One thing Francis had said in her efforts to explain to Erika and Tori what their good intentions were costing really resonated with Dax and spurred him into action sooner, rather than later. “Erika, honey, life is made up of opportunities disguised as run of the mill moments. If we fail to see them as the opportunities they are, then they cease to be so. Once they pass, they were simply ordinary moments because we failed to seize them and make them otherwise. Is that what you want for two people that you love like crazy? Actually, four, because the effect isn’t confined to Dax and Gus.”
That was all he needed to hear, he would not let Stacy slip into The History of Daxton Magnus Askrsson as an ordinary moment.
**
Depositions were one of Stacy’s favorite parts of her job. She loved the drama of the courtroom and cross-examinations, but depositions were even better. She received the same rush when she got the opposition to say exactly what she wanted, but with the more intimate feel of a conference room and no judge. Not having to keep such a tight leash on her attitude was a major fucking plus. Being able to look in the eyes of all the key players at once gave her a better read on the entire situation, too.
When Miracle Stevens entered the room, Stacy had her sized up in no time. Who in the fuck names their kid Miracle, anyway? Rich fucking douchebags with money to burn but zero time to teach their own children that being rich doesn’t entitle you to everything you want, that’s who.
Stacy couldn’t wait to put this cunt in her place, and make her pay for raping her client, Jeff.
Her appraisal shifted to Miracle’s counsel. Although she had never faced him before, she had seen him in action. Dick with a capital D. Perfect, I can take down two arrogant jerks at once.
It didn’t matter that this was one of her pro-bono cases for the advocacy center. Her client would get the best representation money could buy, whether he was paying or not. If she could, she would work full-time for male victims of sexual assault. While she personally felt there were too many clients needing to be heard, it wasn’t enough to pay the bills. She would still trudge along daily with her firm, but her heart would always be with these clients—the ones whose voices were silenced by society, the ones she had dedicated her life to helping.
Once they were officially on the record, the court reporter swore in Miracle. The minute Stacy heard the woman’s grating voice say, “I do,” and saw the smug arch of her brow, she knew that woman was not naïve to the crime she’d committed.
Many women who Stacy dealt with were just clueless, as in Michael’s case. His rapist was just a dumb bitch with no concept of the depravity of her actions. Regardless, Michael still suffered the emotional backlash of what happened. His wife, Tori, didn’t fare much better. They were both still fucked up over it and would probably be in therapy for years to come.
However, therapy was better than dead any day. With every case she took, her heart ached for her late brother, Troy. If only he’d had someone to give him a voice, real representation, he might still be here, maybe even found the love of his life in spite of everything, like Michael had, and she’d be an aunt a few times over. Stacy tamped down the ache in her heart, and focused on the present, not the past. She couldn’t change what happened to Troy or Michael, or shit, even Jeff who sat beside her, but she could make this bitch pay.
This woman knew exactly what she’d done. It was in every mannerism, every purse of her lips, every goddamned eye roll before she answered Stacy’s questions.
Stacy felt Jeff tense to her right as Miracle told her account of the evening in question. It was time to shut this bitch down and not drag Jeff through the lengthy process of waiting on this arrogant bitch to incriminate herself.
Time to employ my five-second flash assessment. It was a technique Stacy taught herself when she needed a fresh take on things.
Sometimes, she looked so hard that she missed the forest for the trees. That’s when she would do a flash assessment—clear her mind, close her eyes, and then look at things under a new light, rapidly taking in any details that jumped out. She did it with no thoughts, no idea of what she was looking for, and just took in what was actually there, not what she wanted or expected to see.
Just as she hoped, it cleared her mind and put her on the right trail to root out the truth.
“At what point did my client say no?” Stacy questioned. She knew what the answer would be. It was one of the things lawyer’s referred to as “a bad fact,” but for Stacy, it was merely a road bump on the way to ultimate victory. The twat answered as expected, but with arrogance that said she thought she had just won instead of the other way around.
“Never, Ms. Roberts. The word never left his lips.”
“Let me get this correct, Ms. Stevens. Since according to you, my client never said the word no, then in your mind, that was a firm yes?”
“Of course. I mean, he wasn’t as into it as I was at first, but he wanted me, I could tell. He wanted me, I wanted him, we enjoyed a night together and that’s that.”
“No means no, and anything else means yes. Am I understanding you correctly, Ms. Stevens?”
This caused Miracle to sputter before Counselor Douchbag finally made an attempt to earn his money. “Don’t answer that, Miracle.” Turning his attention toward Stacy, he continued, “Where are you going with this Stacy?” The dick used her first name to try to intimidate her. He was a typical member of the boy’s club, underestimating her because she had a vagina, but she was used to it.
They don’t call me Killer for nothing, taint biscuit.
“My client has already sworn that Mr. Jamison never said no. Why are we still here?”
Stacy adopted the same condescending tone, but with enough femininity to play into his expectations. “Please, indulge me, Mr. Harris. I just have a few more questions and then we’ll be done here, I assure you.”
At his dismissive nod, Stacy turned back toward Miracle.
“Am I correct in saying your understanding of no is simple, it’s a spoken no?”
“Yes,” Miracle spoke before Counselor Douchebag could interject. “Legally speaking, he never said no, therefore, how would I know if he meant no?” Oh, so she’s a lawyer now. I couldn’t have hoped for a more perfect answer.
“So, next time you meet a man in a bar and take him back to your place, but you’re just not that into it, it will be fine if he shoves his cock inside you because you never said the word no?”
That was it. There were no words that could be spoken that would turn the table back in Miracle’s favor.
**
Stacy mentally fist-pumped all the way to the parking garage. The deposition couldn’t have gone better. There was no way it would go to trial. Counselor Douchebag was probably still choking on his fucking tongue. He was not happy being bested by a woman.
Once she was in her car, Stacy actually did pump her fist and congratulate herself aloud. Winning cases always hyped her up, leaving her with an abundance of pent-up energy. Sex was the best way to release that energy. It was almost a routine for her. Win a case, go for a stiff drink and a stiff cock. Stacy didn’t do attachments or relationships. She had sex, period. No strings attached sex. What are strings good for anyway but binding? The only relationships I’m destined to have start and end with one word, tequila. That, and one rule, no names.
The problem was, the only person she really wanted to have sex with was Dax. There was just something about the man that ruined her for others. Not that they had been together or were anything more than friends, but Stacy hadn’t been able to do the casual sex thing since they became close.
It felt weird somehow, hanging with Dax, watching movies, and eating pizza after she came from some stranger’s bed. So, she gave it up and relied on the tools God gave her, along with those that needed batteries, to relieve tension. But they were just not cutting it anymore.
Dax was a tall, hot, lumber-sexual, Viking god. He towered over everyone she knew by at least half a foot. That familiar itch
started at her fingertips the longer she thought about him—one she recognized as her hands begging to be buried in his espresso locks.
Maybe it was his dark, mysterious eyes that called to her. Or the twinkle they got when he said one of his off-the-wall curses. Possibly, it was the ink that she desperately wanted to see up close and personal, or the big hands she wanted to feel all over her skin, or the tall body she wanted to mount like a fucking cowgirl in a rodeo, or maybe it was his orgasmic scent?
Dax’s scent was locked into her memory—pipe tobacco and heat. Yes, the scent of heat. He always smelled hot, whether from his forge or his pipe, she didn’t know, but heat had a scent, and it was Dax.
Most likely, it was a combination of all those things that made her horny just thinking about fucking him. The one thing that kept her from his bed so far was complication. As a rule, it tended to get dicey if you had casual sex with someone in your circle. Either one person got attached or it made group dinners awkward.
The shrill ring of her cell pulled her from her mental inventory of Dax. She looked down at the display and smiled. “Speak of the devil.” With a swipe of her finger, she accepted the call.
“Hey, Dax, what’s up?” She sounded like an eager teenager waiting on a call from the popular boy. Where the fuck did that come from?
“Hey, beautiful, how’d it go?” She should’ve been expecting his call. Anytime she had a case, her brother, John, Michael, and Dax always called later that day to see how it went.
“Excellent, as always. I got game in the courtroom, or conference room, as it were.”
“No surprise there, Killer. You always give one hundred and ten percent to your clients and that’s why they love you.”
“And why opposing counsels fucking hate me.”
“No one could hate you, Stacy,” she heard on his exhale. There was the typical awkward silence that always descended over them when Dax complimented her. It wasn’t like that with everyone else. Stacy would always take it all in stride, but with Dax, it always felt different, more serious.
“Hey listen, do you have time to swing by some time? I’ve got something I want to show you.”
Stacy was still angry with him about what had happened at the Reid’s barbeque, and considered saying no, but she couldn’t deny the invitation with her body yearning for him.
“Sure, I can pop by later today, if you want?”
And by pop, you really mean, pop that dick in your mouth. That was Slutty Stacy, making slurping sounds and moaning Dax’s name in her head. Oh, myeverlovingmotherfuckinggod, I’ve got so many freaking voices in my head, I should claim them as goddamned dependents on my 1040.
Mom Jeans Stacy was the pessimistic, glass-always-half-empty, parental figure her. There was also Bitchy, you’ll-never-be-happy, Stacy, Rainbows and glitter, oh-my-god-puppies-I-love-puppies, hopeful, Stacy, and now, Slutty-Slutty-Mcfuck-Me-Hard had to join the party. Her head was too fucking crowded, and sadly, none of them were the real her. Could she even remember the real her? Does that woman still exist? She wasn’t sure she knew the answer, but now wasn’t the time to think about it; it was time to prepare herself for being in close proximity to Dax and to figure out a way to stop herself from jumping him.
“That works for me. See you later.”
“Later.”
**
Big Dax was hopeful when he hung up with Stacy. She owned a piece of his heart from the first day he’d caught a glimpse of her incomparable spirit, and she owned many more with every day that passed.
They say you get honesty from drunks and children, and that was certainly true with Stacy. The night of her housewarming party, he had helped put a very drunk Stacy to bed, and she had said some things she probably wouldn’t have if she’d been sober. It was a moment of no pretense. She was vulnerable and genuine. That peek into who she was pretty much sealed his fate.
As she drifted into her drunken slumber that night, she mentioned an ex and a crime and something about short hair. It didn’t make a lot of sense at the time, but it was clear that whatever happened had affected Stacy greatly.
Dax held off as long as he could, not wanting to invade her privacy, but eventually, months later, once he realized how much he cared about her, he had called in a favor with Andy, Erika’s gay ex-husband, who just happened to be an attorney. He knew if he wanted the scoop, more than what he could learn from public records, he needed Andy’s Cracker Jack private investigator, Chuck.
In a matter of weeks, Chuck compiled a complete folder on everything surrounding Stacy’s ex, Hank Olson. Dax had never thought he was a chicken until Chuck put that sealed folder in his hands. He couldn’t open it. He wanted to, God knew he wanted to, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Instead of ripping into it, he asked Chuck for just the highlights and had learned Stacy was the victim of a burglary and assault and had been the key witness in Hank’s trial where he had been convicted of breaking and entering. Dax immediately filed the manila envelope away at his tattoo shop and refused to open it.
Deploying Chuck was already a major betrayal, yet Dax somehow convinced himself that by not reading it, it made it less violating somehow. Now, he had to come clean with her about the envelope and what he already knew. It was the only way they could ever move toward having more than just friendship. And fuck, Dax was dreading having to tell her.
She had already been through so much, not only with the ex, but also her battle with cancer. She didn’t know he knew, but that night, she’d also mumbled about cancer and her smile. She never brought it up again, so he pretended he didn’t know, but he did question her brother, John, about it. John was tight-lipped, but reading the cues and of course, her body, Dax put two and two together. He was a boob man, after all, so it seemed fairly obvious to him. That revelation stole a second piece of his heart that night.
However, when it came to Stacy, he knew that no matter what she looked like under her shirt, he would absolutely love it. He adored everything about her. Stacy was a curvy, tiny package with denim blue eyes and short, platinum hair.
Her orchids and amber scent caused him to go insta-hard, no matter where he was or who was around. He was in a constant state of arousal whenever he saw her, smelled her, or even thought about her—an awkward position for man his age, for sure.
No matter what she wore, she looked absolutely edible. Unless she was dressed for yoga, she was dressed to kill, always in spiked heels and a skirt suit that screamed confidence.
Confidence was the sexiest thing a woman could wear, and Stacy had it in spades.
The first time Dax sat in the back of the courtroom while Stacy ripped an accused a new one, he was a goner. She was on fire, like an avenging angel sent down from the heavens to right wrongs. She took ownership of the biggest piece of his heart that day. That was the day all of the little pieces she had been taking over the last year finally added up to the whole.
He unquestionably belonged to her now, whether she knew it or not. Dax figured Francis had cleared the way for him to finally come clean with her admonishment of his “sisters” earlier that week at the barbeque for pushing him and Gus together.
He asked her over to see the table he’d made her, and if he were lucky, the table would grace one side of his bed instead of the one at her place. It only made sense since he carved the two bedside tables—one for her and one for him—as a complementary pair to his bed.
Maybe it’s too much, what if she freaks out and bolts? Dax wasn’t stupid. He knew Stacy avoided relationships like the plague, and would probably look for any reason to escape what he was offering her. Plus, he knew she was already upset about him holding out on what he knew before the big barbeque announcement, so he couldn’t anticipate her reaction to his revelation about the folder info, and his gift. This should be interesting, to say the least.
**
As Stacy drove to Dax’s house, she tried to rationalize her anger with him. The baby announcement at the barbeque still stung. Not
because it was Gus carrying Andy and Marco’s baby, but because she felt on the outside once again. She was out of the loop, but Dax was firmly in. He’d known ahead of time that Gus was the baby oven for them, when it was supposed to have been Erika.
Plans had changed when Erika was injured in a car accident last year, and could no longer carry Andy’s child, as had been their plan since high school. She still donated the egg, but having the woman Stacy was sure her brother cared deeply for pregnant with another couple’s baby wasn’t ideal.
Stacy knew her initial reaction to Dax knowing was over the top, to say the least. Storming out of the barbeque with just a clipped goodbye and congratulations wasn’t the right way to handle it. She was strong enough to admit when she was wrong.
However, that moment had solidified her placement on the outside rather than the inner circle, and she had already added that moment to those in her life when a piece of her soul had died.
While she drove, she took a mental trip down Memories That Suck Lane. For some reason, it was never images that reminded her of these moments, it was scents.
First, there was the smell of burnt wood and metal that marked her parents’ death. Then, the stench of the prison that reminded her that her baby brother’s life had been cut short. Next, the foul odor of her own sickness as the chemotherapy ravaged her body. Then, the plasticy whiff of silicon as the prosthesis touched her warm flesh for the first time. Expensive designer cologne was the next thief in a long line of many—cologne worn by a man she let into her home, her body, her heart, a man who took betrayal to a whole new level. And now, thanks to the confirmation that she would forever be an outsider, chlorine had been added to the list. That scent of summer would now mark the latest in a long line of reminders of the pieces of herself she no longer possessed.
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