Legal Bindings

17. Nick

Nick wasn’t expectingto find Sydney in his house, but he was pleased to see her sitting at the kitchen table when he came through the side door. Especially when she lifted her head and grinned at him like it was normal that she was there, and—nope, he wasn’t going to get his hopes up. He shouldn’t put the cart before the horse.

“Nick!” she said, and he fought down the warm, fuzzy feeling that threatened to settle into his brain. “We ordered pizza.”

“I know,” he said, aiming for nonchalance as he dropped his bag by the door. “You think I didn’t see Evan on the front porch paying for it?”

“Oh, cool,” she said just as Evan made his entrance, boxes in hand. They were from a place Nick hadn’t heard of before. His mouth watered at the sight of the twin grease spots of temptation shining on their cardboard tops.

“Hey, Nick,” Evan said, setting the boxes on the table. “We ordered for three—assumed you were joining us.”

The consideration made that fuzzy feeling threaten Nick once again, so he cleared his throat, mumbled his thanks, and went to get them plates.

“Oh my God,” Sydney said after taking her first bite, cheese stringing between her mouth and the slice, making her look like something out of an old cartoon.

Evan laughed, passing her a napkin. “It’s good, right? It’s not far from here.”

“It’s so good.” She ate in silence for a moment before turning to Nick with a grin. “Evan’s famous now. Did you know that?”

Evan was already shaking his head. “No, I’m not.”

“You are! He has, like, a million followers on social, and some big gallery downtown is putting his art up.”

“It’s a small gallery downtown,” Evan corrected, holding up his hands. “And I’m not famous. I just have some people interested in my work.”

Nick hadn’t spent much time considering whether Evan was well-known as an artist. He’d just assumed he must be because he could afford the rent. “Is it the sort of thing where I ought to say congratulations?”

Evan shook his head. “It’s probably nothing, but I’d be an idiot not to strike while the iron’s hot.”

“Smart.” Nick went back to his pizza, enjoying it for two seconds before Sydney ambushed him.

“Where were you today, anyway, Nick?”

That was a strange question, and he raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Like, do you have a new job or something?”

The back of Nick’s neck prickled. The feeling wasn’t new—he’d had it every time he’d been caught in a lie as a kid, when he used to tell outlandish tales at school about nonexistent parents who were coming to get him—but his defenses rose all the same.

“I was working on a case,” he said around the fluttering pulse in his throat.

That wasn’t a total falsehood—he had spent his day researching child and family courts as well as the foster care system in Seattle. He’d also had a meeting with Donna in which he’d suggested that he might possibly be interested in fostering Sydney. Donna had been pleased and had insisted on trying to fast-track his application, given Sydney’s situation. However—and it had been a big however—she’d cautioned him that without a job, he wouldn’t get far.

The universe was on Nick’s side, though. Not long after leaving Donna’s office, he’d received a phone call from a hiring manager at Larry’s firm, inviting him to interview for one of their open positions the following morning. Despite being annoyed at the last-minute ask, Nick had agreed, mostly because after a week of waiting, he’d assumed Larry had simply forgotten about him.

“What case?” Sydney pressed, her slight frame folding forward as her eyes narrowed.

“That’s confidential,” he said. “Eat your pizza.”

She continued to look at him with suspicion as she went back to her food, and Evan—perhaps sensing the tension, or perhaps not wanting to point out the contradictions in Nick’s employment status—asked her if she’d gotten her homework done. That set off a rant about the impossibility of algebra, and the awkwardness faded. Twenty minutes later, Sydney and Nick were doing the dishes, and she’d moved on entirely, telling him some story about a kid who’d thrown up in the cafeteria at lunch. Nick listened while she rambled through the details, half paying attention but mostly just enjoying the fact that she was opening up.

“How are you getting home?” he asked when she came up for air.

“Evan said he’d drive me.”

Evan, who was wedging the leftover pizza boxes into the fridge, glanced up. “Yeah, it’s no problem.”

“I can do it,” Nick said. Evan had been with Sydney all afternoon, and for all that he was good with her, he wasn’t her babysitter.

“I don’t mind,” Evan protested.

“Neither do I.” He looked at Sydney and smiled. “All right with you?”

“What kind of car do you have?”

“I didn’t realize you had standards.”

“I was just asking!” she said, laughing, as she flicked some soapy bubbles off her arm and onto his hand.

If anyone else had done that, Nick might have been annoyed. With Sydney, he just splashed her back, grinning when she let out a shriek. Several splashes later, Sydney was buckling herself into the passenger side of Nick’s Volvo (which she’d deemed “okay”) as he backed out of the driveway.

“You had fun today?” he asked, righting the wheel and heading for the group home. He was nailing the parenting thing. All he had to do was show up, ask some questions, and treat the kid like a human being.

“Yeah. Evan’s awesome. He doesn’t try to make me follow rules.”

“Because that’s worked out for you so far?”

“Not—no, not like actual rules. Art rules. My teacher at school is always going on about technique and stuff.”

“Don’t you think there’s some value in learning the rules before you break them?”

Sydney wrinkled her nose then shrugged. “Maybe.”

He smiled, making a right. “Just a thought.”

There was silence from the passenger seat. Finally, Sydney said, “I get it, I think. Like, Evan’s doing traditional stuff, but then he’s fu—he’s messing with it. And you can’t mess with the basics unless you understand them.”

“Exactly. You can swear in front of me, by the way. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re right. It’s sort of like what I do—I know the law, so I can figure out how to help people find ways out of trouble.”

“You mean like proving that people are innocent?”

“Well… sometimes. But most of the time, it’s that they’re a little bit guilty, and I help them figure out how to fix the situation in their favor.”

“Like my plea deal?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Huh.” Sydney fell silent, her fingers picking at the strap of her backpack. “I bet you never got detention.”

“I never stole a car,” he said, his fingers tapping the steering wheel as he contemplated a lane change. It was easier to talk when he didn’t have to make eye contact, and for the second time that week, he found himself telling someone the one thing he liked to keep hidden. But it was Sydney. If anyone deserved to know, she did. “You know, I was in foster care too.”

Her head whipped around. “You were?”

“Uh-huh. My mom died when I was six, so my grandparents took me in, but they passed too. My grandpa died when I was nine, and my grandma got too sick to take care of me.”

“What about your dad?”

“He wasn’t really around.” He pulled into the turning lane, his heart ticking in time with the blinker. “I was placed with a family for a while, but… it didn’t work out.” His foster father hadn’t been too thrilled when he caught Nick kissing their farmhand, Levi, behind the barn. His anger wasn’t about Nick being fourteen and Levi twenty but that Nick and Levi were both male. “I was in a group home after that.”

“But you’re a lawyer.”

“I am.” He glanced at her and found a frown of confusion on her face. “They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that the two things can be true at the same time.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not what I meant. Just… you’re a lawyer. I get it, but I don’t get how. My grades are so shitty, and almost everyone else in the home is dealing with the same crap. How’d you make it out?”

“I was self-motivated.” That sounded better than saying he was so twisted with anger and fear that he’d charged through life, determined to prove he could succeed as much or more than any “normal” kid.

“Oh.” She hesitated. “Evan said that there were scholarships for artists.”

“Evan’s right.”

Sydney fell silent, and he let her think as he fought his way through the last of the commuter traffic, leaving the safety of the suburbs and heading for the not-so-great neighborhood where she lived. By the time he pulled onto her street, the chatterbox at his side had ceased to function.

“Hey.” He glanced over, noting the way she was staring straight ahead, expressionless. “Syd, everything’s okay, right?”

Sydney shrugged. “Yeah. I just hate it here.”

“You know, you can come over anytime, even if you don’t have an art lesson. You can do your homework, have some peace and quiet… we wouldn’t mind.”

“Even though you have your new job?”

Taken aback, Nick nearly laughed. He’d assumed she’d forgotten about the job thing, but it turned out she’d just been waiting for her moment. “I said I had a case, not a job.”

She raised a brow. “Evan thinks you go to work all day.”

“Don’t worry about what Evan thinks. And don’t worry about me, okay? I’m fine.” He would be, anyway, if the next day’s interview went well.

Sydney’s half smile widened as she reached for the door handle. “Yeah, cool. Thanks, Nick.”

Nick waited until she’d gone inside before heading home. The car felt empty without her. One day, though, maybe she’d be living with him—a vetted and approved foster parent providing peace and quiet in a place where Sydney felt safe. He could make sure she did her homework, helping her when it was hard, and they’d figure out her future together.

But it was stupid to dream. Even with Donna vouching for him, why would anyone let him have a kid? There were too many variables to consider, and as Nick traversed the darkened streets, he found himself wanting to talk the situation over with someone. He needed to lay out the problem and find solutions. And if he was being honest with himself, the person he wanted to talk to most was Evan, who knew Sydney and would give Nick an honest assessment of the situation. The man was nothing if not honest, after all, and though they didn’t necessarily understand one another, Nick had begun fostering a grudging respect for his roommate.

When he got home, however, Evan wasn’t around. Or at least, he wasn’t in any public spaces. Nick could hear movement in the hall bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, Evan floated into the living room with a dewy made-up face, wearing a flowered hippie-style skirt, a peasant blouse, and platform heels. It wasn’t quite drag—he’d thrown on a flannel shirt over the blouse—and wasn’t quite camp, but there was something uniquely Evan that drew the eye.

“Oh, hey,” Evan said, his painted mouth splitting into a grin. “Syd get home all right?”

“She did.” Nick forced a smile. Evan was prepped for another evening out, so talking was off the table. “Where you headed?”

“Some friends are taking me out to celebrate the gallery news. It’s dumb, but—”

“It’s not dumb.” Nick pulled a throw pillow into his lap, ignoring the tinge of envy that threatened to spark at being left out. “Have fun.”

“Thanks.” Evan crossed to the coffee table and picked up a little black purse. “Ah, you too. Have a good night.”

He watched him go then sat with his jealousy. Evan was under no obligation to invite him—they were roommates and only sort of friends—but that didn’t make Nick any less of a contrarian about the whole thing.

Whatever. He had an interview in the morning, and he needed his beauty rest. So, forcing Evan out of his mind, he put himself to bed early.

The sounds of fucking woke him some time later, and Nick sat straight up in bed and glanced around in confusion. His bedside clock told him it was nearly three thirty, and—yes, that was the unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh.

But he realized, with dawning horror, that it wasn’t sex—it was spanking. Nick would know the sound of it anywhere, and as his sleep-addled brain came around to the situation, he understood that Evan had brought his celebration home.

Mortified, Nick gaped at the wall, and while he knew he ought to put a pillow over his head and go to back to sleep, he didn’t. Instead, he listened to every grunt. Every squeal. Every giggle.

When the spanking was finally over, the noises only got worse—moans and groans and a headboard banging against the opposite wall, the rhythm starting slow, then becoming fast and erratic, and—oh, Nick was so goddamn lonely. Also horny. Also angry, because it was a dick move to keep one’s roommate up with loud, obnoxious sex.

Things came to a head eventually, ecstasy giving way to a silence that was followed by creaking floorboards and whispers in the hallway. Whoever Evan had brought home wasn’t spending the night, and while that knowledge ought to have made Nick feel better, it didn’t. He ached right down to his core, and it took him ages to fall back to sleep.