Chapter 17 Noah #2
"Good, because there's this entire franchise about dinosaurs I have to show you, and I'm going to need to know what you think, but maybe that could be the plan for tomorrow."
She's making plans like she's going to be here a while.
"I can't tomorrow. I'm out for several meetings throughout the day."
Summer nods and curls up in the seat. "Well, I guess I'm going to have more time to work, then. And get caught up on some of my schoolwork."
"Are you sure that law school is what you want to do and not just something you're doing because your family thinks it'd be good for them?"
"No. Aiden tried to talk me out of going to law school, actually. He thinks it's a bad idea. He didn't want things to look bad for me. He thought I was going to be wasting my time if I did it."
"He doesn't want to have someone working on the inside who's going to be able to help him?" I cross my arms, trying to make sense of that.
If I were in Aiden's position, I would consider her going to law school a good thing. Mostly. There would be suspicion surrounding Summer at all times due to who her family is, but she's got to have a clean record if she's becoming a lawyer.
Summer shrugs. "Not really. That's not why I want to do it either.
I do think people like my family should spend more time in jail than they do, but there are worse monsters out there in the world.
There are ones who should be spending the rest of their lives in prison, and I want to be the one to see them put away for it. "
I study her, trying to figure out everything that goes on in that pretty little head of hers. "You understand how that's a little twisted, right? Your family is fucked, and they've hurt a lot of people. They could all spend the rest of their lives in prison."
Summer shrugs. "So have you, and yet I'm not calling the cops on you.
Look, I'm not saying my morality is perfect.
I know it's not. I condemn people who have done the same things my brothers do.
I know you know what Skyla is. Yet, there are still worse people in the world.
And then there are innocent people going down for crimes they shouldn't, and I could be the one to save them. "
"That's what this is about, then."
She leans a little closer to me. "What are you talking about?"
I copy her, leaning in a little bit, the table still between our chairs. "You have a savior complex, and this is how you're getting off to it."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Her voice comes out tight.
Summer knows exactly what I'm talking about.
Chuckling, I lean back. "You want to save everyone because you feel like you can't save yourself. You think if you do enough good things it's going to erase all the horrible things you've done over the years. Maybe you think you can even make up for a little of the evil your family does."
"You don't know the first thing about me."
"And yet, here we are, talking about your need to save everyone, even though we both know you're not going to be able to do it.
" I get up and stretch, heading to the mini fridge and pulling out a couple of little bottles of whiskey.
I pop them open, pouring two whiskey and cokes before bringing them over to her.
She sips the drink before setting it on the table. "You think you know who I am, but you don't have a clue."
I perch on the edge of her seat, my leg brushing against her knee. As I lean down to her, she lets out a slow breath, her chest rising and falling like she's fighting to breathe.
Witnessing the effect I have on her is intoxicating.
"I know that you're doing everything you can to be someone you're not. I know you write thrillers because the darker part of your life actually makes you feel something, and you hate that about yourself."
Summer scoffs and gets up, putting some distance between us. "Just because you keep me hostage in your house and watch me like I'm some animal in a cage doesn't mean you know me."
"I don't think you know yourself either, if that makes you feel better."
"Screw you."
"You're more than welcome to; just start begging, and I'd be glad to let you take a little ride."
Her face turns bright red, and for a moment, I think she's going to throw something at me again.
I'm provoking her, I know I am, but that's when I get the best look at who she is—about what she's willing to do to get herself free.
I'd be a fool to trust her, but if she thinks I'm starting to, she might show the last of her hand.
"You know, I think you're capable of doing whatever you want." I get up and head for the door, hands tucked into my pockets.
She says nothing as I leave the room, heading back to my office to get ready to put out the next fire I have to deal with.
Is there a world where I could do what I want?
I doubt it, especially as I slide back behind my desk, the leather of my chair wrapping around me like a familiar embrace.
I've been chained to this desk—this life—for years, and while the idea of leaving, of slowing down, might be entertaining, it's not going to happen.
Not when I don't have a single clue what I want.
Not when I don't know if I'm ever going to figure out what I want.
Maybe, if everyone is lucky, I'll be dead before I ever have to start figuring it out.