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With jury selection complete, the trial loomed just days away.
My nerves were shot, and the urge to drink something strong was overwhelming.
Colton had taken over the dining room table, turning it into a battlefield of files, reports, and legal pads covered in his scribbled notes.
His tie was off, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled as he paced like a caged animal searching for escape.
Seeing him like this, and knowing it was all for me, made my anxiety worse.
I did a lot of pacing myself, jumping at every doorbell ring, hoping Colton’s assistant would bring back my laptop and phone from evidence. No such luck. I desperately wanted to check Claire’s alibi, but had no way to research without the mall video surveillance evidence or a computer.
Then I heard my name and froze. I picked up the remote and hit the rewind button.
So, have you heard about this fancy-schmancy socialite, Olivia Taylor?
I mean, she’s gone from champagne and diamonds to handcuffs and body cavity searches faster than you can say Criminal Minds!
One day, she’s at charity galas. The next, she’s on trial.
And it ain’t for grand theft auto, either .
. . Murder one, folks! Talk about a dramatic career turn!
If she were any more scandalous, she’d need her own Netflix series!
You know it’s bad when even the tabloids are like, “Girl, tone it down! We kinda liked that dude!”
Sprinkled roars of laughter came from the public, each one a dagger to my heart. Those people didn’t know anything about me, and worse than anything, they didn’t care whether I was guilty or not. I was just a source of cheap entertainment for them.
I turned off the TV and threw the remote against the wall. It fell to the ground intact, leaving behind a small dent. I was tempted to stomp all over it, but I went to the window instead and leaned my forehead against the cool glass, relishing the soothing sensation.
The perfectly blue sky outside only reminded me of how trapped I felt. I needed to get out of the house, to do something. Grabbing a fresh pair of jeans, a white scarf, and sunglasses, I decided it was time to visit Miracle Mile and start getting answers.
I was still getting dressed when the sound of raised voices caught my attention. I zipped up my jeans and slipped on a pair of sneakers, then rushed into the living room.
“She ain’t gonna do this, man, I’m telling you!” Billy Ray was shouting.
I’d never seen him like this . . . not since this whole ordeal had started. He’d been quiet, withdrawn, fixing way more food than we could eat. Now his face was blotchy red, and his eyes drilled into Colton.
“She has to,” Colton replied, a little calmer than Billy. “Do you think I want her humiliated like that?”
“Like what?” I asked, feeling a sickening knot in my gut. “What’s going on?”
Both men turned toward me, looking guilty and embarrassed as if I’d caught them doing something wrong.
“Um, I asked for an expert to interview you before trial,” Colton said. “She’ll testify—”
“It’s a shrink, sis. She’ll speak about you and, um, our father . . . what the bastard did to you.”
The room seemed to go dark.
My chest clenched, and my throat burned with the sudden pressure of words I couldn’t find. I felt the sting behind my eyes first, sharp and hot, and then my face crumpled, the tears breaking free before I could stop them.
“Oh, no . . . please . . .” The words came out in a shattered whisper, my voice thin and trembling. I pressed my shaking fingers to my lips, but it couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped. “I don’t want people to know, Colton,” I whispered through the tears, my voice shattered.
“Told you,” Billy Ray said, going into the kitchen and rummaging through the fridge for a beer, then slamming the door shut so forcefully that it rattled. I heard the cap popping, then clattering into the garbage can. “She ain’t gonna do it, and I’m fine and dandy with that.”
Colton drew closer and took me in his arms, slowly, as if afraid I was going to scream or scratch his eyes out. “We need all the help we can get with this case. I’ll tell her to keep it short.”
I nodded, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. “We’re losing, aren’t we?”
He pushed me far away enough to look me straight in the eye. “We’re not going to lose, all right? We’re fighting. That’s how trials are won. With witnesses and experts. I know what I’m doing.”
My stomach twisted. A shrink on the stand. My life, my past, laid bare for a courtroom full of strangers to dissect. The thought made me feel exposed, raw, as if they weren’t just bringing in an expert—they were prying me open and picking me apart, piece by piece, for everyone to see.
I swallowed hard, my mind scrambling for a way out. But there wasn’t one. If I fought this, I’d only be making things worse for myself.
I exhaled shakily. “Okay,” I said softly. My tears were gone, replaced by the decision to take some things into my own hands. Like poking a hole the size of a truck into Claire’s alibi. Colton didn’t seem at all preoccupied with doing that.
“She’ll want to sit down with you tomorrow.” Colton lifted my chin up a little with the tips of his fingers. I looked into his blue eyes and saw reassurance there, but some fear, too.
Funny how fear could take so many shapes and forms. It could cut through my heart, leaving me breathless.
It could grip my gut with anguish. It could keep me up at night, or not let me touch any food.
Or, it could surface in someone’s eyes—subtle, silent—spreading through the flicker of an expression, the tension in a jawline, the weight of words never spoken.
“That’s okay,” I said again, cringing at the thought of discussing my inmost secrets with a complete stranger, then having them pasted all over the tabloids and turned into stand-up comedy acts.
Since I’d been charged with Winston’s murder, my life had stopped being my own. “Do what you think is best.”
I walked toward the door, seeing Billy Ray’s gaping mouth. I smiled at him reassuringly. “I’ll be okay, Billy Ray. I’ve gone through worse.” I wrapped my scarf around my head and put on the sunglasses.
“Where are you going?” Colton asked, frowning.
“Just for a drive,” I replied, holding out my hand to Billy Ray. “Borrow your truck?”
“Nah, take mine,” Colton said, giving me his keys, “and take Billy Ray’s phone with you.”