Chapter 32 Faith
FAITH
I’d rehearsed this conversation seventeen times in the shower. Had my points lined up, my tone calibrated, my resolve fortified.
Then Ryker walked through my door in that charcoal suit that should be illegal in twenty countries, and my brain cells immediately staged a walkout.
God, it wasn’t fair. How was I supposed to hate someone who looked like he’d stepped out of my darkest fantasies?
Those sapphire eyes could pin me to a wall from across a room.
The stubble shadowing his jaw was that perfect three-day length that said, I woke up like this, but probably took careful maintenance.
Which was dark, like his hair. That thick, unruly mess I’d tangled my fingers in while screaming his name.
Focus, Faith. Anger. You’re angry.
“I have a question,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.
Professional. I could be professional.
He slid his jacket off, and I caught myself tracking the movement of his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. The way his muscles shifted under his skin, the casual strength in such a simple gesture.
Last night, he’d shown up when Harper and I were drinking. Sure, I’d been too drunk to have a meaningful conversation, but he could’ve at least tried. Could’ve acknowledged what had happened between us instead of treating me like a drunk client who needed tucking in and managing.
This morning, I’d woken up, hoping we could finally talk. Work through whatever the hell was happening between us.
Instead, I found a note on my bedside table. Water. Advil. And an empty couch, where he’d spent the night.
He’d left before I even opened my eyes.
The first time he bailed—after I’d spilled my guts while painting that ridiculous lime-green wall—maybe that was because of an urgent phone call. An emergency. Something legitimate that couldn’t wait.
But twice? Twice was a pattern.
And the message was loud and clear: whatever had been growing between us was over before it started. He’d heard my damage and decided I was too much work. Too broken. Too complicated for a guy with his shit together.
Fine. I got it. Really, I did.
But I couldn’t keep doing this, seeing him every day, pretending my chest didn’t tighten every time he walked through my door. Pretending I didn’t care that he kept running.
I was done being the girl people ran from.
So, after careful consideration, I had one solution that might actually work.
“Okay?” His eyebrow arched, all casual confidence.
“You’re a criminal defense attorney with many years of experience, right?”
“Is this a pop quiz?” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Because I left my number two pencil in my other pants.”
“Are you the only attorney willing to take my case?”
The amusement died on his face. “I’m very good at my job, Faith.”
“I’m sure you are. But there are other criminal defense attorneys in Chicago.” I kept my voice level, reasonable. “What would it take for me to secure one of those?”
He went still. “Do you want to fire me?”
“I think us working together might be a bad idea. You know, conflict of interest and all that. You’re also my brother’s best friend. And we’ve”—I gestured vaguely between us—“complicated things.”
“Complicated.” He said the word like it offended him personally. “That’s what you’re calling it?”
“What would you call it?”
He moved closer, and suddenly, the room felt smaller. “I’d call it me trying to do my job while you’re making it impossible to think straight.”
My pulse kicked up. I tried to hold on to my anger, but when he looked at me like I was both his salvation and his damnation, it took a sledgehammer to every defense I’d built.
“Well, maybe that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be my lawyer.”
“Or maybe,” he countered, voice dropping, “that’s exactly why I’m the best person for this. Because I give a damn. Because I won’t stop until you’re free.”
My anger flickered and threatened to die. No. I needed it. Needed the protection it offered.
“Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done. But I think we’ve crossed some professional boundaries, wouldn’t you agree?” I kept my tone crisp, businesslike. Like my heart wasn’t currently trying to claw its way out of my chest. “It’s messy. And I don’t do messy well.”
He studied me, those blue eyes dissecting every micro-expression, every tell I couldn’t quite hide. “You’re pushing me away.”
“I’m being practical.”
“Bullshit.” He moved closer. “You’re running because you think I rejected you.”
The accuracy of that statement made my stomach drop. How could he already read me so well?
“I’m not running anywhere. I’m currently facing murder charges, remember? Kind of limits my travel options.”
“Don’t deflect with humor.”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“Then talk to me.” His voice softened. “Tell me what’s actually going on.”
“What’s going on is that I need a lawyer who can be objective. Who doesn’t …” I stopped myself.
“Doesn’t what?”
“Doesn’t look at me like I’m broken.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “Doesn’t hear my past and immediately need to escape. Doesn’t …” My voice cracked. “Doesn’t confirm every fear I’ve ever had about myself.”
His expression shifted. Something raw and wounded flashed across his face. “Faith—”
“I laid myself bare to you, Ryker. Told you things I’ve never told anyone. And you couldn’t get out of there fast enough.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “So, forgive me if I’d rather have a lawyer who doesn’t see me as damaged goods.”
“Is that what you think?” His voice was rough. “That I see you as damaged?”
“What else am I supposed to think? You listened to my entire fucked-up history, and then you just … left. And you did it again this morning.”
“I left this morning because I had to work on your case while you slept off your hangover.”
“And the first time?”
He dragged a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. For a moment, he looked less like a polished attorney and more like a man wrestling with demons.
“You want the truth? Fine.” His voice dropped, turned raw. “Yes, I had a moment of doubt. After hearing everything you’d been through, everything that had happened to you … I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”
The admission made my legs feel weak.
“I had a client once,” he continued, his eyes never leaving mine. “Swore on his mother’s grave he was innocent. I believed him. Fought for him. Got him off.” His jaw tightened. “Three weeks later, he killed three people.”
My breath caught. No wonder he’d needed space. No wonder he’d doubted.
“So, when you told me about your past, about the violence you’d witnessed …
” He shook his head. “For a split second, I wondered if I was being blind again. If I was letting my feelings for you cloud my judgment. But mostly …” He moved closer and closer, with me matching every step until my back hit the wall.
“I left because hearing what you went through made me want to tear the world apart. Made me want to find every person who ever hurt you and make them pay.”
My breath caught. The air crackled with tension. I could feel the heat of him, and every nerve ending in my body was screaming at me to close the distance and embrace whatever this was.
I’d never had anyone besides Blake want to protect me. Want vengeance for me. Look at me like I was worth risking everything for.
But I couldn’t trust it. Not yet. He’d also just admitted he doubted me. That’s what I heard beneath all the pretty words about protection and rage. He’d heard my past, and his first instinct was to wonder if I was lying. If I was manipulating him. If I was guilty.
Not that I could blame him. I looked guilty. Maybe I was guilty.
But mixing romance with my case was a recipe for disaster, proven beyond a reasonable doubt with his actions. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let myself fall for someone who’d already started pulling away the moment things got messy.
“Faith?”
“I heard you,” I said quietly. “I told you things I’ve never told anyone, and your first thought was, What if she’s lying? That’s what you’re really saying.”
“That’s not—”
“It is though.” I felt the familiar distance slamming back into place around my heart.
Safer there. Couldn’t get hurt if you didn’t let anyone in.
“And I get it. I would feel the same way in your shoes, but I can’t …
I won’t …” I struggled to find the words.
“I just … I think it would be best if I worked with someone else.”
A fresh wave of offense washed over his face. “What’s your budget, Faith?”
The abrupt tone change threw me. “My what?”
“Your budget for a new attorney.” His voice took on that lawyer tone. “Because any attorney worth a damn is going to cost you. A lot. And your case is going to require thousands of billable hours. So, unless you’ve got a trust fund I don’t know about, you’re looking at a public defender.”
I appreciated that he didn’t suggest I borrow the money from Blake; I’d invaded his life enough as it was.
“There’s nothing wrong with public defenders.”
“There’s nothing wrong with them except they’re drowning in cases.
Your trial will require someone’s full attention.
Time. Resources. Expertise.” He leaned in, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes.
“You need someone who will stop at nothing to keep you out of prison. Someone who’s willing to fight dirty.
Someone who gives a damn whether you live or die. ”
“And that’s you?”
“That’s me.”
“Why?” The question came out as a whisper.
His eyes searched mine. “You really want to know?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Because when I look at you, I don’t see damaged goods.
” His hand came up, hovering near my face, but not quite touching.
Like he was asking permission. “I see someone who survived hell and came out swinging. Someone who took every terrible thing that happened to her and turned it into fuel to protect others.”
His fingers finally grazed my cheek, and I had to bite back a sound.