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  No matter how much I wish it were.

  I glare at him as he steps closer, unlatching the strap on the helmet. He removes my dark sunglasses before pulling the helmet down over my head and securing it under my chin. The pressure on my bruised cheekbone makes me wince. I’ve covered it well using more makeup than usual for me, but the pain still lives beneath and nothing I do seems to be able to ease that part.

  “What in the…?” Jordan lifts the helmet gently from my head before putting his hands on the sides of my face and tilting my cheekbone toward the sunlight. His voice drops and I see something in his eyes that walks a fine line between fear and anger. “How did this happen?”

  “It’s nothing.” I wave him off and try to step away, but he grabs my hand. Pulling it against his chest until I’m inches away and have no choice but to answer.

  “It looks like someone hit you,” he whispers softly, his eyes searching mine. “What happened?”

  I groan. “It isn’t a big deal—and she didn’t punch me or anything. She just slapped me.”

  Jordan frowns. “Your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she do that often?” Jordan watches me so close I can tell that he’s looking for the lie.

  “No,” I answer him firmly. “This is the first time ever.”

  Jordan nods slowly. “Please call me if—”

  I interrupt him. “It won’t happen again.” I sigh, grabbing the helmet. I try to pull it gently on by myself. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to align it correctly and only end up hurting myself worse.

  Jordan chuckles softly, but with my eyes blocked by the chin guard of the helmet, I can’t even see him. His warm hands replace mine and he straightens, then gently pulls the helmet down into position.

  “I take it you’ve never been on a motorcycle before?”

  “No.”

  “You seem … nervous.” He’s putting it lightly and we both know it.

  “It has all the power of a car without any of the protection.” I gesture down to the metal monster next to us and sigh. “What did you expect me to do, pet it?”

  “You’re pretty cute when you’re being difficult,” Jordan says as he takes my keys out of my hands and sticks them in his pocket. His grin is so self-satisfied and his words such a weird combination of compliment and jab that it takes me a minute to come up with a response.

  “You haven’t even seen me be difficult yet.” I decide I should probably just leave it at that.

  “I’m pretty certain I have, but whatever it looks like, it wouldn’t change my opinion.” He speaks these words like they shouldn’t surprise me, but they do, and as my cheeks flush red, I’m abruptly grateful for the helmet.

  Once we’re both seated on his black death trap, he turns the key and the bike roars to life. The engine revs so loud my ears ring. Jordan lets it idle, and the sound mellows to the point where I can mostly hear again. He reaches back and grabs my hands, bringing them tight around his waist. My nose fills with the strong, clean scent that is so Jordan. For whatever reason, the first reaction my body has is to melt against him.

  “Riley, don’t let go. No matter what,” he says just loud enough for me to hear over the engine and my heart pounds in response as he lifts the kickstand and eases the motorcycle forward. Wrapping my arms tighter, I feel a little better knowing my instincts at the moment are from pure panic and not my confusing attraction to him. I force myself not to whimper as I close my eyes and lean my helmet against his back. Any playfulness from just minutes before is gone in the face of genuine fear. Motorcycles have always terrified me even from a distance. Being on one intensifies my distress more than I expect.

  I cringe as he glides the bike smoothly out into the street, but when we reach the first corner and have to turn, the way it leans makes me squeeze myself even tighter against him. I feel him pat my hands as they grip the front of his shirt to reassure me. I try to relax because the tension is causing the muscles in my shoulders to ache.

  Closing my eyes, I let the tension drain down from my neck, along my back and out through my legs. Once I release my muscles a bit, I’m shocked to feel the worries and fears that have tied me in knots for weeks start to melt away, bit by twitchy bit.

  Wrapping one hand up and across Jordan’s chest, I settle into the way our bodies shift together with the motorcycle’s movements. We lean and curve as one, moving with the power and force of the rumbling engine below us.

  It’s still horrifying to think about how fragile and exposed we are, but in a way there is a certain desperate beauty to it. Right now, we live and die together. We’re vulnerable together.

  My hand curls into a fist and I look up as we start passing through shadow after shadow. We’re getting close now, and the tall buildings of downtown Houston hide us from the sunlight. Between the shadows and the wind whipping past us, the temperature dips so fast that my skin prickles with an immediate chill. I snuggle closer to Jordan’s warm back, for the first time not out of fear. I swear that being from Texas turns you cold-blooded sometimes. I don’t handle temperature changes as well as a normal mammal should.

  Jordan drives into a parking spot near the base of the tall blue building we’re looking for, and I recognize another reason he prefers a motorcycle. Parking spots are definitely easier to come by in the city.

  As he turns the key and cuts the engine, I’m blown away by the abrupt onslaught of city noises I couldn’t hear before: cars honking, music from a café up the street, people talking. The deep rumble of the motorcycle had eclipsed all of that and more.

  Pulling off his helmet, Jordan looks over his shoulder and smiles at me. “So? Did she grow on you?”

  I make him wait for my answer. Taking a firm grip on the hand he holds out, I step off the bike and wait for my legs to stop trembling. Kind of a surprising side effect considering I’ve essentially been sitting still for the entire drive. When I fumble with the latch on my helmet, he reaches over and unclips it. Once I shake my hair down and free, I respond. “Better than expected. This beastly machine is a girl?”

  “Don’t you think?” He puts the kickstand down and stows our helmets in a container on one side of the seat.

  I take a few steps up onto the sidewalk and examine the bike. It’s all shiny chrome and black paint. He obviously takes care of it and it looks like Jordan to me now. He definitely falls under the masculine category. “I don’t know.” I shrug.

  He gives me a pointed stare. “You’ll hurt her feelings.”

  I laugh and rub my hand across the leather seat. “My apologies, very feminine bike. I didn’t mean any offense.”

  “She forgives you.” Jordan steps up next to me. “So, now what?”

  I crane my neck up at the building and see nothing but mirrored windows looking back. That’s one thing I don’t like about skyscrapers. It feels like so many people can be looking down on you. You don’t know who they are, and you can’t even stare back.

  “Now, we’re going to talk to an old friend.”

  * * *

  The elevator doors slide open and the tiny ding signaling our arrival feels absurdly loud in the quiet office. The reception area is empty. Curving letters glitter at me from behind the desk: Law Offices of Smedley, Masters & Goldman. The silver-and-black words feel strange and wrong now, like something is missing. Daddy is what’s missing. It used to be Smedley, Masters, Beckett & Goldman.

  It’s early evening, but the lamp on the receptionist’s desk is off for the night, and the reception area is empty.

  Jordan grabs my elbow and jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward a lighted sign for the restrooms. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Now?”

  He gives me an exasperated look. “I didn’t plan it.”

  I nod. “I’m going to look around to see if anyone else I know is still here tonight. Find me when you’re done.”

  “Deal.” He disappears quickly through the door.

  I glance out the window in the reception area,
marveling at how beautiful this city is from up here. What would our lives have been like if Daddy had never even been accused of this awful crime? How different would it be to visit him here in an expensive office in a beautiful downtown skyscraper—instead of in dark and dismal Polunsky? Daddy would have to deal with boardrooms and legal meetings instead of weekly visits and near-constant isolation.

  That’s a life we should’ve known, and every time I come here it feels like I’m peeking in on a parallel universe where everything in my life went right instead of horribly wrong.

  I stick my head past the reception wall and take a look around.

  Rows and rows of cubicles line the middle of the huge room. The outside walls are full of offices and shining boardrooms. The firm has obviously grown since I was last here. Mama told me it’s more than double the size it was before Daddy went to prison. The firm had still been in this same spot, but back then they only had one quarter of the floor instead of the whole thing. Back then the cubicles didn’t outnumber the offices twenty to one.

  “Wow,” I whisper to myself. There is movement in a room to my right, and Stacia pokes her head out.

  “Riley?” She gives me a startled look before walking over for an awkward hug and then pulling me toward the room she’d been in before. It’s a giant break room and she’s making herself a coffee.

  “What are you doing here, hon?” Her expression overflows with pity and I turn my gaze away, pretending I don’t hate that look.

  “I came to meet with Mr. Masters. We don’t have long to do something before they’re—they will—” I stop suddenly, realizing I’ve opened the door on my emotions too wide. I can’t escape the thought that we are down to only seventeen days left—seventeen. I’ve always felt safe with the knowledge that Stacia truly believes Daddy is innocent and that she can be trusted to understand the pain I’m in. Still, the lump in my throat keeps me from speaking, and I silently curse myself and all my confused emotions.

  Stacia pulls me in for another hug when she sees me break; this one is so tight it surprises me. “We’re going to figure this out, Riley. We won’t let them do that.”

  I hug her back and force myself to get a grip. “Do you really think you guys can do anything to help him?”

  Stacia hesitates, her eyes damp. She truly seems to be hurting and it’s nice to not feel alone in my pain. Then she squeezes my arm. “I think he’s going to be—”

  “Excuse me, ladies.” A deep voice that sounds like pure warmth speaks from directly behind me, and I whirl around.

  A smile steals across my face when I see Benjamin Masters standing in the doorway, but that’s before I see his right hand bringing Jordan into the room behind him. The sleeves of Mr. Masters’s expensive dress shirt are rolled up to the elbows, his vest is undone, and his tie hangs loosely around his neck.

  “It seems I’ve found a … visitor,” Mr. Masters states simply, but the hint of a frown on his face surprises me.

  Jordan’s eyes shift between me and the lawyer’s hand on his arm. He seems like he’s trying to ask me something. Maybe, Should I run?

  I give a slight shake of my head.

  “Mr. Masters, I didn’t know you were still here,” Stacia says, dropping her arm back to her side and looking from Jordan to the firm’s partner in confusion.

  “Yes.” His eyes focus in on me, his eyebrows lifting as his gaze moves almost imperceptibly toward Jordan. “Well, here I am.”

  “I—uh—” Stacia begins, looking confused, but Masters interrupts her before she can get any further.

  “I hate to interrupt your conversation, but would it be possible for me to speak to Miss Riley in my office, please?” He turns and guides Jordan back a few steps without waiting for her reply.

  “Of course. Do you need me to call security?” All emotion is gone from her voice. She’s switched straight over into business mode.

  “Not necessary, but thank you.” His voice comes from halfway up the hall now, and I exhale sharply. Mr. Masters definitely likes a bit of drama, but I’m happy to see he isn’t going to jump the gun with this one.

  With a quick wave and an apologetic glance to Stacia, I follow after them. Heading for the office of Benjamin Masters—brilliant lawyer, Skittles hoarder, and one of my favorite people in the world.

  21

  THEY ARE QUITE A BIT ahead of me, so by the time I stand outside the corner office with the words Benjamin Masters—Partner on the door, Jordan is sitting in a chair, and Masters stands with his back to him, staring out the window. Clearing my throat, I walk slowly through the open door.

  Mr. Masters turns to face me without saying anything. Despite the deepening frown on his face, he opens his arms and I rush forward to give him a hug. He prefers to keep displays that make him seem “more human” out of sight of his employees. So I’m not surprised that he was less welcoming in front of Stacia. He says, “It’s good to see you.”

  “You too,” I say back, hugging him tight. And it is. It’s always good to see Mr. Masters. He’s the closest thing to a father figure I’ve had—outside of Polunsky. He always comes to the few school events I’ve been required to participate in, brings me very thoughtful presents on my birthday, and even took me out to celebrate when I got my driver’s license.

  He always says the exact same thing: “Your father can’t be here yet, but I can. Thank you for letting me.”

  Mr. Masters doesn’t release me as he whispers in my ear, “What kind of mischief have you gotten yourself into this time, Miss Riley?”

  I whisper in response. “He’s fine. He’s with me.”

  Mr. Masters pulls back and searches my eyes, then his gaze moves to my cheek. He squints and grabs my chin before lifting it to the light and staring at the bruising that is barely visible there. He growls and it shocks me. I’ve never heard Mr. Masters make a sound like that. “If that young man did this…”

  “He didn’t,” I respond immediately, pulling my chin from his grasp. When he just stares at me, I finally give him the truth in an effort to get Jordan off the hook. “It was Mama. We had a discussion … and we didn’t see eye to eye on things.”

  Mr. Masters winces and shakes his head with closed eyes. “If this ever happens again, you come to me immediately. Understand?”

  “I do.”

  He nods again before tossing a look over his shoulder and moving aside so I get a glimpse of Jordan sitting in one of the office chairs and eyeing Masters warily. “Do you even know who he is?”

  I falter as I respond, “D-do you?”

  “Of course,” he scoffs, before walking back toward his desk and raising his voice to a normal level. “It’s my business to know. I was very sorry to hear about what happened to your mother.”

  “Oh, thanks,” Jordan mutters, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

  I hadn’t expected Mr. Masters to know Jordan on sight, but I can’t say I’m shocked by it. I take a seat in the chair beside Jordan, patting his hand as I pass since it seems he needs some reassurance. His normally olive skin has gone sickly gray.

  Mr. Masters stands with his hands clasped loosely in front of him. I recognize the stance immediately: he looks like he does in a courtroom. Me bringing Jordan here has thrown him out of his element and so he’s reacting in a way that makes him more comfortable. He’s putting on his lawyer face.

  We watch Mr. Masters stare out at the Houston skyline. It glitters back at him as the sun moves across the sky. It appears he’s seduced by the view, but I know better. His mind is in here, noting the awkward shifting of Jordan in the seat beside me.

  I’ve spent enough time with Masters and my father to understand men like them. Good lawyers are one part actor, one part confidant, and one part shark. Even more important to understanding them is to know that you can never predict when they might jump from one role to the next.

  He doesn’t trust Jordan, wants to protect me, and is trying to figure out why I brought him. It’s a complicated dance he’s trying to move grace
fully through, while I just want to dive straight to the point. Just as I give up on waiting and open my mouth to speak, Mr. Masters jumps in and I know immediately that this had been the cue he’d been waiting for.

  “You probably remember the first time we were introduced, but do you know when I first met you, Riley?”

  “No, but you’ve known Daddy for as long as I can remember.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this. He could be about to drop something big on me, or he could be trying to make an impression on Jordan. So I keep my voice confident and my tone level—the way Daddy taught me to answer reporters when I was eight and the first one asked me what I thought of my “daddy being a filthy murderer.”

  He turns from the window and moves to lean against the desk directly in front of me. His smile is kind and warm, so I relax a bit.

  “You’re right, I have. Years before he went to jail, we were thick as the dew on Dixie. I met you on the day you were born.” He folds his arms across his chest and leans back as though relishing the memory. It always strikes me as entertaining how much more often these kinds of sayings seem to come out in his language when he’s in his lawyer mode. “David started with the firm just after your mama found out you were on your way into this world. He was the most terrified young father I’d ever seen.”

  No one has ever told me what life was like that long before the trial. And now, I don’t dare speak for fear that he won’t continue. My heart clenches up tight when he stops. Mama never likes to talk about it because she says focusing on what she lost would only make her sad all over again. Sometimes I wonder if she ever thinks about what I lost—about the fact that it wasn’t just her.

  I hope that if I don’t say anything then maybe Mr. Masters will go on. My fingers grip the arms of the oversized leather chair, but I don’t notice until the nail beds of both hands start to tingle from lack of circulation.

  Mr. Masters chuckles. “You should have seen him. David looked like he was scared he might hurt you or your mama. Like you were delicate little flowers that he might break if he wasn’t extremely careful.”