TROUBLE, A New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (37 page)

She shuts the door behind us and sits down across from me. Before I can even open up my mouth, she starts talking way too fast for me to get a word in edgewise.

“So, your name’s Alissa, you’re twenty-one, you’re a year away from a college degree, you were raped, you’re pregnant, you’re afraid your child’s father is going to come after you and take your baby away, and you’re without any money to care for your child who’ll be born in the next few weeks.
 
How am I doing so far?”

My ears are ringing so badly, I’m worried for my health. Does an aneurism give advance notice before it blows up in a person’s brain? Can just hearing something dreadfully awful kill a person?

“Ahhh … you … ahhh … that’s … that’s none of your business,” I finally manage to say.
 
Sweat pops out on my forehead and upper lip.
 
I grip the arms of the chair to keep myself from swinging out at everything on top of her desk.
 
I could so totally sweep it all onto the floor right now, just like in the movies.

“I hear ya.”
 
She puts up her hands like stop signs.
 
“I’ve been through it myself.”
 
She presses her fingertips onto the top of her desk.
 
“I know how angry you are.
 
How helpless you feel.
 
How pissed you probably are that your friends shared your personal tragedy with me, some stranger in an office you don’t want to be sitting in right now.”
 
She leans back in her chair and rests her hands on the arms of it.

Her confession takes some of the wind out of my sails.
 
“You were raped?
 
You
personally?” I can’t believe it.
 
She’s tough.
 
She’s pretty.
 
She’s completely no-nonsense.
 
That kind of thing doesn’t happen to women like her.

She smiles without any happiness to it.
 
“Yes.
 
By five men.
 
All people I thought were my friends, one of whom was my stepbrother.
 
Pretty awful, huh?”

“God.”
 
I swallow with difficulty. “Yes.
 
That’s … terrible.” Now I feel like a jerk for planning to give her a hard time.
 
She’s already had a hard time; she doesn’t need that from me or anyone else.

She leans closer, her hands gesticulating in rhythm with her words.
 
“Terrible doesn’t begin to cover it.
 
It takes over your whole world.
 
It diminishes you.
 
It makes you feel worthless and dirty and unworthy of ever feeling anything good again.
 
You question everyone, their motives, their words, their thoughts, even.
 
You begin to hate yourself for being so stupid, for not seeing this coming, for being responsible.”

I nod, the tears welling up as she’s speaking directly to my soul.

She shakes her head at me slowly.
 
“It’s all a game.
 
It’s a mind-game you’re playing with yourself and it has to stop.”

“I’m not …”

“You
are
.
 
You’re doing it right now, just like I did it, just like women all over the world are doing it too.
 
We are
women
.
 
We believe in love and goodness and the kindness of others above all things.
 
We are hard-wired to blame ourselves for things that other people do, even the bad, evil ones.
 
That’s why we’re so good at compassion.
 
It’s also why we’re our own worst enemies sometimes.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” My anger is gone.
 
Now I’m just lost and confused.

“Tough love.
 
I’m good at that part of the equation.
 
I’m also good at getting child support, spousal support, and fair visitation schedules.
 
Your friends want you to hire me to take care of your legal needs … yours and your baby’s.
 
But you’re the only one who can make the decision to hire an attorney.”

My mouth flops open and snaps closed a few times before I can put together an actual sentence.
 
“I can’t pay you anything.
 
I’m completely broke.”

“Your friends have already taken care of that.”

“I can’t owe them like that.
 
It’s not right.”

“Noooo … what’s not right is denying people who care about you the chance to help you out when you need it most.
 
Maybe you think I’m biased, but let me assure you … I have enough business to keep me in Jimmy Choos for the rest of my life.
 
I’ve turned more cases down this week than I’ll accept by a three to one margin.
 
I’m busy because I’m good.
 
I’m good because I’m passionate.
 
I’m passionate because I believe very strongly in what I do.
 
I’m the champion of the underdog, which is why after twenty years I’m still a Redskins fan, which is why I agreed to see you today.
You
are an underdog.
 
I’d like to be your champion.
 
You let me know if that’s something you think you can handle.”
 
She stands suddenly and gestures towards the door.
 
“I think your friends are waiting for you outside, and I have a client meeting starting five minutes ago.”

I stand up, pretty much numb, her words still flowing around me like a veil of power.
 
I’m pretty sure I was just hypnotized without my permission or awareness.

She holds her hand out as she comes around the desk.
 
“Nice meeting you.”

“Nice meeting you too,” I say vaguely as my hand is clamped into her firm, confident grip.

Colin shows up in the doorway.
 
“Ready to hit the road?”

I don’t know whether to be angry at him or thank him.
 
I school my expression to remain as neutral as possible with my mouth shut and follow him out of the office and down to the car.
 
My ears are still ringing with what she said.
 
Rape.
 
Underdog.
 
Compassion.
 
Champion.
 
Redskins?

“Are you mad at me?” he asks as he opens my door.

I sit in my seat and stare up at him, trying to read his expression.
 
He looks worried, and it melts my angry heart just a little.
 
That lady Natalie was right.
 
People are trying to help me when I need it most. And I
have
been playing mind games with myself for way too long.
 
“I’m not sure yet.”

He leans down and gives me a thoroughly hot kiss.
 
“How about now?”

“That’s not going to work,” I say, my belly full of happy butterflies.

He kisses me again, longer and deeper.
 
“You sure?” he asks, pulling away only a little.

I smile.
 
“No.”
 
Leaning forward, I grab the inside door handle and pull it closed, causing Colin to have to jump out of the way so he doesn’t get caught in it.

“Bad girl,” he says, pointing at me.

“Trouble,” I say, shaking my head at him.
 
I can’t stop smiling as he walks around the back of the car to join me.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

COLIN DROPS ME OFF AT the house with promises to return later.
 
I’m still not ready to just forgive him for that surprise attack, but I’m also not angry anymore.
 
He did what he thought was right for me, and I know that everything he and the others have done is coming right from the heart.

I just can’t believe I fell for the ruse that the art show Colin is doing was to raise money for Teagan’s legal bills.
 
They really had me fooled.
 
The money isn’t in there yet, but Geraldine says he’s already sold three paintings before the show and that’s enough money to pay for five times the retainer Natalie requires.
 
How can I possibly be mad at my friends for that?

I stop off at the mailbox and grab the few bills that are there.
 
As I walk up to the porch, a slip of paper falls out of the stack and floats to the ground.
 
Squatting down to pick it up is a challenge, but I manage. I grunt as I stand back up, reading the scrawled handwriting on one side of the paper as I waddle up the stairs.

‘Call me. I lost your number. We need to talk about your problem.’

My heart picks up its pace.
 
Flipping the paper over does me no good.
 
This is the entire message and it’s not signed.
 
It’s not even addressed.
 
Is it for me?
 
I look around, up and down the street.
 
There’s no one there, no cars parked on the side of the road.

As I open the door I take out my phone, wondering if I should call Charlie again.
 
He’s the only one who would leave me a note like this.
 
But maybe this is a note for Teagan.
 
She has problems.
 
Maybe someone wants to help her or something.

But she has lawyers.
 
And Rebel.
 
She already has all the help she needs.
 
For some reason, I think about Natalie.
 
What would she do in this situation?
 
I don’t know about the Natalie that got attacked, but I’m pretty sure I know what that bulldog lawyer person who I met today would do.

I sigh.
 
Might as well get the humiliation over with.

Dialing the phone, I take several long breaths in and out.
 
As the number rings through, I walk into the kitchen and sit down at the table.
 
I can hear my heart beating in between the phone rings in my ear.

Charlie answers after a few seconds. “Who’s this?” he asks abruptly.

“The person who got a letter in her mailbox.”
 
If he’s going to be rude, then so am I.
 
I try not be hurt by his ugliness.
 
He used to be so nice to me…
 
No! Do not go there. He’s a criminal and an asshole and he doesn’t deserve your kindness right now.
 
Shut it down. Toughen up.
 
Be strong.

“We need to talk,” he says, his voice going lower.

“Yeah, I got that.”
 
I’m somehow channeling the power of that lawyer lady.
 
I’m feeling bold.
 
I’m not going to let him intimidate me.

“What do you want from me?” he asks.

My mind draws a blank.
 
It’s too wide-open of a question.
 
I want the moon, but I know I can’t have that.
 
And from him?
 
Really, I want nothing.
 
I just want to be left alone.

“Are you going to say something?” he prompts.

“I’m thinking.”

He snorts.
 
“Sure you’re qualified to do that?”

The stark offensiveness of his statement is like a bucket of cold water on my face.
 
Holy wake-up call.
 
“Charlie, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but you’d better just back up and take a closer look before you get yourself into deeper trouble than you’re already in.”
 
Where did that come from?
 
I have no idea, but I’m going with it.

“Trouble?
 
I’m not in trouble.
 
You wish I was in trouble.”

“No, what I wish is that you hadn’t turned out to be a criminal.
 
But wishes aren’t fishes, so no matter how many times I cast that net, I’m not going to change reality.”

“What?”

“Just shut up, Charlie, and listen for once in your life.
 
You raped me.
 
There’s no getting around that.
 
I’m pregnant, and there’s no getting around that either.
 
It’s your baby, the DNA will prove it.
 
The thing is, I don’t want anything from you but nothing at all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I want nothing.
 
I want you to stay away.
 
I want you to write us both off and never have anything to do with either of us. Sign away your rights.”
 
I bite my lip as I wait for his reaction.
 
Maybe I won’t need to fight him after all.
 
Maybe he’ll just go quietly into the night never to be seen or heard from again.

“Fine with me. Except for one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“You keep calling me a rapist.”

I’m instantly fuming.
 
He’s trying to pretend he didn’t do what he did, and it’s like calling me both a slut and a liar all in one shot.
 
I struggle to keep my tone under control.
 
“F … Y … I …, Charlie … when you
drug
a girl and have
sex
with her without her
permission
, while she’s
unconscious
, that’s
rape
.
 
Okay?
 
That’s rape.
 
Look it up,
jerk
.”

“You’re dreaming.
 
You came on to me for months.
 
I just gave you what you were begging for. And for the record, you weren’t unconscious.
 
You were moaning and groaning like a total whore the entire time.
 
I have it on video, so don’t even think about denying it.”

I stand up so suddenly the chair tips over behind me and makes a loud banging sound on the floor, like a gunshot.
 
“Don’t you dare say that.”
 
My voice is raw.
 
My stomach is churning and burning.
 
My skin goes cold and sweat pops out of every pore on my body.