Broken Justice (Cowboy Justice Association #18)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Bennett Reilly had been watching television for four days straight now.

The same streaming service, the same position on his leather couch, the same cycle of mindless shows that didn't require a single functioning brain cell to follow.

He couldn't even name what he'd been watching.

Something with zombies? Or was it cops? He wasn't sure anymore.

What he was sure about was the empty pizza box on his coffee table, the collection of chip bags scattered across his otherwise expensive furniture, and the fact that he, who was always prepared, always put-together Ben, had completely and utterly lost his way.

The remote control was permanently attached to his hand. He'd been clicking through episodes mechanically, barely registering the content he was watching. His apartment, normally pristine, looked like it had been ransacked by a rowdy pack of squirrels searching for nuts for the winter.

He stretched, his back cracking in protest. Four days of barely moving had turned his normally fit body into one painful knot. His mother would have a stroke if she could see him now. Hell, his whole family would be shocked. The thought almost made him smile. Almost.

Ben absently reached for his phone, tapping it awake to see a cluster of notifications.

Four texts from former colleagues asking if he'd "landed on his feet yet.

" Five emails from headhunters who'd heard about his "sudden availability.

" One text from his local congressman asking for a donation.

And, of course, one voicemail from his sister, Lulu, that he'd been avoiding since yesterday, and one from his younger brother Chase.

There wasn’t a single message he wanted to deal with.

Not one person did he feel like explaining to that he had been blindsided when his eccentric partner Scott decided to "find himself" and abandon their enterprise.

Or that their other partner, Martin, had decided that finding a new genius to replace Scott would be too much work and had organized the shutdown while Ben was on a business trip.

The company they'd built from nothing was now exactly that again: nothing.

But he was also realistic. Not returning his siblings’ calls wasn’t going to fly. Not with his family. If he didn’t talk to at least one of them, he wouldn’t put it past them to hop onto a plane to New York City and pound on his front door.

Assuming they could get past the doorman.

Chase. Chase could charm his way upstairs.

What was it about Ben’s brother that had everyone wanting to do things for him?

And they always thought it was their own idea, too.

Somehow, Chase could sweet-talk someone into volunteering to help with the Christmas play, and another person to donate to a food drive.

Hell, Chase should have gone into sales. He would have made a fortune.

Pressing a few buttons on his phone, he held it to his ear as it rang a few times. With any luck, Chase wouldn’t answer, and Ben could simply leave a light-hearted and non-committal voicemail.

Please be busy. Please don’t answer.

“Hey, Ben. Glad you called. You got my message.”

Miracles weren’t going to happen today. He should have called Lulu. She was probably busy with a jaywalker or something like that.

“I did,” Ben said, stifling his sigh. “What’s going on? Are Mom and Dad okay?”

“They’re fine. Do I need a reason to call my favorite brother?”

“I’m your only brother. And no, you don’t, but we just talked a few weeks ago.”

“That’s the problem with you,” Chase laughed. “You think talking every few weeks with your, admittedly, only brother is enough. Some families talk more often than that.”

“That’s because they have lots of free time.”

Technically, I do as well, but I’m not going to admit that today.

He hadn’t told them about his business yet. They’d worry and fuss, and he simply wasn’t prepared to deal with their emotions when he couldn’t even handle his own. He’d tell them…eventually. There was nothing they could do to change or fix this situation.

“I was calling for a reason,” Chase went on as if Ben hadn’t spoken. “I wanted to make sure you’re going to be at Mom’s birthday party. Seriously, big brother, no fucking excuses. I don’t want to hear about some important business meeting or how you have to be in Los Angeles—”

“I’ll be there,” Ben interrupted, hoping to stop the lecture he was sure Chase wanted to give him. “I get it. I’m a terrible son who works too much. But fear not, because I’ll be there. What’s the saying? With bells on.”

“I would pay cash money to see that,” Chase replied. “That’s good. It would hurt Mom if you didn’t show. It was bad enough when you weren’t here for Dad’s retirement.”

At the time, Ben hadn’t thought it was a big deal, but on reflection, he’d been a total jerk. He should have been there. Not showing up had been a shitty, no-good thing to do. He’d apologized profusely to his dad, who assured him it was fine, but Ben knew better.

It wasn’t fine. He’d hurt his dad, and that wasn’t okay in the least. There was no way to go back in time and rectify the situation, either.

“I know, and I feel bad about that,” Ben finally replied. “I won’t drop the ball again.”

“Trying to get some work-life balance? It’s about time. You’ll be happier and live longer.”

This was the moment. If he wanted to tell Chase about the business closing, here was the opportunity.

“Sure,” he said instead. “Work-life balance. I’m getting some of that. So, I’ll see you then. I’m looking forward to it.”

“I know when I’m being rushed off the phone. I’ll see you then. Let me know if you need a ride from the airport.”

The call ended, and Ben tossed the phone aside, sliding between the couch cushions. His eyes drifted back to the TV, where some actor was giving an impassioned speech about perseverance or courage or some other virtue that he, sadly, felt devoid of.

If the call with Chase had included video…Ben would have upset the entire tiny town of Harper.

The pizza box on his coffee table had a grease stain on its cardboard surface and a wad of used paper napkins shoved inside.

Ben stared at it, suddenly annoyed. This wasn't him.

This slovenly, self-pitying mess wasn't anyone he wanted to be.

He might not know what to do with his life right now, but he certainly didn't need to live in a pigsty while figuring it out.

"Enough," he muttered to himself, thoroughly disgusted by how quickly he’d let things go.

He pushed himself up from the couch, determined to do something today. Anything. Something that didn’t involve television and the food delivery app on his phone.

The kitchen trash bag was already nearly full, but he grabbed it anyway, then moved through his apartment collecting the damning evidence of his four-day pity party.

Empty pizza boxes. Crumpled napkins. Soda cans that had never made it to the recycling bin.

Chip bags that seemed to have reproduced overnight.

He didn’t even like chips and soda all that much.

Each piece of trash represented another hour he'd wasted feeling sorry for himself. Another hour that he could have been doing something productive. He wasn’t the type to wallow. He was the type who fixed things. Made them better.

But what was he supposed to fix? This was out of his control.

His entire identity had been wrapped up in being the business guy, the one who made things run smoothly while Scott invented and Martin funded. Now he was just... what? A thirty-five-year-old man who didn’t have anywhere to go in the morning.

Had the barista on the corner noticed that he hadn’t come in for his usual coffee? She always greeted him by name and asked him if he had a big day ahead. He assumed she remembered him because he was a big tipper.

He closed the now-full trash bag and continued toward the door. When was the last time he'd actually left his apartment? Tuesday, maybe? No, it must have been Monday. He’d gone down to the corner store to get a box of cereal and some milk.

The hallway of his building was impeccable, as always, the smell of lemon furniture polish lingering in the air. Lush carpeting muffled his footsteps as he made his way to the trash chute room at the end of the corridor.

The trash room was a small, utilitarian space at the end of each floor, a stark contrast to the rest of the building’s luxury.

A large metal chute dominated one wall, with recycling bins neatly arranged on the opposite side.

Ben pushed the heavy door open with his shoulder, the garbage bag dangling from one hand.

The room, however, wasn’t empty. A pretty young woman was struggling with her garbage bag, trying to stuff what looked like a week’s worth of trash into the narrow chute opening.

He wasn’t shocked that she wasn’t having any luck.

There was a trick to using that chute. Physics was not on her side. Clearly, she was new in the building.

Her auburn hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, a few strands falling across her face as she grunted with effort. Frustration was clearly written on her features as she gave the plastic bag another hard shove.

"Easy there. You don’t want to break the bag. Then you’ll have a mess on your hands.”

The woman turned, her expression shifting from frustration to surprise that she wasn’t alone.

"I can help," Ben offered, setting his own bag down. "You have to use the right angle when you have that much trash. It’s the only way it will go down."

She didn’t reply, and he didn’t wait for a response. She didn’t seem the chatty type, but this was New York City. He couldn’t pick out most of his neighbors in a lineup. He simply didn’t see them that often. They all had their own lives.

He stepped forward, taking the bag from her unresisting hands. Their fingers brushed briefly, and he felt a jolt that had nothing to do with static electricity. Her skin was warm where they touched.