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This man was giving me whiplash with the directions this conversation had taken. “It’s in your car.”
“Go get it. I’ll get dressed and meet you in the living room.”
The keys were where Dominick had left them, and I quickly ran outside to the car.
True to his word, he was walking out of his room as I was walking into the house.
He motioned with his hand for me to give him the phone. “Unlock it, please.”
I didn’t know why I trusted him so much. Maybe it was because of the vulnerability I had seen in his eyes minutes ago, or maybe it was some other reason. Either way, I did as he’d asked.
He typed away, concentration all over his face. He paused a moment to pull out his own phone. He waited for it to buzz and typed something in there. He must have texted himself from my cell.
He checked my phone, nodded when he was satisfied with what he saw, and looked up at me.
“My mom is an alcoholic who won’t let me have custody of my sixteen-year-old brother because she likes control and her welfare checks more than the two of us.” He handed my phone back to me. “She’s also why Spencer broke his arm. I had to take him to the hospital yesterday, which is the only reason he’s staying here at the moment. She doesn’t want family services called on her.”
“Oh, Dominick.”
He shook his head. “No feeling sorry for me.”
I smiled. “I would never.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Dropping my phone back in my purse, I pulled out my business card. “You know, I might be able to have someone help you with your brother.”
He shook his head adamantly. “Absolutely not.”
“What?” I dropped my hand, shocked at his reaction. “Why not?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not fucking you because you can help me.”
His sense of honor only made me like him more.
I touched his arm gently. “I know.” I waited until he met my eyes. “I know,” I repeated. “But I’m also here if you ever need my help.” I slid my card onto the table next to his keys.
“I won’t.” His face was stern with conviction.
“I know.” I smiled reassuringly. “But it’s still here…just in case.”
19
Vivian
ONE MONTH LATER
“I don’t wantto go in there,” I said outside the classroom door.
“It’s a room full of kids,” Rayne said, as if to say it wasn’t a big deal.
I held up a finger. “Correction: a room full of high school girls.”
Delaney laughed. “You can get up in front of a judge and jury without any problem, but a random high school class has you freaking out?” She tapped her chin. “I might need to rethink my intimidation tactics,” she joked.
I shrugged. “I don’t understand it either. But I’m comfortable with doing my job. Even if it’s a tough case, it becomes a challenge.” I pointed toward the door. “This does not feel like a challenge. It feels like I would rather turn around and leave. This makes me uncomfortable.”
Rayne put her hand on my shoulder, a sympathetic look on her face. “You weren’t bullied in high school, were you? It never even crossed my mind that you might have been.”
