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“Malcolm worries too much,” she said with a sigh. “Seriously, Trenton, this isn’t a huge injury. I could have taken care of it myself.”
Ah, he thought, her independence was coming out again. His sisters had often complained about him trying to take care of things as well. “I know you could have.” His fingers smoothed the last bandage. “There, all done. Make sure you can bend your knees and it’s not too tight.”
She curled her legs up to the couch, proving her knees bent just fine. “Thank you, Trenton. Really.”
His eyes lifted to her face, and he stilled at the half smile there. When she laughed, the sound slid through to his stomach.
“And despite everything, you were right. I’m wide awake now from our run.”
He forced his own smile, snapping the kit shut and closing his used items into a fist as he rose, returning to the kitchen. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Her second laugh was more natural, and the warmth that slid through him made it obvious he needed to get away. “You’re right about me running late.” His briefcase was sitting in the entryway, reminding him of what the day held. “And I have to be at court today. Good thing I have those salads from last night for lunch. The food trucks there are so unhealthy. Oh, and feel free to eat the other salad. It won’t keep.” He grabbed one from the fridge to set out so he wouldn’t forget it. He hesitated as the blender came into sight. “I wanted to make you another wake-up drink today, but I probably won’t have time.”
“Trenton, stop!” Celia called from the living room. “No more worrying about me. Go get ready.”
He hurried to the bathroom, rushing through his shower. It wasn’t until he was drying off that he realized he hadn’t brought any new clothes into the shared bathroom with him. He wrapped his towel around his waist as his mind raced through options even while he shaved, brushed his teeth, and completed his morning routine. There was only one solution. He glanced at the hamper full of his sweaty clothes, cringing at the idea of putting them back on.
A tentative knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Trenton?”
“Celia?” He cracked the door open to peer out. “What’s the matter?”
She held up his phone, which he’d left on vibrate. It continued to pulse. “It said ‘Work,’ and they’ve called a few times.”
He opened the door fully, grabbing the phone and holding it to his ear even as he crossed the living room. “Jacob, what is it?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Caldwell, but one of your clients insisted on talking to you,” Jacob, his legal assistant, said through the phone. “A Mrs. Rentwood? That was the case file going to trial today, so I thought you’d want to take the call, even if it was before normal hours.”
Trenton’s radar went off as he grabbed a new pair of slacks. He wondered if her soon-to-be ex had tried to exert some last-minute pressure. “Good call. Can you patch her through, or is she waiting for me to call her back?”
“I’ve got her holding. Thanks, Mr. Caldwell. Situations like hers made me interested in divorce law, but I don’t yet feel able to field the emotions involved.”
Mrs. Rentwood must have been crying when she called. Trenton dropped his towel to pull his boxers and slacks on, freezing as he realized he’d crossed the condo nearly naked and hadn’t bothered to close his bedroom door. He’d been alone for so long, it was habit. Not that Celia was standing in the doorway, staring at him. His body liked the idea of that, but a tearful “hello” in his ear was the cold water he needed to continue getting dressed.
“Mrs. Rentwood. How are you holding up?” Trenton hit the speaker button to toss the phone on the bed so that he could slip his arms into the sleeves of his button-down dress shirt.
“Oh, Mr. Caldwell, I think I’ve made a mistake.” She sniffed into the phone, her voice husky from her tears. “He said he still loves me. That he’ll kill himself without me. I don’t think I can do this.”
Trenton closed his eyes so he could take a breath. Then he continued buttoning his shirt, a frown forming as he remembered the man who dared to call himself a husband to the poor woman. “You know I will be behind you no matter what you choose, Mrs. Rentwood. But it’s my duty to look past this most recent contact. Do you remember what you told me happened the last time you went back to him?” Trenton remained hands-free as he donned his socks. From his bedspread, her broken exhale came through.
“Do you believe people can change, Mr. Caldwell?” she asked, her voice sounding so small.
Trenton’s hands clenched on the bedspread before he reached for the phone, clicking the speaker off to hold it to his ear. “I do hold out hope for people to change, but remember, it has to be their choice. Did your husband mention changing his ways during your conversation? And be honest.”
She sniffed in his ear. “No, he didn’t mention change. He just sounded so sad, and sorry, really sorry.”
Yeah, the deadbeat was sorry he was about to lose his meal ticket. “You’ve told me before that this is the cycle. And you put your trust in me to break that cycle. Please, Mrs. Rentwood, hold on to that trust just a little longer today. I’m actually on my way to the courthouse now. Will I see you there?” He waited, listening to the small hiccups of breath.
“Yes. I’ll head that way.” She cleared her throat. “And thank you, Mr. Caldwell.”
“Anytime. I’ll see you soon.” Trenton waited for her to hang up before ending the call. He gripped the phone, his mind racing through the files from the night before. He was going to bring that woman her freedom if she let him. Pushing to his feet, he hurried through the door and into the living room.
Celia was perched on the couch again, her worried eyes meeting his. “Is everything all right?”
“It will be, but I have to leave. How are you feeling?” He hesitated, wanting to go over and prop up her legs.
She waved a hand at him. “Barely a twinge when I brought you your phone. Stop worrying about me.”
“Thanks for that. It was a call I needed to take.”
