Rebel Soul

In the guest room, I grab the notepad and pen I pilfered earlier before flopping down onto the bed to call Dad’s attorney.

“McMasters and McLean, this is Meagan speaking. How may I help you?”

A sudden bout of nerves hits me, rippling up my belly like a swarm of butterflies taking flight. Clearing my throat, I say, “Um, hi. This is Stacia Kellan, I was hoping to speak with Mr. McMasters in…in regard to my father, Ken Kellan.”

When nothing but silence meets my request, I add, “They’ve worked together for years.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m pretty sure Mr. McMasters is with a client, but I can patch you through to his voice mail, if you’d like?”

I’d love nothing more than to scream, no, that’s not at all what I’d like, Meagan, but that won’t help. Instead, I settle with, “Yes, thank you.”

“Great,” she coos, and I can almost see the placating this-is-my-customer-service-smile on her face. “I’m going to connect you now.”

Annoying elevator music fills the speaker for a beat before the answering machine kicks on. After the beep, I leave a quick message, asking him to return my call as soon as possible. Fingers crossed and all that shit, right?

Up next is my job. Maren, the owner of the studio I work at, knows what’s going on, and she’s been crazy understanding and supportive—even going as far as shifting my bookings around to give me the week off while still offering to pay me. She’s a total goddess. “Beauty Box, how can we make you beautiful today?”

“Hey, Joy, it’s Stacia. Is Maren around?”

“Yup, she just finished up a trial run on a potential bride. Let me grab her.” Joy—our lash and brow expert—places me on hold.

A few minutes later, my boss greets me. “Stacia, what’s good, girl?”

I sigh. “Not much. Which is why I’m calling.”

“Lord help me, you better not be quitting.”

I chuckle darkly. “Uh, no. I was actually hoping to expand my hours.”

“Hmm, expand them how? Your book stays stacked.”

“I don’t know—maybe some after-hours clients or on-site clients? Honestly, I’ll take anything at this point.”

“You know I’ve got you, girl. We will talk more when you’re back next week, okay? Right now, you just worry about your dad.”

A little of the weight clinging to my chest lifts. “Thanks, M, you’re the best.”

“Don’t I know it. We’ll see you Tuesday. Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

Right as I hang up with her, another call comes through. “Hello?”

“Stacia? It’s Dan McMasters.”

Oh, sweet Jesus, maybe things are looking up! “Good morning, hi! How are you, sir?”

“Good, good. It’s a real shame about your dad.”

Something about his tone sets my nerves on edge. “He’s innocent, sir.”

McMasters mutters something that sounds a hell of a lot like that’s what they all say before clearly adding, “That is the way the courts operate—innocent until proven guilty.”

“They gave him bond, but it’s cash only. Wh-what do we do?”

“Stacia, I’m going to be frank with you. While your father and I have worked together harmoniously for many years, my firm isn’t the kind that represents…criminals. I’d be happy to make a few recommendations, maybe even make some calls for you, but that’s all I can do.”

My eyes fill with tears that overflow, trailing down my cheeks and rolling off my chin. “But…he’s…innocent.”

“Be that as it may, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you; our firm just isn’t equipped to handle this type of scandal.”

It takes my all not to tell this jackass how I really feel. After a semi-calming deep breath, I settle on, “Well, it’s a shame you feel that way, Mr. McMasters. I’d also like to remind you that our family can’t particularly handle this scandal either; especially when those meant to support us tuck tail and run. You have a nice day now,” I say, my voice hitching at the end.

As I sit and stew, my quiet crying morphs into full-blown, body-wracking sobs. An indecipherable amount of time and tears later, AJ comes into the room. “Oh, babe.” She drops down onto the futon next to me and draws her arms around me. “What’s going on?”

Through a sniffle, I ask, “Aside from my entire world crumbling?”

She hugs me tighter, silently offering me her strength, and while it helps, it doesn’t really help. Too bad hugs don’t magically turn into oodles of money and ace legal counsel.

Chapter Eight

West

As lame is it fucking sounds, the air seems less charged without Stacia’s presence; while the majority of the morning has passed quickly, these last fifteen minutes seem like they were dipped in molasses. Even down in spirit, the girl’s a fucking force to be reckoned with.

“What did y’all work out about her moving in?” Abby Jane asks, and I cringe.

“We’re still nailing down the specifics,” I say, keeping it vague.

My asshole cousin snorts out a laugh. “AKA she told you to kick rocks, and you’re worried my little firecracker is gonna tear you a new one for fucking it up.”