by A. J. Thomas
He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped when the courtroom door opened. A half-dozen men in expensive suits trailed out, chatting amiably. Nate was the last one out, along with an older man who seemed to have the same build and height, and who might have once had the same dark hair as Nate himself. The older man was talking, but from the furious expression on Nate’s face, Sean guessed he wasn’t really listening.
Nate stopped, almost stumbling, when he saw Sean across the hall.
Bruce stood up and brushed his suit jacket to smooth out the wrinkles. “I suppose I’ll see you next time.”
Nate strode toward them, but Bruce just waved and headed for the stairs.
“What did he want?” Nate asked, not looking at Sean.
“To ask about my tattoo.” He glanced at the older man, who’d followed on Nate’s heels. “How’d it go in there?”
“It went fine. You could have asked the bailiff to let you in,” Nate pointed out. “I assumed you weren’t going to show up, otherwise I’d have asked them to let you in when you got here.”
“I could only come because it got pushed back,” Sean admitted. “And even then I was late.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know the judge denied the motion to dismiss and ruled that we can proceed under the Jones Act. Harrison and Poole will appeal today’s ruling after we win, of course, but that’s to be expected. I’ll keep you up to date by email, if you’d prefer.”
“While that’s awesome, I didn’t come to ask about the hearing,” he said honestly. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”
Nate shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other and rolled his shoulders. For a moment the icy mask he wore when he had to act professional slipped, and Sean saw just how exhausted he was. He turned back to his older shadow. “Would you excuse me?”
“Is this him?” the old man asked, nodding at Sean.
“I’m Nate’s client. My name is Sean Wilkinson,” he said quickly, not bothering to hide how annoyed he was at being talked over. “And you look just like him. Can I assume you’re Emmitt Delany, from the infamous law firm?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say famous….”
Sean considered Nate’s father. “Neither would I, and I didn’t,” he pointed out. “I said ‘infamous.’ Your son is an amazing and brilliant man, so I’m sure you’re a good person, but your firm sucks.”
“Excuse me?” The elder Delany’s eyes bulged.
Sean flicked his gaze toward Nate in time to see him lower his head, his cheeks a bit darker. The cold expression was gone, replaced by a restrained smile. “I’m biased, though. My experience trying to hire your firm to represent me shaped my opinion of the entire organization. It sucked.”
Nate turned a chuckle into a loud cough.
Emmitt Delany rallied with a bright smile. “I’m sorry to hear that. Sometimes people don’t click, even in a professional setting, and unfortunately that can result in missed opportunities all around. The resources our firm could have brought to the table, the expertise of experienced litigators, and a long-established relationship with the defense counsel, might have helped settle things. Which makes this an even clearer decision, don’t you think?” he asked, grinning at Nate.
Nate squeezed his eyes closed and opened them again. “This is not the time or place for this discussion.”
“You had a fortunate day in court,” he continued, looking at Nate, “but gambling this young man’s future trying to do this on your own is just foolish….”
This was the other side of his dad’s attempts to sabotage Nate’s quest to bring in another lawyer, Sean realized. He was cutting off all Nate’s alternatives, leaving his firm as the only option, all to manipulate Nate into going back. Back to doing the same work but getting none of the credit, and back answering to the rich prick who’d left Hawk feeling like shit. That, or he wanted a piece of Nate’s contingent fee.
For Nate’s sake, he hoped the man was a manipulative asshole, rather than a greedy one.
“Are you listening to yourself?” Sean asked bluntly. “Calling this ruling ‘fortunate’ implies there was chance involved, instead of a hell of a lot of preparation and hard work, and that’s just….” He tried to think of a sufficiently legal-sounding word, but nothing seemed to fit. “It’s bullshit.”
Emmitt Delany’s smile cracked, but Nate’s just grew.
“He’s got this,” Sean said with absolute faith. “And if something goes wrong and he loses, at least I’ll know he did everything he could. The guy who kicked Hawk out of your office rather than talk to him could learn a lot from your son. If I’d had the money to hire you, that asshole would have taken my money and wasted months proving that I couldn’t get workers’ compensation, because he didn’t even know the laws that apply in this case. And having you sniffing around trying to get a chunk of your son’s contingent fee now kind of confirms my initial opinions.”
“Sean,” Nate said, smiling, “how much painkiller did you take?”
“Two tramadol,” he said dismissively. When he noticed Nate still trying not to laugh, he finally took in Emmitt Delany’s scandalized expression. “Inhibitions… right.” He closed his mouth before he made things worse.
“Dad, would you please excuse us? In fact, why don’t I meet you downstairs? I’ll take the elevator with Sean.”
Emmitt Delany looked stunned. “Yes, of course.”
Nate hurried to the elevator, not checking to see if Sean would follow. Once they were inside the rickety but thankfully private lift, Nate leaned against the wall and let the door close, not bothering to push the button for the main floor. He seemed to shrink three inches as he relaxed against the elevator wall. “Do you have any idea what you just did?” he asked.
“Uh,” Sean felt his stomach sink. “Did I kill your chances of going back to your dad’s firm? If I fucked up, I’m sorry, but he really should be begging you to come back because you’re a good attorney, not trying to guilt-trip you into it because he thinks you can’t handle this case.” Nate’s soft smile and sad eyes hurt to look at. “Sorry, drugs.”
“You know what? It’s fine. That might be the first time in his life anyone has told my dad off. It’ll be good for him. What did you want to talk about?”
Sean tried to think of the right way to explain. “I wanted to apologize about Friday,” he said at last.
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Nate said abruptly. “I should have exercised more self-control.”
“It’s not on you. I put you in an awkward position—as my attorney, as my client, and… well, maybe as my friend. I ruined everything. I’m sorry I made you feel weird about me finishing your nautilus shell. I never meant to.” He wished he could magically force his brain into that calm state of focus he found when he was drawing. “Can we, I don’t know, pretend I never said anything? Or maybe we can pretend the whole night never happened?”
“You wanted to talk about the tattoo?” Nate asked, his tone laced with disbelief.
“I know I shouldn’t have kissed you, and I’m sorry. Please let me finish the tattoo? Or just quit. Because if you’re so uncomfortable around me that you can’t stand to do another session, you shouldn’t be forced to keep working on my case.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Nate practically growled. “I did. You weren’t the one who was ignoring professional boundaries Friday night, I was. I probably shouldn’t have asked you to do the tattoo at all. When you suggested we get a drink, I’m pretty sure we were both on the same page, but I should never have let things get to that point without addressing all of the ethical problems with this.”
“I kissed you,” Sean reminded him.
“And I shouldn’t have put either of us in a position where that was even a possibility right now. I’m sorry, but I can’t do another tattoo session with you. I don’t want to withdraw from your case, because I know I can win this for you, but if you decide you’d like someone else to represent you, then my father is more than
willing.”
Sean almost choked. “I don’t want you to quit.”
The elevator shuddered and began descending.
“Guess somebody pushed the call button,” Nate mumbled.
Sean pressed his lips into a thin line and took a deep breath.
The elevator jerked as it settled on the ground floor.
“You’re more upset,” Nate said, keeping his gaze fixed on the elevator door.
Sean pushed himself to the door and rolled out as the elevator door slid open. An older couple shifted back from the door so he could get by. He saw a directory sign for the food court pointing down a flight of stairs and scowled. The elevator was already whirling away behind him. He turned around, ignoring Nate, and pushed the call button again.
“I didn’t mean to make things worse,” Nate said. “This is exactly what I wanted to avoid.”
“What you wanted to avoid?” Sean snapped. He closed his mouth sheepishly as he realized they weren’t alone.
Harrison and Nate’s father were standing near the base of the stairs, talking with Cory and another man in a suit who’d been in the herd of attorneys rushing out of the courtroom ahead of Nate. They’d stopped chatting, and all three men were looking straight at him, the third man’s glare vicious and cold. Cory was the only one in the group who smiled.
He forced his voice down to a whisper and turned back to Nate. “The last few months have sucked, and you hanging out with me occasionally was one of the only things that made it suck less. And now that’s gone because I couldn’t accept that there are some parts of my life I’m never going to be able to get back—that no one could possibly want me like this.”
Nate swallowed hard and shook his head. “That’s not it. I told you, it’s not you. I’m the one who didn’t think things through. I made a mistake. I made a lot of mistakes. Moving forward, all I can do is try to avoid making any more. I’ll keep you up to date on the case as we get closer to the trial next month.”
And there was the reality Sean hadn’t been ready to face. “I get that you think coming up with some kind of bullshit excuse might spare my feelings, but I’d rather you didn’t bother. You should come by the shop and pick up a copy of the colored design,” he managed, even though it was a struggle to keep his voice from cracking. “If you don’t go to Davey Richards, be sure to look at the portfolio of whoever you choose to finish it.”
“Sean, I didn’t—”
“Don’t,” Sean said with a grimace. He spun the rims of his wheelchair and turned toward the exit.
Chapter 7
TUESDAY NIGHT, Nate’s dad circled the airport three times, constantly checking the built-in touch screen on the center console to see if Steven’s plane had touched down yet. The drive to the airport had turned into an hour-long lecture about being reckless with this whole private practice “experiment.” His dad seemed to disapprove of every part of his handling of Sean’s case, from the fact that he’d taken Sean on as a client to not coaching him in how to dress and be polite in court. Nate had wanted to point out that Sean hadn’t actually entered the courtroom, much less provided any kind of testimony, but he kept his mouth shut, certain anything he said about Sean would reveal exactly how Nate felt about him.
He’d tried to work up the courage to go after Sean at the courthouse the day before. He’d even tried to follow him out to the parking lot, but Cory had been following on Sean’s heels as he left. Seeing his father and Tillman chatting amiably with Harrison had been sobering enough that he’d hesitated yet again, and by the time he got outside, he’d seen Sean beside his Jeep talking with Tonya, Cory, and Bruce like they were all the best of friends, and he’d lost his nerve. They were smiling, Sean was smiling, and if Sean didn’t want to listen to his advice about avoiding CPG employees like the plague, he couldn’t force the issue.
“What day are Matt and Laura arriving?” he asked at last, eager to change the subject once his father finally ran out of steam.
“Tomorrow morning. It’s hard to believe Noah is turning eleven this spring,” Emmitt said, his severe expression finally giving way to a soft smile. “Lizzy is in school now too. And Sadie’s gotten so big she managed to hold a conversation with your mom on the phone a few days ago.”
“I suppose they’re growing up.” Nate had seen plenty of pictures of his nephew and his younger nieces over the years. Baby pictures and school portraits, snapshots in Boy Scout uniforms and church outfits, and a ridiculously grown-up picture of Noah dressed up on his first day of middle school that Matt had sent a few months ago. The girls were always in dresses, decked out in pinks and purples, and always smiling. They filled a gallery wall in his parents’ living room, and Nate was thankful for them. The photos were the closest he’d ever come to meeting the kids. He wondered, sometimes, if Matt ever told them anything about him at all.
“I’ve got to admit, your mom’s nervous about Steven staying with us this time around.”
“Nervous he’s going to acknowledge I exist?”
“About you two not being together Thursday. This is hard enough on all of us, but we never…. Oh, there he is!” Emmitt swerved the sleek black Lexus over to the curb. Through the crowd, Nate saw Steven, wearing possibly the same denim jacket, blue jeans, and button-up shirt he’d worn last Christmas, beaming. Nate had never seen his brother look so happy.
Nate hopped out and waved, then caught his brother in a tight hug when he jogged up. A tall brunette woman trailed after him, looking nervous.
“Hey.” Steven squeezed his shoulders tight before letting him go. “I’m so glad you’re here! There’s someone I want you to meet!” Steven let go of him and slipped his arm around the woman’s waist. “Dad, come here! This is Cheryl, my fiancée. Cheryl, this is my baby brother, Nate, and my dad, Emmitt.”
“Fiancée?” Emmitt grinned. “When did this happen?”
“A few months ago,” Steven said sheepishly.
“Cheryl?” Nate asked, offering his hand. “Welcome to Texas.”
“And to the family,” Emmitt added, practically bouncing. Nate didn’t need more than a glance to tell his father was thrilled. “My goodness, we’ve got a lot to talk about. Let’s get your stuff in the car. Your mom’s got dinner waiting, so we can all relax and get to know each other before things get crazy later this week!”
Nate took the suitcases out of his dad’s hands and stowed them carefully, desperate for a moment to himself. Steven was engaged, and he’d brought his fiancée home for Thanksgiving. That, at least, explained why he’d insisted on staying with their folks this time around. Why they would probably be staying in Houston every time they visited.
He forced himself to smile as he acknowledged that there would probably never be a welcoming dinner and smiling faces if he brought someone home to meet his parents. Since he’d thoroughly killed any chance he’d had with the only guy he’d been interested in over the last three years, it didn’t really matter.
He leaned against the raised trunk of the car and ran his right hand over the still itchy tattoo on his stomach. His chest burned as he remembered the dejected look on Sean’s face yesterday afternoon. He hated being the reason Sean looked so miserable, but he had to stop treating Sean like a date and try to treat him like a client. He didn’t want to hurt Sean more, but until Friday night, he’d never thought that anything might actually happen between them. Fantasized about it, yes, but he’d thought he’d be able to keep things friendly. But every time he was around Sean, his self-control disintegrated. He’d never be able to sit through another tattoo session, not without molesting him. So it was better to avoid the situation, better to stay away from him completely.
He remembered the way Sean’s fingers had slid over his skin, shuddering at the memory. He wished he could turn back time, go back to Friday night, when consequences and reality had been trivial considerations compared to the way Sean’s hands felt on him.
Someone elbowed him, almost gently, in the arm. “Hey. You okay?” Steven as
ked as he dumped a ragged backpack into the trunk.
“Me?” Nate forced himself to smile. “I’m good. How was the flight?”
Steven folded his arms across his chest and stared at Nate. “I should have told you. I’m sorry for springing this on you, I just… we didn’t want Mom and Dad to make a big deal about it.”
“You’re getting married, Steve. That’s a pretty big deal.”
“It’s not. We’re just going to do a civil ceremony. Her folks, a few friends, you, if you can drag yourself away from the firm for a bit. You’ll be my best man, right? ’Cause Matt’s a dick, and Cheryl would probably tell me to go to hell if I invited him.”
Nate chuckled softly. “I have a feeling I’m going to love her. And time away from the firm won’t be a problem, so long as you aren’t going to spring a Christmas wedding on us. I’ve got a trial coming up in December. Have you set a date?”
Steven looked almost as shocked as he’d felt a moment ago, but he recovered fast. “We haven’t quite gotten there yet.” He seemed hesitant. “If you’re not mad, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he promised, even though he could tell his brother didn’t believe him.
TWO HOURS and a few glasses of wine later, Nate sat at his parents’ dining-room table feeling more like part of the decor than a guest.
His brother’s bride-to-be turned out to be an organic chemist from the Northwest who was just as liberal as Steven himself. Even though Nate’s mom was doing everything she could to keep the conversation on neutral topics, they’d descended into arguments about politics, current affairs, and the necessity of feminism four times already. Nate had a feeling they were both enjoying themselves, so he focused on not getting caught in the cross fire.
Steven sat back beside him, nursing a cheap beer and smiling at his fiancée. “This is actually going better than I’d hoped,” he whispered conspiratorially.
Nate nodded and drained the last of his wine. His phone buzzed gently, and he glanced at the incoming email, noting the Harrison and Poole address. “What the hell are they doing working this late?” he muttered.