When the operator on the other end of the TTY phone advises another message is coming through, I drag my hands across my wet cheeks. The three-dash incoming message signal is worse than waiting for bar exam results to be released.
I’m tempted to call Brandon when his message comes through.
BJ McGee: Melody, are you there?
Even through a string of texts, I can feel his desperateness.
I’m partway through scrolling the contacts on my phone for his number when another message comes through.
BJ McGee: I’m sorry for the late hour. I wouldn’t have called unless it was urgent. I need a favor.
I read the last four words of his message three times before another line of text erases it from my screen.
BJ McGee: I’ve tried every other angle I could. I’m out of options.
This set of messages is oddly similar to the ones he sent me years ago, and they make my heart a twisted mess of confusion.
BJ McGee: I need your help, Melody. I promise this is the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.
That hurts more than I can explain. I was hoping his contact was a way of bridging the distance between us, but it appears as if it’s going to instigate even more awkwardness.
BJ McGee: Melody…
After bracing my fingertips on the keyboard of the TTY phone, I stray my eyes to Julian. If he can’t give me the courage to type a reply, no one will. His future is being held hostage by my past as much as mine, so he deserves input in this as well.
When he lowers his chin, encouraging me to reply, my fingers race across the keyboard.
Melody Gregg: I’m here. What do you need?
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Julian joins me at my desk at the side of the living room.
“Are you okay?” He presses his lips to my temple before pinching the pleat in his trousers to lower himself to my level. It brings me in direct line with his shimmering baby blues. His gentle eyes were one of the first things I noticed about him, along with his ability to sign. “Is it anything I can help with?”
As I shake my head, my lips curl at his generous offer. Julian’s family is extremely wealthy. Nothing is above their league, but Brandon isn’t seeking anything of monetary value. He wants information. Information only I can give him.
When I explain that to Julian, he asks, “Do you want to give him the information he needs?”
I shrug. “He’s an FBI agent. I’m always willing to help one of my own.” He watches me with kind, understanding eyes, but his mouth remains shut. He knows I’m holding back the real reason I am hesitant. “I just never thought this would be the norm for us. That he would only reach out to me when he needed something.”
Julian tracks his thumb over the vein throbbing in my wrist before he asks, “I thought you told him your friendship was over years ago?” He thinks holding my hand will stop me from signing my reply.
He’s dead wrong.
I don’t know how to express myself without American Sign Language, so it’s my go-to anytime I’m feeling flustered.
I’m more than flustered today.
“I did say that, but it was said in the heat of the moment.”
“And how is he to know that, Melody? I’ve seen you mad. It’s scary.”
The fake tremble of his last two words arches my lips higher. “You haven’t even scratched the surface of my mood swings yet—”
He stops me mid-sentence by clasping my hands in his and raising them to his mouth. When he kisses the edge of my palms, the pain in my chest weakens. He has a way of healing me even when I don’t realize I’m hurting.
“Give him the file, then come to bed.” A sprinkling of light orange hair falls into his eyes when he slants his head to the side to hide his wickedly immoral grin. It’s straight and perfect but filled with hidden cheekiness. The rumors about redheaded men being the spawns of rascal-like behaviors are true. “We have more important things to discuss than helping an old friend with a debunked case.”
When Julian strays his vibrant blue eyes to the file I brought up to authenticate Brandon’s claims the reports were buried deeper than a standard vehicular murder case, I follow the direction of his gaze. I still recall Marjorie Hawke’s case. I hadn’t commenced my studies in law school yet, but tell me one female who doesn’t get misty-eyed when they hear of a pregnant lady being run down by a drunk driver, killing both her and her unborn child.
