Page 243 of Cross the Line
“What does that mean?” It sounds like he has a lot to prosecute Presley with, so why the trepid expression?
“Something will stick, Jayden. It might just not be the charge we want.”
“So what you’re saying is that Presley gets away with what he did to Eli?” Bile burns up my throat with the raging lurch of my stomach when he gives me an apologetic wince. “No. There has to be more we can do. More… just more.”
“JJ…”
“Stop,” my bark echoes around the living area as I push to my feet with the sudden sucker punch of reality to my chest. “Stop it. You’re better than this. You’re… you’re the best…”
How is he standing there so calm and collected when every part of me is spinning out? My head. My heart…
“What’s the point in any of this?” The sob escapes my cloyed chest when Dad ambles to me and pulls me into a tight hug.
Even though I’m several inches taller and a lot broader than him, he still manages to rock me like he used to when I didn’t dwarf him—a there-there, there-there swaying motion that acts as a metronome to my errant emotions.
When I finally stand tall again, he hands me the bright-colored silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
“The point is that no crime should go unpunished. If you use your head instead of your heart to think about this, you’ll see that any charge that sticks is a win. It’s a small justice that Eli deserves. That you and Finley deserve.”
“Small is insignificant, Dad.”
I’m twisting the silk square into a tight rope around my fingers while I try to force myself to see the situation from his perspective—to think like him. It’s impossible, though.
Eli is one-half of my heart that is breaking and aching. It’s excruciating, and all I want to do is fix it. Fix the hurt he’s suffering.
“A small charge that sticks is enough to tarnish Tomes’s name, to ruin his career. By the time we’re done with him, he will never step foot on the ice again.”
“It’s not enough. I don’t care about his career.” I suck in a deep, cutting breath, rubbing my neck to dispel some of the tension knotting my muscles. “It’s his life. I want to destroy it completely. So that he has no reason to live. And if you can’t do that, then neither you nor your colleague is the right attorney for Eli.”
The scrunch of his face hardens. “I’m the best and Nata?—”
“Then fucking fight like it,” is my snap remark before I snatch up my book and head for the bedroom, where Eli is getting ready to leave for his meeting.
It’s been made abundantly clear that I can’t go into the boardroom with him. Nevertheless, I’m going to drive him to the arena, and I’ll wait as close to him as I can—on the other side of the door, down the hallway, in the cafeteria, or in the fucking car.
There’s no way I’m letting him go through hell on his own.
Not when I’m the reason he opened the gates in the first place.
CHAPTER 70
ELI
Deep breaths.
It’s a lot easier said than done when Gerry looks between me and Coach as if he’s forgotten how to speak. The reaction is becoming too familiar, and I sit taller in the imposing bucket chair across from him.
“My attorney filed charges this afternoon, along with—” I pause at a loud knock. Gerry’s executive assistant rushes in.
Brian stands in the doorway, the soft father I’ve come to know masked beneath a sober expression. With his brown leather briefcase clutched in his hand, he saunters to the empty seat beside me. The surety he’s cloaked in tilts the room’s balance his way; even Gerry sags in his chair while his EA backs out.
“I’m sorry I’m late to the meeting. As you can imagine, the clerk’s office was busy. Before we carry on, I have some paperwork for you to sign.” Brian goes straight to business, drawing two manila files from his briefcase before rounding the table to place them in front of Gerry. “As my client has chosen to keep his name from public record, we need you to sign a non-disclosure that prohibits the Comets organization from disclosing any information that will identify him.”
“Is this really necessary?”
“Essential.” Brian produces the same gold fountain pen he used earlier while I talked him through what happened the night Presley assaulted me.
Not once, multiple times, and each time, he wrote it down like he was memorizing every detail, recording every nuance in my tone, noting the small shifts between recountings.
