The inside of my skull ached, and my throat burned. I rested my forehead against the toilet seat, not giving a fuck what was on it anymore. Someone came and slid open the cell door behind me with a clang, and when I looked back that way, a water bottle was shoved in my face. I took the offered drink automatically and glanced up the slim body of a frazzled-looking man in a cheap blue suit. He grinned at me, and I marveled at the way his dreads were shaped into a perfectly round manbun that sat high on his head. I could appreciate the friendliness of his wide smile, but had trouble working up excitement for anything else.
“Hi. I’m your court-appointed representation, Darian Anthony. You told them you needed me last night. Try not to worry about these charges too much. You’ll be fine.” He held out his hand, and I shook with him, his palm feeling impossibly warm. I clutched the water close and managed to get the bottle open. I gulped half of it, shuddering while I did.
He helped me off the floor when I almost fell back to my knees. Straightening up, I winced. “You sure? I don’t feel fine.”
“Just don’t throw up in the courtroom,” he muttered, mouth twisted in a half smile at his own grim humor. It turned out the police station was close to the courthouse. I couldn’t ride over with Mr. Anthony. Instead, I had to pile into the back of a police cruiser.
“We never got around to transferring you to county,” the cop who drove me there said. He was a big, hard-faced guy; however, he did smile into the rearview mirror. “Things will turn around, kid. Just get your nose clean.”
I had nothing to say to that.
I had nothing to say as Mr. Anthony pleaded no contest to charges of underage drinking. I had nothing to say when Judge Tamaki declared he was pulling my driver’s license for a month due to drunk driving they couldn’t technically prove.
“They found your car wrapped around a pole on Garfield Avenue. How did you even get to the church?” Tamaki asked.
I shrugged—and I had nothing to say when Mr. Anthony agreed I would go to the Drinking Driver Program and abstain from alcohol and drugs for the next nine months as part of my probation, rather than incarceration. Who cared about my driver’s license? Who cared about any of this?
But then Judge Tamaki tipped his head forward so he could stare at me over the top of his glasses. His brown eyes were focused, and I squirmed with the attention.
“Given your age, I’d like to release you to someone, son. Let’s have a phone number for Mom or Dad.” Judge Tamaki smiled at me, all friendly. Maybe Judge Tamaki and Mr. Anthony were told something by that cop I woke up to because they’d all had the same squinty sad expressions on their faces. That pissed me off. I didn’t deserve sympathy. Carter was fucking dead, he needed it, not me.
“My parents and I don’t talk right now, but….” I hesitated and wrung my hands and then made myself stop doing it.
“Come on, anyone. Tamaki is being really lenient here,” Mr. Anthony whispered. “Just give him a name of someone responsible who can help you.”
I sighed. “How about West?” Judge Tamaki’s brow furrowed, and the fog in my brain cleared enough for me to realize how stupid that sounded. “Um, his name is Caleb Weston. We call him West.” I gave the judge the phone number and then stood there, mortified, while he pulled out his personal cell phone and called Carter’s grieving boyfriend. Judge Tamaki told him all about what I’d done and what was going on as a result of me being found nearly dead in front of St. Peter’s.
To wrap up my humiliation with a nice bow, the judge asked West if he would come pick me up from the back of the courtroom. My face burned, and a few other people waiting their turn in front of the judge seemed amused. I was having trouble giving a shit that this was supposed to be some sort of favor to me. I just didn’t feel anything as much as I used to. Food didn’t even taste good.
Snippets of how I’d gotten so fucked-up came back to me as I sat behind a cheap table on a plastic seat in front of Judge Tamaki’s raised desk. Maybe I was still drunk because the courtroom seemed extra bizarre. There was blue carpeting on the walls, maybe for soundproofing? The view was strange. I felt like I was waking up all over again, only this time colors and sounds and the world came rushing in on me.
When I went out the night this started, my friend Teddy bought me drinks. A load of drinks. He had money and liked to try to impress me. I think something might have happened with him. I couldn’t remember, though. He dragged me out to his car. My stomach revolted, and I had to take shallow breaths not to throw up. I couldn’t remember what happened in his car, but from there I’d gone to another hole-in-the-wall bar. No one carded me, but they sure as hell served me. Everything after that was a blur until this morning.
“Go sit in the back.” Judge Tamaki startled me into the present. “You’re getting off light, as I’m sure your lawyer has informed you, but I want to make it clear you’re going to be randomly tested for substances for the next nine months. Failure to test or pass will result in thirty days in jail. I’m not fooling around with this, or you, do you understand?” Tamaki had a soft smile, in spite of his words, like he gave a shit about me, so I mustered up some energy.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He nodded and waved a hand, and I got up. Mr. Anthony led me to a seat at the back of the room. After that the lawyer took off, and I sat holding my throbbing, cotton-stuffed head and feeling like a fucking idiot. I couldn’t imagine how worried West probably was when I didn’t come home. We weren’t super close, but we were friendly, and I was sort of waiting for him to toss me out of the house now that Carter was gone. Not that I had a reason for that fear, but it had been eating at me since the day Carter died. West was closed off in some ways and had a no-bullshit personality.
I gnawed on my lower lip and hoped he wouldn’t be too pissed off. He hadn’t been given leave from work for Carter dying, since he wasn’t married to him, so he was barely getting by there as it was, and now he would have to ditch for this. I curled over, rested my forehead on my knees, and fought my sick stomach.
Who was I kidding, West was going to hate me.
Chapter 2
Caleb “West” Weston
Squeezing the steering wheel until the leather squeaked under my hands, I let out a deep breath. I didn’t know what to say. I’d never been good with words in intimate situations. If Carter was here, he would say something helpful and sweet that would make Shane feel better, but I hadn’t seen him laugh since Carter’s death. Hell, I hadn’t laughed either. Happiness was hard when it felt like your heart had been ripped from your chest and stomped on. Dealing with my own emotions was tough enough without trying to understand Shane’s. He’d lost a brother and best friend.
I glanced at him. His head dipped forward, pitch-black hair curling at the sides of his temples and hiding his eyes. With his hands in his lap, he looked vulnerable and ashamed, and as much as I wanted to be mad at him, I couldn’t.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked gently, steering the car around the corner that led into our suburb. We didn’t live in the swankiest area, but we had a roof over our heads, and after Carter’s funeral bills, I was surprised we even had that. My job as a lawyer paid okay, but working pro bono for people who claimed to be innocent didn’t drown me in cash. Maybe I needed to take a page out of my friend River Demchenko’s book and work for the Kings of Men MC. When dealing with professional criminals, there was always someone in court, and they paid well too.