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“The OmClair case, actually,” Lucas coughs, mentioning a case I actually assisted him with, not the other way around. Pushing back the file folder from in front of me, I narrow my gaze at my shit for brains ex, and he actually takes a nervous sip of his water. Good, he should be worried because if I’m back here, then I’m not taking his shit or any prisoners in my fight.
“Just do this for me, Abigial. Or do it for Leah. I don’t care as long as you get your shit together.” And there it was…Dad’s unspoken ultimatum and me caving in like the weak sucker I am.
“What’s this pro bono case?” I ask, conceding defeat. If this is my punishment, maybe it’s fitting, but I will damn well win it.
* * * * *
It turns out my case is on his way into the office. Reading his file briefly, I learn it’s a man in his late-forties named Oscar Campbell who is charged with drunk driving and hitting a stop sign and almost injuring a crowd of pedestrians when his car jumped the curb. It could have been a million times worse, liable or not. At least no one was killed, but this was his second offense in ten years. I’m still looking for the blood alcohol preliminary report, but I know I’m going to have to get a clerk to call the police department to track it down. It seems simple enough—talk to the judge and advocate for the client. Try to get the best and most reduced sentence possible, maybe enter a plea based on treatment outcomes for his alcohol addiction. I don’t have to like the client, but I have to work with him as a necessary evil. I wait in Leah’s office, which is now my temporary office, for him to show up.
“Come in.” My head is buried, studying his file, when I hear a knock on the door. Looking up, I watch the man enter the office in slow measured steps, wearing khaki pants and a button down shirt. He’s not the normal client I work with, but these are the breaks I’m going to have to deal with. Remembering Roman’s mom was killed by a drunk driver years ago, hardens me to much of what this client might say to me in the next hour.
“Ms. Holliday, thank you for meeting with me.” Oscar Campbell’s eyes are bloodshot and his hands a bit shaky as he takes the seat I offer him on the other side of the desk. I can smell the faint smell of vodka and mint from his breath. My stomach rolls from the unpleasant smell and I’m thankful to have a few feet of fine wood desk in between us.
“Mr. Campbell, please, call me Abby.” I continue at his nod. “Tell me, when was the last time you drank? Cause if I’m representing you, you better be stone-cold sober and working a program.” I lean across the desk, fingering the expensive pen from Leah’s special pen drawer.
“Ah, well, this week has been rough, Ms. Holliday.” Oscar runs a shaking hand through his hair.
“Look, you’re facing a pretty tough sentence, and if you want the judge to give you a passing glance without throwing the book at you, you better get yourself some help.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I bristle at him calling me ma’am, but it’s at least professional.
“You have insurance?” Already this case grates on my nerves, but I’m determined to give it my best shot.
“Just lost my job, but I have some cobra benefits until unemployment kicks in.”
I reach into Leah’s desk and pull out a card. “Call this number and get yourself in rehab tomorrow. I will postpone the hearing for thirty days, but I need you sober and remorseful.” Oscar nods, taking the card and leaving. I lean back in Leah’s chair, stretching a sore spot in my neck. This has been one fucked up day, and I haven’t even seen my sister yet—the one reason I came back and seemingly agreed to all of this…whatever this is going to be and for however long it takes.
“Enjoying the view already?” Lucas walks in unannounced and uninvited. I sit up, scowling as I toss the stupid pen on the desk, letting it bounce and roll over documents I need to review tonight. I’m not enjoying much of anything, and now I have to deal with him, again.
“Seriously, Lucas. Can you reign in your inner asshole?” If he’s going to gripe at me, he might as well get it right back.
“Sure, I’m actually here to offer you a ride home. Dad has decided you should stay with Leah and me at her condo. She just had a doctor visit this afternoon and is pretty wiped out.” I’m sorry what the fuck? This has me speechless.
“Wait? What? Are you kidding me? I have my own apartment to go home to.” Not only am I pissed at them arranging my life, but now Lucas is calling Dad, well…Dad? There is so much about this that is wrong. I don’t even know where to start.
“Yes, and while you ran off and I helped your dad get it cleaned and closed up.”
“Because you’re just so fucking helpful.” I snort.
Lucas is flippant continuing on his tirade. “He wasn’t sure when you were coming back. You can’t just leave your apartment uninhabited.” And why the hell not if it’s my apartment?
“I’ve been paying the maintenance fees. What the hell?”
“He probably left the electric on, but everything else is pretty much packed up. So about that ride, Abs, you know, to see your sick sister?”
“Fuck you. I’ll take a taxi over to check on her, and then I’ll go to my own apartment. I assume my keys still work.” I push back from the desk to stand up. The office, though large, feels claustrophobic with this dick invading my space.
“Suit yourself.” Shrugging, Lucas leaves the office and saunters out. Cocky bastard thinks he can weasel his way into my life and family. I think not. My head is a jumble—my ex running interference, my apartment subsequently packed up, and now having to deal with my sister who I’m estranged from… Roman cannot get here soon enough; I just wish I knew when that would be.
ROMAN
One thing to be grateful for is we don’t have a time zone to juggle in addition to our distance. I can’t imagine adding that to our tangled web. After leaving her at the airport, I slowly head back toward the marina to take care of a few things and then home to my now empty loft. My phone is
silent and it kills me, sitting in my parking garage, alone. I pull it out and decide to call her myself. Hearing her voice is a balm, but not a fix for what I really want. Her voice is tired and pained, and she’s only begun her day. I wonder if douche-canoe Lucas is being his usual un-charming self and the desire to hit him flares inside me. Again, battles I can’t fight fairly from hundreds of miles away.
Walking inside feels desolate, small reminders of Abby are strewn about my place—bright colors splashed throughout the chrome and wood, takeout menus from nights we refused to be social, and a bevy of umbrellas from the days it rained lay on the floor in a discarded damp pile. I told her to go ahead and coordinate her outfits with my collection of umbrellas as a joke. I didn’t think she’d take me up on my offer, but she did. It was worth every bit of chaos in my hall closet.
Some of her toiletries are left in my bathroom. Picking up a small bottle of hair product, I smell her scent. The controlled anarchy of items seems to fit in my space. Entering my bedroom, which we’ve left a bit of a mess as well, I find the bed sheets half pulled from the bed and clothing piled on chairs. A few lacy items peek out from a dresser drawer I cleaned out so she’d have a place to put things and not have to live out of her suitcase. Was it quick? Yeah. Too soon? Maybe, but the reality is it just felt right. No explanation was needed, and now, before we could find words to describe it all, she’s gone with hundreds of miles between us, and I hated it.
