30 #2
“I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” I say. “Even in Atlanta. You’ll never be safe.
I will never, ever, let you out of my sight again.
I’ve got no hobbies. Nothing but time. One mistake and I will have you disbarred.
You’re lucky you’re getting relocated, in fact, because every sick and twisted thing you did to Lia?
That’s child's play compared to what I’m willing to do to you. ”
Then I let go—shoving him to the side and watching him stagger back, shrinking into the corner of the room.
“Now pack up your fucking things and get out. Wouldn’t want to linger and have HR find the documents on my desk.”
He staggers sideways out of the room, not a word more.
And then he’s gone. Out of our lives once and for all.
HR has already initiated his transfer. He’ll have the day to clean out his desk, then I’ll never see his slimy face again. And, more importantly, neither will the woman I love.
Watching Lia so bravely follow her dreams this summer, I realized that I want that for myself too. I want meaning in my work. And I have some ideas how to get there.
The lawyer friends I’ve made at the shelter have really helped with that, though at the end of the day, I realize I’m not the best lawyer for domestic violence survivors by the bare fact of my gender.
Even so, there are lots of other ways to do more good than harm in my work.
I even had a headhunter reach out from a plaintiff-side firm recently.
We’ll see what happens, but I’m… optimistic.
I admit, my skin is already crawling at the idea of the pay cut. But really, what was all that money for? Mom is set—her mortgage is paid off. Andy and Sophie are stable. Lord knows I don’t need another watch or truck.
And then there’s Lia. Lia who deserves to be pampered, taken to dinner, bought presents.
Lia who loves to be spoiled with material things.
I was honestly a bit worried how she would react to the idea of my leaving the firm, but she was so proud of me.
And that’s worth more than anything money can buy.
I walk past Connor’s vacated office at the end of the day. Nothing left but standard-issue office supplies and a worn copy of the Bluebook style guide. And in the parking lot, I’m greeted by the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, leaning against my truck, waiting for me.
The sun is shining, the first signs of autumn color appearing on the leaves, hope radiating from her stunning face.
I drop my bag and run straight to her, sweeping her into my arms.
“We did it, gorgeous.”
Her fingers are tight in my hair, face buried into the crook of my neck.
We stay there for what feels like a full minute, her fingers twisting tightly into the back of my shirt, until I finally place her feet back on the ground.
When she pulls away from me, there’s a wet spot at the top of her cheek.
She wipes at it quickly with the back of her hand, then says, “It went well?”
“He’s gone.”
“I saw.”
“You saw? How long have you been here? I thought you were meeting with Joséphine today?”
“The call was quick. My contract’s officially signed.” She says it with a teasing flip of her hair, like this isn’t a brave and hard-won career milestone.
My hands are on her hips, fingers pressing encouragement through the soft fabric of her skirt. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
“You may be biased,” she says with a half-smile. “I’m still nervous, but I think you’re right. Sometimes I have to leave my original plan behind, or forge ahead without one. And it feels worth the risk.”
My hand cups the side of her face as I kiss her, light and sweet and bursting with pride.
“So how do you want to celebrate your first night as an internationally licensed fashion designer?”
“I actually couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate than coming here to witness Connor’s misery. Speaking of which…” There’s a mischief I know well in her tone.
“What. Tell me.”
“Allegedly, someone slashed his tires.”
“Amelia,” I laugh, stepping closer to her even as my eyes dart around the lot, hunting for evidence of her crimes.
“I mean, if he didn’t want NASA to slash his tires, he shouldn’t have had four of them on his car. One for each person? He was asking for it.”
I laugh again, louder this time. “But this wasn’t you, right? It’s all alleged.”
“Absolutely. And when NASA left, that same someone allegedly waited inside your truck behind the tinted windows so she could watch Connor find the busted tires, then try to fix it himself, then call AAA, then sit and suffer for an hour waiting, then be emasculated when he had to watch another man change his ti—”
“Okay, okay,” I laugh. “I get it. You’re a reckless witch, you know that?”
Her hands come to rest on my biceps, warm red nails against light blue fabric as she says, “You love me.”
The whiskey brown of her eyes is almost golden in the sunlight as I tell her, “I do love you. So much.”
Her expression softens—the hint of something vulnerable there. “And he signed the order?”
“Signed, sealed, delivered, baby.”
That’s all it takes to make her laugh, and the sound feels like victory. “Ew, you’re so cheesy.”
“You love me,” I say, echoing her own words.
And even now, after weeks of hearing it, my heart melts to the sound of her saying, “I do love you. So much.”
I don’t know what feels better, her love or her trust. But now that she’s let me in, offered me this beautiful thread into her confidence, I know I’ll never take it for granted. Never stop striving to deserve her. Never, ever let her go.