried for the baby I didn’t know. But that’s not why the tears keep falling. My tears keep falling because I am a cold, heartless bitch.
When they first told me, I felt choked. I’d lost the life that had been growing inside me. The life I was supposed to protect.
Then, I felt relief. How can I possibly feel relieved?
I don’t want a baby to come into this world and live with Mike. With his constant verbal abuse. I don’t want a baby to see how weak I am. To know that I can’t protect it because I can’t even protect myself from him.
I don’t want to be trapped anymore.
I’ve wanted to leave for so long and never found the strength. The baby finally made me think I could do it. That I had to leave Mike’s hold to protect my little boy or girl. Yet, I still hadn’t done it because a part of me knew I would be taking my baby away from its dad.
Now, there is no baby, and I can go. I want to go. I will leave him.