“Never in a million years.”
She acted exactly how she’s been brainwashed to act. The last time we talked, she made it absolutely clear she had no second thoughts about anything.
When this is finally over and I can start my life for real, I’m no longer trusting my instincts with girls. Hell, I may turn to a life of celibacy. Maybe I could join a monastery or something.
It’d be painful, but not nearly as painful as what I’ve already endured, especially with Paige. I get what Lora was doing, trying to protect herself because of her other trouble. But Paige? All it would’ve taken was a couple white lies that no one would have ever been able to call her out on. After everything we went through, I had put my faith in her. She talked to Jernigan and seemed like she was going to protect me. I was beginning to think our relationship was real and genuine.
To trust someone … and to start feeling something for someone, only to have them turn on you when you need them the most … it’s like being blindsided by a freaking tsunami and swept away from everything you thought you knew.
And then you’re left alone to pick up the pieces of your damaged life.
And your damaged heart.
CHAPTER 30
PAIGE
Saturday evening, after the awful lunch with my dad and an afternoon of me finding every excuse possible to avoid him, I’m sitting on the front porch again, calling Logan’s lawyer.
“Hello, this is Arthur Needleham,” he says when he answers.
“Hi, Mr. Needleham. This is Paige Durant.”
“Hi there. Is everything set? Will you be able to come to the hearing on Monday?”
This is it. I truly am risking it all to try and save him. “Yes, sir,” I reply, ignoring the queasiness in my stomach.
“Okay, good. You mentioned in your original message that Logan was trying to help his girlfriend the night of the accident. You meant Lora Mitchell, right?”
“I’m not sure what her last name is. Her first name is Lora.”
“Can you tell me more about what happened?”
“Um…” What am I supposed to do? His lawyer needs to know, but I don’t want to betray Logan’s trust again. After a long pause, I say, “I’m not sure he’d want me to talk about it. Maybe you can ask him?”
“I have. He’s being evasive. He wants to wait and see how the pretrial hearing goes before deciding whether to admit he was coerced into confessing, which I fully believe he was.”
“As his lawyer, can’t you force him to admit he was coerced?”
“No, but I can present evidence to clear him.” He pauses, and I hear the distinct crackle and distorted voice of someone talking on a drive-thru speaker. “Give me a minute, please,” he says; then there’s a rustling like he’s covering the speaker with his hand. While I wait, I use my feet to push the swing back and forth as I watch my dad through the window. He’s in front of the TV with Leah and keeps changing the channel from football, his choice, to the Food Network, her choice. Under normal circumstances, I’d assume I only have a few more minutes before he’ll come looking for me, but with how angry I’ve been today, he’s kept his distance. I’m sure he figures I’ll eventually get over it, not that I’m planning my first teenage rebellious act, in epic fashion.
“Sorry about that,” Mr. Needleham says returning to our call. “Like I said, I’m trying to find evidence. The problem is I’ve had only a few days since realizing he was likely coerced. Every piece of evidence I’ve reviewed—traffic cams, witness statements, and the like—are all inconclusive. Did he tell you anything else about that night?”
“I—I don’t want to betray his confidence.”
“Do you want him to end up with, at best, a Class 1 misdemeanor on his permanent record? At worst it could be a felony conviction.”
“No.”
“I know it’s a long shot, but if I find exculpatory evidence between now and Monday, the case could be dismissed. It would be like this never happened.”
That’s what needs to occur. He needs to be done with this, and Lora needs to deal with it instead of him.
When I don’t say anything, he continues, “I’ll clear anything you tell me with Mr. Evans before I use it at the hearing.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
I take a deep breath. I don’t want Logan to think I stabbed him in the back, but I also don’t want Mr. Needleham to miss an opportunity to potentially gather evidence. What if Logan changes his mind at the hearing, but it’s too late? It’d be better for Mr. Needleham to have the evidence ready in case Logan comes to his senses. Surely, he would realize I’m doing this to help him, not hurt him.
“He told me he let Lora borrow his car,” I say with conviction. Someone needs to stand up for him and if he won’t do it himself, it’ll have to be me and his lawyer. “He was playing video games with his friend Gordy all night. When Gordy dropped him off at home, the cops were waiting. He was arrested on the spot and spent the rest of the night at the police station.”
“Did he talk to Ms. Mitchell between the time of the accident and when he was arrested?”
“I’m not sure, sir.”
“Do you know Gordy’s last name?”
“No, I don’t. He’s Logan’s best friend.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ve got a couple leads here. There’s not much time, but maybe I can turn something up.”
I’m not a superstitious person, but I cross my fingers anyway. At this point, Logan needs all the help he can get.
* * *
The next morning, Leah and I decide to leave my house earlier than we had planned. I’m still furious with my dad, and he knows it.
We’re sitting in my car as he leans against the driver’s side door. “If you talk to Evans, let him know I hope his court case turns out okay,” he says at my open window.
“It’d turn out better if you’d let me go,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
“Paige,” he warns, giving me his serious dad look.
Once again, he’s shutting me down. Controlling my life. Making me do whatever he says without any input from me. I’m almost eighteen, and he’s still doing it.
“I’m going to the Air Force Academy,” I blurt out, tightly gripping the steering wheel and staring straight into his eyes.
My plan was to tell him while I was home, but not under these circumstances. My grandpa had given me some pointers, and none of those were to blurt it out in the middle of an argument.
My dad doesn’t blink or look away. His jaw doesn’t even tense. Instead, he just stares back with absolutely no emotion. It’s almost like he didn’t hear me.
“I applied and got in,” I continue. “I’m going. There’s nothing you can say to stop me.” I might as well get it all out now.
I hear Leah drop something next to me and imagine she’d rather be anywhere but here. So would I.
“What about the Naval Academy?” he asks in a low, steady voice, despite the anger I know is brewing under the surface.
“I got in—the letter came two days ago—but I will be declining.”