Page 9 of Roses in Summer

“No. I’m promising you. Because if you don’t, you’re fucked, your family’s fucked. And most importantly, I’m fucked.”

My brows furrow at his words, confusion hitting me with all the subtlety of an aluminum baseball bat. “What are you talking about?”

Mitch’s hands go to his head, clutching his hair and pulling on the strands. “My parents found out about the coke at Chris’s party because some asshole sent them pictures to try and blackmail them.”

I barely contain my snort of derision. Chris Kopicki had a party last month, meaning we were already broken up before his experimentation started. Or maybe it started while we were together, but I was too blind to see it. “How is that my problem?”

“It’s your fucking problem because I wouldn’t have gotten high if you hadn’t broken up with me. And my parents know that too. Dad’s running for fucking state senate this year, and the last thing he needs is for pictures of me sniffing coke off someone’s tits to circulate.”

“Wow, Mitch. This story just keeps getting better. But what you’ve failed to tell me is how your problem is mine to adopt. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get back to my study session and pretend that I never met you.”

“It’s your fucking problem because if you don’t do this, don’t smile and look pretty in the family photos while my dad talks about how he raised a stand-up kid with the pretty little high school sweetheart, we’re going after your parents and their prosecution of the Clown Killer.”

I jerk my head back as if slapped. “What the hell are you talking about?” My parents, well-known criminal prosecutors, own a law firm that caters to high-profile cases. Their most well-publicized case, the Clown Killer, a man who killed women and carved demonic clown smiles into their faces post-mortem, spawned books, true crime documentaries, and notoriety. But the case was over fifteen years ago.

“They withheld evidence and neglected a key witness, one who didn’t come forward until the end of the trial. The defense knows that poor witness couldn’t keep the secret after all this time. And who do you think they went to with this information? Just the best judge in the state. A favor for a favor, that’s how the world works, isn’t it?”

I shake my head, disbelief and rage and anger—so much anger—coursing through my veins. “You’re lying. There’s no way you’re telling the truth.”

“You want to make that bet, Seraphina? I tried to do this the easy way so that you didn’t find out your precious parents are just like the rest of us, willing to hide and cheat to get their win. But you had to be difficult, didn’t you? Always so stubborn.” He chuckles as if his words are funny and not bombs going nuclear on my carefully constructed world.

He steps back, keeping his eyes on me as he retreats. “You have two days to decide, Seraphina. You make the right decision, and this will stay quiet. If you don’t?” He pauses, shrugging like it’s a minor inconvenience when I know he needs my consent as much as he does. “Then I’ll enjoy watching your life implode. Who do you think will use that sham of a law firm once people find out about this? Your parents’ careers will be over, and I’ll enjoy every damn minute of it for the pain you’ve caused my family.”

“Let’s get one thing clear.” I walk up to him, pointing my finger into his chest. “You made that decision to do cocaine, not me. So whatever accusations you want to hurl, remember that you’re in this situation because ofyou. Not me.” He grips my finger, squeezing it hard before flinging it off him.

“Two days, Seraphina.” Mitch turns on his heel, walking toward the parking lot and weaving through the cars parked neatly amongst the rows. I watch him leave, his demeanor calm, almost as though I’ve siphoned the internal chaos from him.

Blinking slowly, I shake my head, knowing that whatever he said couldn’t be true. The sound of an engine revving breaks me from the catatonic state I’m in following Mitch’s accusations, and I run back to the library, uncaring that I’m probably causing a scene by literally running through the books stacked high on the shelves.

The only thought in my brain is to get my things and get out, to speak to my parents and verify that all of Mitch’s accusations are baseless and blatant lies.

—

The drive home is short, and I’m not surprised that there are no cars in the driveway when I pull up to my family’s house. Looking at the dashboard, I curse, knowing instantly that I should have gone to my parents’ office building downtown.

“Dammit,” I mutter, driving right past my house and continuing down the street. With my hands set at ten and two, I have to actively talk myself out of speeding the fifteen miles that separate the firm from my house. Only when I pull into the parking lot do I take a deep breath.

It’s reckless and impulsive to drive here first thing in the morning when I know my parents have meetings and debriefs for active and prospective cases, but I can’t find it in me to feel anything other than anxiety. Throwing my car in park, I turn off the ignition and exit, hurrying across the lot and inside the building, where the receptionist greets me by name.

“Seraphina, shouldn’t you be in school?” Claire, the receptionist and office manager, asks, her face set in a worried frown. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, Donna, it’s fine,” I supply, referring to her by the nickname my siblings and I gave her after we first started watchingSuitsand realized she was my parents’ very own Donna Paulsen.

“Are my parents in their offices? I have to speak with them.”

“That’s not going to be possible, Seraphina. They were called into the district attorney’s office.”

My stomach plummets at the news. “Do you know why?”

She shrugs. “I’m sure it was something with an upcoming trial, though I did hear Jacobi is advocating for a retrial through his attorney.” The mention of Jean Paul Jacobi, the infamous Clown Killer and the person whom I want to discuss with my parents, sends my plummeting stomach to my feet. I struggle to breathe at her omission.

“Oh?”

She waves off my evident distress. “This happens once a year. I’m sure it’s nothing. Though, they’ve never been called to the DA before about it, so, who knows? Anyway, do you want me to tell them you stopped by? Did something happen at school?”

I shake my head, backing away as I respond, “No, it’s fine. I’ll speak to them at home. I’ll see you later, Donna. Give your kids a hug for me.”

Claire tilts her head, watching my retreat with equal parts interest and confusion. “Seraphina—” I wave, cutting her off with the movement and slipping out the door and back to the lot, where I waste no time diving into my car and driving home.

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