Page 47 of No Turning Back
“Not enough.” She stops at the door, fixing me with a look that says I’m not gonna like what’s next. “We’ve got Judge Macaulay. He lost a daughter to a drunk driver last year. So, you…” She sighs, “…are fucked.”
I can feel the screws on the coffin tightening with every poor bastard who steps up before me. This judge is clearly in a mood, and I am most definitely fucked.
I try to tell myself it’s not gonna be that bad, first offense, no injuries, it’s not like he can actually send me to jail… right?
Finally, they call my case. Anna and I step up to the table, and sure enough, there’s some suit on the other side, ADA, I’m guessing.
He flips open a file, clears his throat, and addresses the bench. “Your Honor, as this is Mr. Ortega’s first offense, the State would ordinarily recommend probation, mandatory alcohol education, community service, and a fine-”
Ordinarily. That word hangs there like a knife.
“-however,” he continues, “given the circumstances of his arrest, including a high blood alcohol content and the fact that he wasfound asleep in his vehicle at an intersection, the State believes additional penalties are warranted to ensure deterrence.”
Anna’s jaw tightens, but she keeps her voice even. “Your Honor, my client has no prior criminal history. He is a veteran, and there were no injuri-”
“Ma’am,” Judge Macaulay cuts in, his tone sharp enough to draw blood, “he was operating a vehicle at twice the legal limit. That’s not a mistake, that’s a choice.”
The air in the room turns heavy. My stomach drops.
Macaulay sits back, staring me down like he’s measuring just how far to push. Finally, he says, “Mr. Ortega, I’m giving you one chance to prove this was a lapse in judgment, not a pattern. You’re sentenced to one year probation, 120 hours community service, a $1,500 fine, and completion of a state-approved DWI education course. In addition, you will attend mandatory weekly therapy for alcohol abuse for a minimum of six months.”
I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. No jail. I can live with that. Hell, I can do community service standing on my head.
But therapy?
Yeah… that’s gonna be a whole different kind of punishment.
Chapter Fifteen
Quinn
Getting a call at six a.m. from my ex-husband begging for bail money was definitely not on my bingo card for the year.
My first instinct was to help, muscle memory, I guess, but then Philip’s voice echoed in my head:Any effort on your part could be interpreted as reconciliation and delay the divorce.
Right. No thanks.
So instead, I called Lyle. Considering Markus’s lawyer is his sister, I figured he’d pass the message along and she could deal with him. It made for a weird, awkward conversation, Lyle’s sleepy, gravelly “Hewhat?” was a highlight, but hey, it’s done. I did my good deed without jeopardizing my case.
“Hey, early bird,” Sam says, sliding a steaming cup of coffee my way.
I take it, sip, and let the caffeine hit with a little hum of satisfaction. “You will not believe the wake-up call I got today.”
Sam leans on the counter, mug in hand. “Try me.”
So, I tell him. From the bail call to passing the buck to Lyle.
He raises an eyebrow. “You think it was a tactic to delay his deposition?”
I shake my head. “He may be an ass, but he wouldn’t do that. Not on purpose, anyway. No, this was pure stupidity. Drunk driving? What an idiot.”
Sam chuckles into his coffee. “Well, hopefully he didn’t hurt anyone.”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding, then my eyes catch on the sweat on his brow. “You know, doing yard work wouldn’t be this sweaty if you trimmed the witch’s hedge.” I tilt my head toward his beard. “It’s getting ridiculous at this point.”
He tsks. “Hey, if you decide to call the cousin-slash-half-brother, I’ll trim it.”
I smile. “I don’t have to. Grandma went on a cruise with her new boyfriend. She has zero intention of reaching out to him, so why disrupt his life over nothing?”
