Chapter 2
Chris
I’m in a bad mood today.
When am I not in a bad mood these days?
I shove a frustrated hand through my hair as I stomp across the small parking lot of my office. Hopefully, Mandi is already here and has started the coffee. I only had one cup between going to the gym and leaving to come in. And I already know I’m going to need about seven more.
But that’s what you get when you average about three to four hours of sleep a night.
No wonder I’m always in a bad mood. I’m always fucking tired.
Shaking off that realization, because I simply don’t have the capacity to analyze or fix my issues, I continue my trudge to the door of my office.
I prepare myself mentally for what I already know will be a draining day.
And not draining in the way that I have so much work to do, that would be riveting and interesting and require a lot of brainpower.
No.
It’s draining because it’s boring as fuck.
But this is the life I chose four years ago when I left defense work and pivoted to do contract law.
Most attorneys don’t switch the focus of what they practice because learning laws that they haven’t looked at since law school is a pain in the ass, and they would be correct, but it wasn’t optional for me.
I may have been the best defense attorney in the entire city—hell, really the state—but sometimes things happen, and it just isn’t feasible to continue the path that you’re on. Or you risk spiraling so far down that you lose your mind and yourself in the process.
So here I am, reviewing mind-numbing contracts and drinking way too much coffee during the day, and bourbon at night.
This isn’t the life I thought I would have at forty-four, but here we are.
With a sigh, I pull open the door to my office.
I’m greeted by the smell of expensive coffee and the scowling face of my paralegal, who also acts as my receptionist, because there isn’t as much money in contract work as there is in defense work.
I still make a good living, being the best and all, but the practice and client load are much smaller than they used to be, so I had to downsize my firm.
We also have to work on Saturdays on occasion, like today.
This week was particularly bad, and we had to push a few clients to come on today.
Mandi never complains, and I pay her well enough for the work she puts in, so she tolerates the additional duties and my grumpy ass.
“Morning, boss. You look awful as ever,” Mandi greets cheerfully as she plops into her rolling desk chair.
“Please remind me after I’ve had a few cups of coffee why I haven’t fired you already,” I call out as I cross the room and enter my office.
Mandi follows me in with said cup of coffee and sets it on my desk. “You’re in later than usual.”
Turning on my computer, I glance up at her. “Are you tracking my time now, too?”
She makes an annoyed face. “Okay, rude ass. I was just saying.” Her lips press together before she says quietly, “I’m worried about you.”
Sitting back in my chair, I rub my hands over my mouth. “I’m sorry, Mandi. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Her eyebrows pinch. “Do you ever these days?”
Huffing out a laugh, I admit, “No, I suppose I don’t.”
“I know you don’t like talking about this, but I’m bringing this up anyway.”
I raise my eyebrows in question when she hesitates.
She continues. “Have you thought about talking to anyone?”
Scowling, I reply, “Like a therapist? Absolutely not.”
She holds up a hand. “Yes, that. But it could also be a primary care doctor. Not sleeping for years at a time can’t be good for your health. Maybe they could give you something.”
“I’m not taking drugs, Mandi,” I bite out.
She rolls her eyes and mumbles under her breath. “Like drinking liquor all night is any better…”
“What was that?”
She sits up straighter in her chair. “Nothing.”
Sighing, I shuffle through the files on my desk, knowing she comes from a place of concern for me.
“Look, I recognize my coping mechanisms haven’t been the healthiest these last couple of years.
If I promise to try harder, will you lay off me a bit?
Maybe cut me some slack?” I lock eyes with her. “As a friend.”
Nodding, she agrees, “Yes, I will. I’m sorry, Chris.”
I wave away her apology. “Let’s just get the day started.”
With another nod, she stands. “You have a nine o’clock with a new client.”
I’m about to ask her a question when my cell phone starts ringing. I glance down at the screen.
Carlos Martinez.
It’s never good when a detective is calling you. Even if I do consider this particular one a friend. A text is usually sufficient. We don’t generally talk on the phone very often.
Mandi looks down at my phone and lets out a purr. “Let him know I’m single again if he’s interested.”
Giving her a look of disgust, I shake my head. Mandi may work for me, but it’s been so long that she’s basically become my little sister. And I refuse to deliver that message, on principle. “Absolutely not. I’ll give you his number later, and you can tell him your damn self.”
She shrugs with a smirk. “That’ll work too.”
By the time she’s out of my office, the call goes to voicemail. Without bothering to wait for it to come through, I call him back.
It rings a couple of times before he answers. “I thought you were going to ignore me.”
“Thought about it.” I click through a few emails as I talk.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.”
There’s something about his tone that draws my full attention. “And why is that?”
He clears his throat. “I know what you’re going to say, but I need you to reconsider.”
I’m shaking my head even though he can’t see me. “Goddamnit. Not you too. What the fuck is wrong with you idiots?”
I already have a group of friends who run a security company in town and conveniently ignore that I no longer practice criminal law, expecting me to fix all their legal troubles.
“Chris, hear me out.”
I inhale and count to five, then exhale and count to five. I think I heard that it’s supposed to be a calming technique, but hell, if it’s ever worked for me. Through gritted teeth, I say, “Fine, make it quick.”
He rushes out, “I will, I promise. So there’s this woman—”
“Carlos, if you’re about to call me because the chick you’re fucking broke the law and you can’t keep dating her because you’re a cop, the answer is no.”
“Will you shut the fuck up and listen?”
When I grunt an agreement, he continues.
“And no, this isn’t a chick I’m dating. Mainly because I’m holding out for Mandi to break up with that idiot she’s dating.”
Despite my annoyance, I smile. As Mandi’s self-appointed big brother, Carlos is exactly who I would want for her, even if it grosses me out when she talks about him like that. I’ll definitely be giving her his number later today.
“It’s someone who was taken in for questioning for the murder of her husband.”
I slip on my reading glasses and go back to sorting through the files on my desk, growing less interested in the conversation. “Condolences for the loss of her husband,” I mutter.
Carlos lets out an annoyed noise. “Chris, her husband wasn’t a good guy. Not a lot of people know this, but I was investigating him for multiple things when he died. He was involved in some bad shit.”
Dropping the file I’m holding onto my desk, I remove my glasses, dropping them on top of the papers. I spin my chair to stare out the window, the breeze fluttering the leaves of the tree right outside.
“She needs you. I don’t think she did it. I don’t want to see her go to jail for something she didn’t do. And if she did do it, he deserved it, and you need to get her the lightest sentence possible.”
“I’m not a defense attorney anymore,” I counter. The words come out as an automatic response, triggered by the mere mention of my past life.
“I know. And I get why. But this lady is not him. That case was different.”
My heart races, and I practically whisper into the phone when I say, “Carlos, you don’t know that.”
A sigh hits my ear. “I do, and I don’t, so I guess you’re partly right. But I wouldn’t have called you for any old case. There’s just something about this one that doesn’t sit right with me.”
With my stare fixed on the leaves, I don’t reply.
“He beat her, Chris.”
My eyes snap shut. “Fuck,” I mutter.
“Give it some thought. Please. I’m asking. As a friend. Her name is Lily Bennett. Two detectives just left with her. They took her down to the station to question her.”
He tells me which precinct they went to and disconnects the call, and I let my hand drop to my thigh. Slapping my phone lightly against my leg, my mind races.
Could I do this? Could I step back into the courtroom to fight for an, according to Carlos, innocent person’s life, knowing I could fail again?
It’s not like I hadn’t lost cases before, because I had. But let’s be honest, most people who hired me were guilty as hell and were just hoping for a Hail Mary pass that would get them off completely, or at the very least, the lowest sentence possible.
I’m sure I had other innocent clients. I never really asked because it wasn’t my job to care at that point. My job was to represent them in court to the best of my abilities.
But none affected me as much as his case. As his verdict of guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.
And now he’s sitting in jail for a crime he absolutely did not commit.
I failed him.
I failed myself.
The justice system failed us both.
And I resent the hell out of it.
So I did the only thing any self-respecting attorney would do and quit practicing.
For three months, I quit completely. Drank myself into a stupor. Until Mandi came over to my place and demanded I stop being a little bitch and get my shit together.
Some things never change, I guess.
I eventually listened to her after some nagging, but I told her I didn’t want to do what I’d been doing before. So she and I put the pieces of my life back together and built this little practice from the ground up, with my reputation backing it.
I ignored the whispers behind my back, dodged the questions people would ask. People finally moved on to more interesting topics than my breakdown and left me alone. Clients came flooding in, knowing I was the best before and trusted I’d still deliver.
And I do.
All the while, I ignore the guilt that I didn’t deliver for the one person who needed it the most.
I spin back around and grab my bag, then march around my desk and back into the lobby. “Mandi, cancel my appointments for the next few hours. Or maybe all of today. I have to go out.”
Her eyes widen, and she points to the man sitting in the small waiting area. “But your nine o’clock is right here.”
Moving my gaze to the man, I extend my hand. “Nice to meet you, sir. I have an emergency with another client that I have to rush out to. Mandi can get you rescheduled, and I will give you a discount on your rate for the inconvenience.”
I don’t wait for him to respond before I’m outside again. As the door closes behind me, I hear the man ask Mandi, “What kind of contract emergency could there be?”
Fair question. But I don’t really care if he doesn’t believe me. Mandi will smooth things over. Or he’ll go somewhere else. Either way, I have something else to do right now.
Something that could destroy me, even worse than before.