[2016] Bad Judgment Read online

  “You expect me to tell you a goddamn thing after last night?”

  Merica rakes me over the coals with her words and the murderous expression in her eyes.

  “She showed up at my house in tears. That girl hardly ever cries, and not only did you scare the ever-loving hell out of her last night by being a complete fucking jackass and doing something stupid, her mom broke into her apartment and then told her she should’ve aborted her!” Merica’s tone is hushed so no one can overhear it, but it still comes off like a yell.

  “Wait, what? Her mom broke into her apartment?” It sounds so wrong, I can hardly understand it.

  “Yeah, apparently her dad did the honors last time.”

  “What the hell? Why?”

  Merica shrugs. “Long story, but the gist of it is her parents are losers, and rolling from one con to the next is what they’re best at.”

  Jesus. No wonder she never talks about them. “Where is she now?”

  “Why should I tell you?” Merica eyes me before crossing her arms. “So you can let her down again? Because you don’t realize that she hasn’t leaned on anyone other than me since her grandpa died. She isn’t the kind of girl who goes around expecting anyone’s help. But there’s something about the Grants that she must like because she let you and your dad in. She trusted you. Believed in you. And then you go and fuck it up without even giving her a chance to explain.”

  I jam my fingers through my hair. “What about her? If she would’ve just told me, I—”

  “You would’ve what? You took the news and had the worst possible reaction, and yet she still saved your ass. No one ever comes to her rescue. Not until your dad. And you’re going to hold it against her that the one time in her entire freaking life that she really needed help, she finally bent enough to accept it?”

  Dropping my hands to my sides, I meet Merica’s angry stare and hope she can feel the intensity of the conviction running through me. “I’m going to make this right.”

  Merica must pick up on how fucking serious I am, because she finally relents. “Then you can find her at work. The job she took to pay back your dad rather than accept a handout.”

  I release a long breath. “Thank you.”

  “You better not fuck this up again. She deserves good things. Not this bullshit.”

  “I swear, I’m going to make this right.”

  I turn and head for the door. I’ve got a girl to track down and a big apology to make.

  Chapter Sixty

  Justine

  My cell phone rings but I ignore it. I’m knee-deep in Chad’s case, looking for anything that could potentially help him gain an appeal, and distracting myself from the epic shittiness of my life.

  I’m doing a crap job at both.

  Forcing myself to concentrate, I pick up the police report again.

  A driver in a red sedan failed to stop at the signal . . .

  My cell phone rings, breaking my concentration again. The screen shows an unknown number.

  What? Did you really think Ryker would call? My note said to find me when he wanted to talk, but clearly he doesn’t want anything to do with me. What did I really expect?

  I grab the phone and answer it on the fourth ring as a way to shut down the pity party I’m about to throw.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Justine Porter?”

  “Yes, this is she.”

  “This is Officer Fitzwilliam from Campus Safety. We’ve got a development in your case, and we’d like you to come down to the station to talk about it.”

  I hold my breath, wondering if they’ve figured out it was my mother who broke in. I don’t know what kind of misplaced loyalty kept me from turning her in, but when I opened my mouth to tell them, the words wouldn’t come.

  Gathering myself, I wrap an arm around my middle. “What kind of development?”

  “I’d prefer to discuss it in person.”

  I glance at the clock at the bottom of my computer monitor, the possibilities racing through my mind. “I’m at work for another hour, but I can come after.” I could use the time to compose myself for whatever they’re going to say.

  “Now would be better.”

  Dread sweeps through the room, leaving chill bumps on my skin. That doesn’t sound good at all.

  “Um . . . okay. Let me talk to my boss.”

  “Good. We’ll see you soon, Ms. Porter.”

  Staring out the window of the bus as it carries me back toward campus, I flip through all the scenarios I might be walking into at the Campus Safety office.

  What if they arrested her? What if they arrested my dad too? Why can’t they both just stay out of my life? And how did I not know about this life insurance policy if I was the beneficiary? I guarantee I’ll never see a penny of it, if it actually exists. My mom will make sure of that.

  By the time I climb off the bus at the nearest stop, I’ve managed to gather myself and adopt a blank expression.

  A student at the desk out front takes my name and tells me to have a seat. My butt hardly lands on the green vinyl seat before Officer Fitzwilliam rounds the corner.

  “Come on back, Ms. Porter.”

  As I follow him down the fluorescent-lit hallway, my gaze jumps from his navy polyester uniform shirt to the black rubber soles of his shoes, to the industrial gray of the flooring tiles and back again. He gestures with a thick arm to a room on the right and I enter. For a moment, I hold my breath, wondering if I’m going to find my mother inside in handcuffs.

  It’s empty.

  “Please have a seat. You want some water? Coffee?”

  His demeanor is unreadable, and I decline his offers politely. “No, thank you. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  Fitzwilliam’s jaw moves with every chew of his gum, and he nods, lowering himself into the chair across the table from mine. He drops a file folder on the faux wood surface and crosses his arms. Anxiety creeps through me as I wait for whatever he’s going to say.

  I don’t have to wait long.

  “We believe we’ve identified the person who broke into your apartment.”

  I brace myself for whatever he’s going to say next, but not well enough.

  “We recovered several pieces of your mail from the scene of an accident this afternoon.”

  “My mail?”

  “Yes, we assume they targeted you for identity theft. It’s a common practice to steal the victim’s mail for credit card applications and the like.”

  Everything clicks into place. He’s got it all wrong. They stole it hoping they’d find the check from the insurance company. And they found it at the scene of an accident?

  “Excuse me, what kind of accident?” Did they get into a wreck?

  “Around noon today there was a car-train collision on campus a quarter mile from Gilroy. The driver tried to beat the train and failed. Both the driver and passenger were taken to Red Cedar Medical Center. We were just notified that neither survived . . .”

  His words fade as static fills my ears. I lift a hand to my mouth, covering my sharp breath.

  Two fatalities. My mail.

  I rock back and forth in my seat as cold slithers through my muscles and veins.

  “Who were they?”

  “We’re working on figuring that out because they had no ID on them, only the mail. When they put your name in the system, it pinged my investigation.”

  Shooting out of my chair, I take two steps toward the door before my mouth catches up to speak. “I need to go to the medical center. Right now.”

  “Ms. Porter, there’s no reason to—”

  “I need to go there. Right. Now.” I repeat. “Please. Can you take me? I don’t have a car.”

  The desperation in my tone must be coming through loud and clear because Officer Fitzwilliam stands. And because he’s a cop, he’s also not stupid.

  “Do you know who they are, Ms. Porter? It would certainly aid our investigation.”

  I’m beyond hiding anything from him. My
words come out as a whisper. “My parents.”

  His expression tightens. “Come with me.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Ryker

  I’ve struck out over and over today. It shouldn’t be that much a surprise given how many times I’ve struck out with Justine in general. That should be the one thing I can count on when it comes to her. She left work early, telling her boss it had something to do with the break-in at her apartment.

  As much as I want to rush after her again, I head to the cell phone place, get a new phone, and wait for her to call me. And if she doesn’t call, then I’m going to start over tomorrow morning and track her down in class, the one place I know she’ll be.

  My car is gone, and nothing in the empty parking space tells the tale of how close I came to fucking up everything last night. I was an idiot. Straight up, no excuses. Idiot.

  If Justine hadn’t been there, I would have headed down the same path as Chad—drunk tank, court, and the whole nine yards. But because the justice system doesn’t work the same for everyone, instead of dropping out of school, I would have likely ended up with community service and a long letter in my file to the character and fitness committee of the State Bar Association about understanding that I made a huge mistake and that I had accepted my punishment and learned my lesson.

  But instead, I got a second chance, and you better believe I’m not going to fuck it up.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Justine

  Nothing. I meant nothing to them. I’ve known it for years, but this just drives it home one final time.

  Sobs rack my body, but it’s not for the reason most daughters cry when they find out their parents are dead.

  No. I’m crying for my lost childhood. All the good memories I never got to have. Every shit card that life dealt me.

  Every day, I try to say positive. Try to focus on the good. Don’t look back on the fact that I never got to be a kid. Not really.

  You want dinner? Steal a box of cereal from the corner store.

  You want a Christmas present? Better pick someone’s pocket to pay for it.

  You broke your wrist when your dad pushed you out of the way? Too bad. We’re not taking you to the hospital because we don’t need Child Protective Services in our business.

  Who treats their child like that?

  “I should’ve aborted you.” The last words my mother ever spoke to me.

  If it weren’t for my fucking mail, I wouldn’t even know my parents are dead. They stole it to make sure whatever Gramps intended for me would go to them.

  I am the product of neglect and selfishness. That’s all I’ve ever known. How to take. How to watch out for myself. Is it any wonder that I don’t know how to have a real, functional relationship with anyone?

  And then my actions end up putting my boyfriend at risk of killing himself and destroying his future?

  I shouldn’t even be allowed to be around people. I’m toxic, just like my parents.

  I hate them. Hate what they made me. Hate what I’ve let myself become.

  The sobs subside to hiccups, and I’m thankful for the private room I’m in. No one in this hospital needs to see me break down. Then again, no one would care.

  Pathetic. I’ve never been more pathetic in my life, and I hate the helplessness I feel.

  At least I did one good thing today—every piece of my parents that can be used to save someone else will be donated. But even that act can’t stem the tide of self-loathing within me.

  Why can’t I be numb? Why can’t I be anything but what and who I am? I’ve got my knees drawn up in front of me, my arms wrapped around them as I attempt to shrink into myself and escape the pain and the bitter realities of my life.

  Alone. That’s what I am, and that’s all I’m ever going to be.

  I’ve been so focused on my goal—Gramps’s goal—giving myself the future I thought I deserved.

  But what do I really deserve? Everything I’ve done has been aimed at achieving something wholly selfish—my degree, my success, my future. It’s all been about me.

  I’ve been so proud of my own accomplishments, but what are they worth if I have no one to celebrate them with?

  My lungs feel as though they’ve been smashed in my chest, and the weight of everything I’ve done is crushing down on me. I need to escape before I suffocate. I need to forget. Even if it’s only for a day. A few hours.

  I think I understand how Ryker felt when he decided to drink rather than come to me for the truth.

  Well, at least I don’t have a car. I laugh to myself humorlessly. Unbending from my curled-up position, I suck in a deep breath and rise.

  Escape. That’s what I need. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. For one night, I want to escape this shitty existence that I’m living. Is it really that much to ask?

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Ryker

  My new phone rings at two in the morning and I grab it immediately, hoping like hell it’s Justine. I’ve been in a state of half sleep, waiting for her call and finding it less and less likely as the minutes ticked by.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Ryker. This is Corey Crow. You might not remember me . . .”

  I flip through my memory. “Yeah, frat brother. You were a freshman when I graduated?” I think I’ve got it right.

  “Yeah, exactly. I’m president of the house now. We’ve got a situation, and your name came up.”

  A sense of foreboding blankets the room. “What situation?”

  “A couple of guys were out at the bar and they brought a chick back to the house. She’s wasted, and I told them to put her in a cab, but she won’t tell them where she needs to go. They said your name came up. Maybe she’s a law student?”

  Who the hell would give my name to a bunch of frat brothers? Kristy?

  “What does she look like?”

  “Hold on. I’ll text you a pic.”

  I wait until it comes through, my mind racing with possibilities.

  The dark-haired girl with dark eyes is the last person I expected to see show up on the screen.

  “Fuck. It’s my girlfriend. Her name is Justine. I’m coming for her. Don’t let her leave.”

  “She’s your girlfriend? Dude, are you sure?”

  Acid pools in my stomach. “What the hell happened?” My instincts rage. “If anyone touched her—”

  “No, man, it’s just . . . when your name came up, she didn’t say anything about you dating.”

  Not surprising. “Just keep her there. I’ll be there in fifteen. Don’t let her leave.”

  “I’ll do what I can, man.”

  I’m out of bed and grabbing up jeans and a hoodie as soon as he hangs up.

  “What the fuck did you get yourself into, Justine?”

  I’m done letting this shit between us fester. We’re setting the record straight before the sun rises.

  I pound on the door to Ian’s condo for five minutes before he pulls it open, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What the fuck, man?”

  “I need your keys.”

  His gaze sharpens on mine. “Are you drunk?”

  “Sober as the day I was born. I gotta get Justine. She’s at my old frat house, hammered, and I have no fucking clue why.”

  Ian’s eyes go wide. “No shit. You need a hand?”

  I shake my head. “No. Just your keys. Promise I’ll bring it back in one piece.”

  He nods and turns away from the door to disappear into the darkness behind him. When he returns, he tosses me a set of keys. “Fuck it up and you’re buying me a new car.”

  “Deal.”

  I break every speed limit between my condo and campus, not caring about anything but getting to Justine.

  What the fuck happened to her? These last few days have been a clusterfuck of epic proportions, but this isn’t something I ever would have been able to predict. Drunk at a frat party? That’s not like her.

  When I pull up in front of the house I lived in for t
hree years in college, I slam the car into park along the street. Music still blares, and every light shines bright.

  I rip open the door, haul ass up the sidewalk to the front porch, and let myself in. I freeze as soon as I step foot inside.

  Justine is dancing on top of the pool table, wearing the black skirt I assume she wore to work at the firm, with the top four buttons of her blue blouse undone. Her dark hair flies in every direction as she moves to the beat pumping from the sound system.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  I stalk across the floor and shove through the crowd of guys throwing dollar bills on the table. Jesus. What the fuck? My thoughts are as dark as the night I saw her walk into Déjà Vu. She reaches for another button on her blouse.

  No fucking way.

  Corey reaches out and slaps a hand on my shoulder, a frown on his face. “Sorry, man. You just said keep her here, but I couldn’t stop her from doing this.”

  I shrug him off and push through the crowd to the edge of the pool table. I wrap my arm around her knees as she spins to face me. Her hair falls across her eyes, obscuring her vision, but I don’t fucking care. I pull her off the table and settle her over my shoulder, careful to keep my hand on her ass so none of these frat-boy douche bags get a look at my girl.

  She struggles against me, and I grip her tighter. “Justine, calm the fuck down. I’m taking you home.”

  The sound of my voice quiets her movements, but the rest of the room erupts into protests.

  I look around at the drunk college kids, my rage approaching murderous levels. They must read it in my face because the shouts die off, and I turn and head for the door. Corey jogs to keep up with me, but I’m not slowing my stride for anyone.

  “Sorry, man. At least she didn’t leave.”

  “Thanks.” I grit the word out between clenched teeth and push open the door.