Colton: Wordsmith Chronicles Book 2 (The Wordsmith Chronicles) Page 3

  Harley bailed me out, and I was given a court appointment for today. “The honorable judge Scofield, presiding!”

  “Please be seated,” the judge instructs. We all sit down and I have that same feeling I did like I’m back being dragged to church when I was a little kid. All the standing and rising and ritual. Let’s get on with this already! My case is up first on the docket. “Colton Chase?”

  “Yes, your honor?”

  “Council, how does your client plead?”

  “Guilty, your honor, but he would like to address the court if you’ll allow it.”

  “That’s fine,” he says. “As long as he keeps it brief. I have to hear a lot of cases today.”

  “Certainly, your honor.” My lawyer motions for me to speak, and all of a sudden I get really nervous. I’m feeling the importance of this situation in a way I didn’t think that I would. Normally I’m a pretty cool customer—not really prone to anxiety or feeling self-conscious, but right now I feel like I’m on stage, naked, with everyone staring at me, making fun of the size of my dick or something.

  “Mr. Chase,” the judge says in a deep voice. “Go ahead.”

  “Your honor, I don’t want to waste any of your time. I committed the assault that I’m here for today. I’m not going to deny that or waste the court’s time defending an indefensible action. I shouldn’t have hit that man, and I regret doing so. I wasn’t defending myself or anyone else. I lost my temper, plain and simple, and I never should have done that. All that I request, Your Honor, is that you take into consideration that I have a completely clean record up to this point. This is my first offense—a stupid and regrettable mistake—and I’m willing to do anything I can to avoid jail time, sir.”

  I stop talking and I feel really dumb. I basically just asked him to not do what it’s his job to do—send people away for breaking the law. I’m just hoping that I got the right judge on the right day, and that he takes pity on me in any way possible. It’s only a few seconds that he ponders my request, but in that courtroom it feels like an eternity. I’m expecting the well worded judicial equivalent of ‘fuck off, asshole, we’ve got your jail cell all ready for ya’, but instead he looks at me with kind eyes.

  “Mr. Chase, I’ve heard your request. I thank you for taking responsibility for your actions. Trust me, it’s a refreshing thing in this court. And, while I agree that assaulting another person is in no way ethnically or legally acceptable, it shows character that you’re willing to simply admit to it and not waste the Court’s time. Mr. Chase, I have a son your age, and he’s struggled with similar issues. Although it’s within my power to take your freedom, I don’t feel that it’s in anyone’s best interest to do so.”

  His words feel like a giant exhale. I’m not going to jail!

  “But,” he continues. “Just because you’re not going to prison doesn’t mean that you’re getting off scott-free. There are consequences to your actions.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I’m willing to do anything to stay out of prison.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Chase.” There’s something about the tone in his voice that’s freaking me out. “I’m sentencing you to 50 hours of community service, as well as court-mandated anger management therapy for a span of no less than three months.”

  “Therapy?” I ask.

  “Yes, Mr. Chase, therapy. If you think those kind of impulse and anger issues are going to just resolve themselves then maybe I’m wrong to be taking a chance on you. You’re welcome to reject the deal I’m offering you, Mr. Chase,” he tells me. “But the alternative is a jail cell upstate. Your choice.”

  This is a no brainer. “Therapy and community service are fine, Your Honor.”

  “I thought that you might see it that way. And I’m glad that you do. Good luck to you, Mr. Chase.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  I walk out into the hallways of the court house a free man, but I’m a little bewildered at what just happened. Now I really feel like Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting! Therapy. I’ve never even considered going, but now that I’m thinking about it, I could probably benefit from it. What I said to the judge is true—I don’t have a criminal record, but a lot of that is honestly just because I never got caught doing things I shouldn’t have done. I used to get into fights in high school. A lot of fights. The only reason I haven’t been to jail on ten different occasions is because there’s a code among guys when it comes to physical altercations—no one calls the cops. Calling the cops or suing someone over a fight that both people went into willingly makes you seem like a complete pussy. I guess KL never got that memo.

  But just because I never faced any charges doesn’t mean I was doing the right thing or living the way I should have been living. In fact, I was pretty unhappy most of those times. My attack on KL was the first time since I started college that I’ve gotten into it physically with another man outside of a martial arts training situation. I know it was wrong, but I’m not sorry that he took a few shots to remind him that there are costs to being an unethical asshole.

  Maybe I do need therapy.

  “So how does all this work?” I ask my attorney. I’ve never met this guy before today, but he seems nice enough. I’m not exactly rolling in money so I don’t keep an attorney on retainer, meaning that I had to go with a public defender who’s clearly younger than I am. Thank God I’m good at talking. “The therapy and community service, I mean.”

  “You have to check in every week and provide evidence that you’re going to both until you fulfill the court’s directives. There are a few community service places I can recommend if you need.”

  “Thanks, that would be great.”

  “And for therapists. . .”

  “Actually, I think I’m good with the therapist part, believe it or not.”

  “You have a therapist?”

  “I think I just might.”

  After I got out on bail I started hitting the gym hard. I’d vowed to myself that all of this drama wasn’t going to impact the writing of my new book, The Gentle Art. It’s about an MMA fighter who finds love on his way to getting a UFC contract. I’ve been training a lot of Jiu Jitsu to get into the mindset of Aidan, my alpha male character. My main training partner also teaches some of the advanced classes on Tuesdays. He’s a retired cop, and I remember shooting the shit with him after class one day, and him mentioning that his wife was this famous psychologist in the city. At the time I barely paid attention—it was just some getting to know you chit chat. But now the memory comes flooding back to me.

  I step out of the courthouse into a beautiful summer day. There’s nothing like the early summer in New York. Give it a month and the air will be thick with humidity and mosquitoes the size of small birds, but right now it’s perfect. The chill of spring has thawed, and everything is starting to grow. I reach into my wallet, grab the card Calem gave me at Jiu Jitsu and I see her name—Cordelia Summers, Ph.D. I guess I’ll be calling her soon.

  But there’s another woman that I need to call first.

  I walk down the steps of the courthouse feeling every bit the extra in an episode of Law & Order. When I reach the bottom I grab my cell and get ready to call Harley. I don’t know what it is or why, but she’s gotten in my head. She was who I called to get me out of jail before I called Mike or Gray, but more than that, she was who I confided in. I told her things at that diner that only a few people in my life really know. There’s just something about her that makes me trust her. And it doesn’t hurt that every time I see her my pants get a little bit tighter.

  She’s a fucking dime piece—a 10—a girl who can turn heads when she walks in the room. And she certainly turned mine at Mike’s cover reveal party. I couldn’t stop staring or talking to her, and I definitely felt a chemistry between us.

  I hit ‘send’ on my phone and wait for her to pick up. It rings four times before it goes to voicemail. Damn. I guess I missed her. I’ll try again later.

  Pancakes with Harley sounds lik
e the title of a bad novel, an even worse podcast, or the shittiest band ever. But pancakes with Harley was the one ray of hope in an otherwise terrible series of events for me—it was the thing that started me on the road to where I am now. It wasn’t just because she was there for me, either. It’s because she told me things about herself that were some of the most personal things someone can share. She told me her secret. The thing no one else in this world knows. It’s a secret I’ll guard with my life, and it’s something that made her feel like my girlfriend even though she isn’t.

  I have two stories that need to be written—my next book, and my real life story with Harley.

  I’m not sure how either are going to turn out, but I can’t wait to see.

  Here I go.

  4

  Harley

  “Because he got me so fucking wet I couldn’t stand it, Ev.”

  Everleigh’s jaw drops, and my work is complete. After a good adventure and great sex, shocking my two best friends, Everleigh and Rowan, is about my favorite thing to do. I’m no stranger to being blunt, though. It’s the only way I know how to communicate, even though I know it turns people off sometimes. And even though my best friends are accustomed to my filth, I can still, on occasion, make their adorable little jaws hang to the ground with the things I say.

  “Harley, Jesus!” Rowan exclaims.

  The question I was responding to was Everleigh asking why I chose to bail Colton out of jail instead of letting Michael or Grayson do it. I don’t think she was expecting me to be so straight forward.

  “Like, really, really wet. New-underwear-required wet.”

  “Really?” Rowan asks. We’re at her place, helping her paint the walls. Sometime last week she decide that she was was sick of her plain, pastel colored walls and asked us to help her go bold. Everleigh and I agreed and decided to make a night of it, but so far we’ve done zero painting and a whole lot of wine drinking. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure Ro bought paint at all. She and Everleigh had already popped the first bottle of rosé by the time I made it, but I’m usually the last to arrive. I’m that habitually late person, I admit it. But I’m the most fun of the group once I arrive, so I guess it kind of makes up for it.

  It doesn’t take twenty minutes before the subject of my sex life dominates our discussion. “Really,” I answer. “The first time I laid eyes on him in person, I wanted him. I was hoping that he would bring me back to his place and fuck me after our pancake session, but I guess he was a little distracted.”

  “From being arrested for assault and potentially losing his freedom?” Everleigh asks, her voice raising an octave. “Yeah, Har, that might distract him from the wonder that is your body.”

  “That, or all the carbs, maybe. I hear they can ruin your sex drive. Or maybe that was something else, I’m not sure. Either way there was zero sex going on that day, but that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t get me soaking wet.”

  “Can you please stop saying ‘wet’?”

  Rowan can be such a prude sometimes, but it’s all fake. She does it to convince herself she’s more chaste than us.

  “Sure,” I joke. “Can I just talk about my throbbing pussy when I’m around him? I won’t mention the word ‘wet’, Scout’s honor.”

  “You’re so gross, Harley.”

  “I am not,” I tell her. “I’m just unfiltered. We all think it. I just have the balls to say it out loud. What do you think those books we all know and love so much are about, Ro? I know you secretly have a stash of paperbacks under your bed right next to the vibrator you pretend not to own.”

  “How do you know about that? Have you been snooping?”

  “I have my ways,” I joke, looking at Everleigh, who has the guiltiest look on her face, ever.

  “Dammit, Ev!” Rowan says to Everleigh. “I thought we were keeping it a secret.”

  “Why?” I ask. “There’s nothing wrong with you wanting to get off while reading Grayson’s books.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me, I know you love that dark romance shit. I saw you buy his books at the signing. God, you’d be so much more interesting if you just let your inner freak out, Ro.”

  “And be like you?” she asks.

  “Hey, look, I’m just in touch with my sexuality. I’m not a whore and I don’t sleep around. But I’ll let you know when a hot as fuck guy like Colton Chase has me a little moist down below.”

  “Dammit, you promised!”

  “What?” I joke. “I didn’t mention being wet at all. I said moist. Moist isn’t wet.”

  “It kind of is,” Everleigh says. “I don’t think we need to split hairs on what to call the different states of being turned on. We get the picture. Did you really think you were going to hook up after you bailed the poor boy out of jail?”

  “No,” I say, finally being serious. “But I wanted to. That’s all I’m saying. I wanted to, and I think that if he hadn’t been so preoccupied, he would have wanted to also. I can tell when a guy’s into me. He was into me.”

  “Of course,” Rowan jokes. “All the guys are into you. Every single one of them.”

  “Not true,” I respond. “Not true at all. Plus, I’m super picky. Chase is different though—he’s got this tough MMA training, romance writing, bad boy exterior, but he’s got a real vulnerable side to him also. I saw him when he was down, and he confided in me about how he was feeling during the whole thing. It made me feel special.”

  I remember exactly the moment he went from just another hot guy—albeit one of the hotter ones I’d ever seen—to a man who had some depth that I became interested in. It was over pancakes at a diner near the precinct where I bailed him out. He was clearly upset and he didn’t smell that great, even though I lied and said I didn’t notice. I’d probably smell bad if I spent the night in jail, too. I figured it would just be breakfast, and it was. But after his second cup of coffee he started to open up in ways that were a little more revealing of who he is.

  “I feel like I fucked up big time,” he’d told me. “That’s why I look like this. I’m tough. I can take the night in jail, and I can take whatever legal consequences might be coming my way. But I’d hate to mess up the Wordsmiths. And the idea of Mike and Gray being disappointed with me.”

  As he spoke to me I noticed his eyes. He was looking down most of the time he talked, as people do when they’re ashamed of themselves. But every now and again he’d look back up at me and I couldn’t help but notice the special tone of blue peeking back at me. There was a lot in those eyes—fear, embarrassment, vulnerability, but also a strength that came across even in his weak moments.

  “Listen,” I told him. “We all fuck up. I know I have, about a million times since last Wednesday. You didn’t murder anyone. You hit some asshole in a bathroom. You’ll be fine. And readers are forgiving. You think they care? If anything, you’ll get a sales bump from this drama. I’m sure KL has posted about it all over.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, still sounding somber. “It’s hard to tell how this thing is going to play out.”

  “However it plays out, I’ll be there for you. Even if the world turns its back on you, you can always hit me up, okay?”

  And then he did something that I didn’t expect. He reached across the table and took my hand. It was weirdly. . .intimate. He put his large hands over mine and looked at me with his beautifully dark eyes and said, “Thank you, Harley. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

  “Har.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “You can call me Har if you want. Only a few people do. You could totally be one of them.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  That was a little while ago. I know he had to appear in court today. I should text him and find out how it went. I hope he got probation or something dumb. It would be tragic if he had to do jail time. “Did Knight say anything about it?” I ask. It’s a loaded question to ask Ev. She’s been my best friend for years, but now she’s al
so Knight’s fiancé, and I don’t want to put her on the spot to break any confidences. But, still, I need to do a little recon to see if the other guys were pissed at him getting arrested.

  “Not really,” she tells me, without any hesitation. “He seemed a little annoyed and all, but he knows Colton’s a big boy. What he does is on him. I don’t think he’s worried about the Wordsmiths at all. The only thing he mentioned was RAAC. He really wants the signing to go smoothly for all of their careers. He was just worried Colt wouldn’t be able to make it.”

  “I get that. I hope it went well for him today. Ro, is my phone done charging yet?”

  She looks over to the corner table where I charged my ever-dead iPhone. It’s been off all day. I get the thumbs up and go turn it back on. “Shit!”

  “What?” Ro asks.

  “I missed a call and a few texts from Colton. Like, hours ago. I need to get back to him.”

  “After you change your underwear, right?”

  “Of course,” I joke, happy that Rowan is getting on board. “Can’t call the guy you have the feels for with wet underwear.”

  We all laugh and take another sip of our wine. I put my phone down. I’ll hit him up later. Right now I have my girls.

  “Hey, are we actually going to paint?” I ask.

  “What are you, nuts?” Ro jokes. “I hired a guy who works in the building for that. Told him which paint to buy and everything. And anyhow, if I tried to pick up a paintbrush right now I’d fall over.”

  “You’re such a lightweight, Rowan.”

  “Maybe,” she says. “But at least I have dry underwear.”

  “There’s always that.”