Chapter 14 The Loneliest Spectator
the loneliest spectator
Jaime sat in her empty living room and glared at the wall, unable to do anything but brood.
Nothing had ever distracted her from work, not once in her entire life. Enter one Olivia Gray, the destroyer of routines—twice now—the infuriating woman had upended Jaime’s life.
First, she’d pulled her out of isolation, showing her an existence that offered both tendrils of connection and the safety of familiar shores. Just when Jaime had fully adjusted to her new reality, Olivia had wrenched it from her grasp.
The fact that Jaime was the one who had ended things changed nothing. The situation was untenable, and her solution offered the cleanest cut for them both. Yet, she hadn’t expected the damned cut to get infected.
Like a virus, Olivia rampaged through her system, with no cure in sight.
Her work suffered—not that bystanders noticed, but she saw it.
And she hated it.
When Olivia hadn’t shown up on the first day of the Cain case—some other puppet from her law firm sat in her chair instead—Jaime’s first emotion was worry. Was Olivia sick? Had something happened to her?
Distracted all day, she had eventually reached out, unable to take it anymore. What did it get her? A simple “No.”
Nothing else. No explanation, no update.
All her preparations for encountering Olivia in her court room had been for naught, and in the end, she still knew nothing.
She’d visited her mother the weekend after the end, as she referred to that horrible moment at the hotel, and that visit had drained her more than they usually did—a scary thought.
Her patience had been paper thin, and she’d bitten her lip so hard it bled, just to keep from snapping at her mother.
At the thought of her mother, Jaime’s mind drifted to a moment during one of their hotel room meetings, when Olivia talked about her family, and the yearning in Jaime’s chest had almost crippled her.
Olivia laughed, pouring Jaime another glass of red wine and handing it to her as they both sat naked on the bed, the covers hanging halfway over the edge, and only one pillow remained on the mattress.
“I’m serious. You cannot imagine the trouble younger siblings can get into!
I constantly wished I was an only child growing up.
” She shook her head. “And being the oldest, you carry much more responsibility, and not just that, but your parents will be so much stricter with you than they are with your siblings.”
“It makes sense, though. The first child is always new territory. Suddenly, you have this tiny human, who depends on you for their survival, everything.”
“Yes, but that circumstance isn’t different for any subsequent children.”
“No, but you gain experience in handling all the…problems children create.”
“So that justifies being harder on the first born?” Olivia asked with a glare.
Jaime resisted the urge to touch Olivia’s forehead and smooth out her frown.
She shook her head. “I’m not saying that, but I can imagine parents being less worried after they’ve been through these stages once, so they are less tightly wound, and this automatically makes them less fearful, which translates to being more permissive. ”
“Huh. Perhaps.”
“Again, it’s just a theory. Not my area of expertise.”
“Anyway, it’s not just hard, having siblings, especially after your teenage years. It can also be quite wonderful. There will never be anyone else who knows you like they do, and who’s experienced the same upbringing.”
“You share a lot of burdens.”
“Yeah. Joys, too.” Olivia smiled, the arresting expression that always slowed Jaime’s heart down and spread a strange sort of warmth through her.
She supposed it must be nice to have someone to carry the burdens of your upbringing with you. Jaime would love to share her mother with someone, a person who would understand how difficult it was to want to love someone who so often was utterly unlovable.
Jaime forced herself off the couch, padding into the kitchen and pulling a bottle of her favorite merlot off the wine rack. She poured a generous portion and reclaimed her seat on the couch, taking a sip.
At first, she savored the familiar tang, but then her tongue recoiled as bitterness crept in, leaving her with an almost rancid aftertaste.
She sniffed the liquid—it smelled fine—before checking the bottle and cork. Completely normal, too. Jaime took another sip.
“Ugh,” she ground out, clenching her jaw. “Awful. What’s happening?” she muttered, rising to empty her glass in the sink before corking the bottle.
She supposed this fit right in. Everything since the no-good day at the hotel seemed to turn to shit. Jaime released a soft curse and got ready to go to bed. She might as well sleep her misery away.
Work eased a little, though it was especially monotonous. Why else would her mind constantly drift off? Two days later, she returned to the neverending pages, trying to keep up with some of her routines.
But even this outing turned into an utter failure. She tried hard to concentrate on her book, yet aside from philosophy being…troublesome right now, the conversations of the other patrons intruded on her mind.
She didn’t want to hear about other people’s problems, nor did she want to witness their saccharine love confessions. Add to this, the music grated on her nerves, too. Since when had neverending pages been so busy on a Thursday evening?
She lifted her cup to drink more coffee, intent on hurrying up and heading back home, when a young woman bumped into her, spilling her still steaming drink over her shirt. Jaime jumped up and pulled at the fabric, wincing at the heat searing her skin.
“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” the woman asked, covering her mouth with one hand.
“Fine,” Jaime ground out, rushing off to the bathroom. As soon as she entered the room and gazed at the sink, she halted, swallowing hard.
Fucking hell, she’d forgotten. With a clenched jaw she stepped closer, yanking a paper towel off the dispenser and soaking it before pressing it against her red chest.
She sighed. What a disaster.
Jaime glared at her reflection, almost startling at the sight—pale, sallow skin with dark circles under her eyes, which seemed to have circles of their own. She looked like a ghost, a specter who always stood apart.
Jaime muddled through the weekend, reading and taking a call from her mother.
She needed more time to regain her equilibrium before seeing her in person again.
So, she focused on work. A new case on her docket needed close attention, and she spent her evenings that week reviewing the documents, trying to immerse herself in the details.
By Wednesday evening, she recalled a reference she needed was in a legal volume at her office. So, come Thursday morning, she stood in front of her bookshelf, flipping through the pages.
“Yes,” she muttered quietly, a small victory at last.
She sat back down, drafting detailed notes. However, her mind drifted—flashes of Olivia, memories she tried to banish clinging stubbornly to her thoughts. Still, she pushed on, determined to maintain her focus.
An hour later, a knock sounded, and her judicial clerk, Sara, stepped in, a file in her hands. “Judge Lachlan?” Sara asked cautiously.
Jaime looked up, a tug of irritation rising. She was in the middle of a breakthrough. “Yes?”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt, but there’s something odd about the case you’re preparing for,” Sara said, her tone hesitant.
Jaime frowned, pulling off her reading glasses. “What do you mean?”
Sara shifted, glancing between the papers on Jaime’s desk and the one in her hands. “I was reviewing the docket for next week, and you’ve been working on the Hawthorne case, but it’s not scheduled for another month. The Grayson case is up first.”
Jaime’s heart sank. The detailed notes she had been drafting for days—how could she have missed such a simple thing? She blinked, feeling a wave of disbelief.
It wasn’t just carelessness; this was a rookie mistake. One she hadn’t even made during her early days on the bench.
She cleared her throat, doing her best to preserve her composure. “Thank you, Sara. I decided to get a head start on Hawthorne because of its complexity. I’ll shift my focus back to Grayson now.”
“Of course, Judge. I’ll get the files ready,” Sara said before stepping out.
As soon as the door closed, Jaime let out a groan, dropping her head into her hands. This wasn’t just an oversight—it was a glaring sign of how badly she was losing her grip. She had never made such an embarrassing mistake in her career, and worse, she’d lied to cover it up.
What was happening to her?
When she left her chambers later that day, she froze, her eyes widening as she stared at the familiar figure heading her way.
Her heart pounded and her palms grew damp.
Jaime knew she’d run into Olivia eventually, yet she didn’t feel prepared, and a part of her readied to turn and hide in her chambers. Ridiculous. Jaime straightened and strode forward, prepared to act as if she didn’t see Olivia until the last moment.
She was about to turn and signal Olivia, a colloquial, friendly greeting, when she realized the woman in question might share Olivia’s overall body shape and hair color, but she was in fact, a stranger.
Not Olivia.
A disorienting heaviness settled over Jaime, and she hurried out of the courthouse and almost ran to her car. This was no good at all.
Back home, Jaime took a bath, the heat and calming scents of peppermint and lavender helped, at least in making her drowsy enough to fall into bed and sleep.
She didn’t know how she managed to make it through the next day in court, holed up in her chamber stewing, while Friday evening found her once more on the couch, this time, in the dark, her thoughts even more maudlin than before.