Page 19 of Just Let Go

“You don’t like to talk shop when you’re eating cake any more than I do.” The judge pointed at Gus with his fork.

“What’s your question, Grady?” Beverly asked. “You just ask me, and if Judge overhears, he won’t be able to keep himself from responding.”

The judge set his fork down with a clink. “Is that right?”

Beverly shot him a knowing look. She focused on Grady. “Go on.”

Beside him, Quinn shifted in her seat, pushing the cake around on her plate. Why did he suddenly feel like he’d been put on the spot? He hadn’t intended to make this proposal in front of everyone.

“Well?” Gus glanced up at him.

“December and January are big competition months.” He forced himself not to think about his last competition. If he hadn’t wiped out, the pressure would be so much less, but he’d lost focus. Stupid mistakes cost him that peace of mind.

How did he explain that to a table of people who could never understand the kind of pressure he was under?

“They going to let you race again after that little stunt you pulled last week?” The judge eyed him. “Most coaches I know don’t appreciate it when their players take off, especially not when they’re trying to talk to them.”

Did the judge knowallof his business?

Harbor Pointe might be a small town, but they still had the Internet. The clip of him arguing with his coach, then leaving with a dismissive wave, had unfortunately made the social media rounds. There was no screwing up in private anymore.

Grady drew in a deep breath. “I’m going to get my spot back.”

“Oh, you are?” The judge leveled his gaze. “How do you plan to do that?”

Was he serious? Same way he’d always done it—brute strength, fearless skiing, and a whole lot of raw talent that made him one of the fastest downhill skiers in the country. “I’ve got it under control.”

The judge laughed again, then glanced at Gus. “Do you hear this guy?”

Gus didn’t respond. None of them did. “I’d like to propose that if I pay a fine and make a donation to that restaurant, you let me off without community service. The money will come in a lot handier than my physical labor.”

“The boy might have a point there,” the man across from him—Calvin—said.

“I’m not the handiest guy,” Grady added.

“That right?” The judge took his last bite of cake. “What do you all think? Does this boy deserve to be let off with a slap on the wrist and a fine?”

“Sounds like that’s what he’s used to,” Gus said.

“But does that make it the best choice?” Judge asked. “Say you’re me. You see a talented, accomplished guy enter your courtroom. A little bit of digging and you learn this isn’t his first offense.”

“I can explain—”

The judge held up a hand that silenced Grady. “You have a choice. You can fine him, which will really cost him nothing, or you can help him learn the value of hard work.”

“He’s an Olympic athlete, Judge. I think he knows about hard work.” Calvin seemed to be his only ally at the table.

The judge eyed him. “Do you, son?”

“Do I what?” About now Grady was regretting ever bringing this up in the first place. What he needed was for Pete to call him back, flex some of those monetary muscles, and make this go away.

“Do you know the value of hard work?”

“Of course I do.”

The judge looked skeptical.

“These races are important, sir.”

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