Overruled (The Legal Briefs 1)

“I changed my mind!” he snarls. Then he punches me in the eye.

My head snaps to the side, but I come right back, landing a solid right hook to his jaw, making my knuckles throb. We grapple and grunt, kick and punch. But within just a few minutes, Wayne and my father decide that’s enough. They snatch each of us by our collars, dragging us up, pulling us apart.

Panting, JD shakes off Wayne’s grip, but he doesn’t come at me again.

He looks at Jenny and bites out, “I’m done here.”

And the front door slams closed behind him.

• • •

After JD’s exit, Ruby announced the party was over and sent everyone home. Then she swore she was gonna put us all on Jerry Springer. Twenty minutes later I’m at the kitchen table, holding a bag of frozen peas on my swelling eye. Jenny sits on a chair next to me, while our daughter paces before us.

Presley stops in front of me. “We use our words to solve problems around here, not our fists.” She paces some more. Then she looks hard at Jenny. “And you’ve hurt JD’s feelin’s. You need to say sorry.”

We nod in sad unison.

Getting your ass chewed out by an eleven-year-old is no fun at all.

Presley shakes her head and wags her finger. “I’m very disappointed in both of you. I want you to sit here and think about your behavior. And next time, I expect you to make better choices.” With a final reproachful humph, she flounces away—leaving us to stew.

Silently, Jenny picks at her nails. It’s what she does when she’s worried, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess just what she’s worrying over.

“I’m sorry, Jenn. I didn’t mean—” I break off, because busting up Jenny and JD’s wedding was exactly what I meant to do. I thought I’d feel victorious—another check in the win column.

But I just feel shitty.

She rests her hand on my leg. “It’s all right, Stanton. It’s not all your fault.”

I stare at her. Waiting.

“All right, it is your fault. But I did my part too. If I had just told you from the beginnin’, let you get used to the idea, we wouldn’t—”

The front door slams open and a burst of wind surges into the house, blowing in leaves, little chunks of dirt, and . . . Jimmy Ass Face Dean.

Jenny stands as he walks into the room, hard faced and frowning. But there’s something else in his eyes.

Fear.

“You came back,” she breathes.

“I had to come back. To make sure you and Presley were all right.” He pulls her into his arms, and the Rottweiler is back in his cage. “There’s a storm comin’ in.” He looks up at me. “The tornado warnin’ is goin’ off—heard it when I got close to town. The radio cut out on the way back, but it sounded like it’s on track to hit here.”

Shit.

Tornado watches are pretty common in this part of Mississippi. We deal with them the way the East Coast handles a blizzard—with healthy caution and preparation—but no one really expects the Armageddon they show in the movies.

But a warning means a tornado has actually touched down. And if you’re in its path, that’s a horse of a fucked-up color.

At once, everybody moves—bringing in the lawn furniture, locking down windows. Not every farm has a storm cellar, but this one does. Jenny’s father grabs the first-aid pack from under the sink and we all gather in the kitchen, to head out the back door. But when I look around, my heart lodges in my throat, blocking the air.

“Where’s Sofia?”

I walk back through the living room, searching. I open the front door to check the yard—and have to brace my legs against a wave of wind that feels like God himself is trying to knock me on my ass.

“She went for a walk,” Ruby volunteers, her face pale and tight.

“When?” I yell.

“Awhile ago—before the fight. She walked out the back door and just kept on goin’.”

Pure, cold panic rises up my legs—like I’m sinking into quicksand. And a thousand horrific scenes go through my head. Sofia getting knocked down by flying debris, bleeding and calling my name. Sofia trapped under a fallen tree, her eyes lifeless. Sofia running, almost making it to the house . . . before she’s swept up in the monstrous gray mass. Gone, like she was never here at all.

Her name bubbles up in my chest and I clench my teeth to keep from shouting it.

I have to find her.

In the kitchen, I tell them, “Y’all go on—I’m gonna go get Sofia.”

“Daddy!” Presley throws her arms around my waist and I can feel her shaking. “Daddy, please come with us. Don’t go!”

Her terror, her need for me slices through my chest like a machete, cutting me in two. I kneel, looking into her eyes, touching her little face. And I put everything I have into my words to comfort her. “I’ll come back. I swear, Presley, I’ll come back.”

Her lip trembles.

I caress her hair and try to give her my smile. “We can’t leave Miss Sofia out there, baby girl. I’m goin’ to get her and then we’ll come straight back to you.” I look behind Presley to Jenny, who’s holding JD’s hand. And I know what I have to do.

I scoop Presley up into my arms, kissing her cheek. “You’re gonna be with your momma and JD. They’re gonna keep you safe.”

She hugs me one last time—and then I hand her over.

To JD.

I never saw myself giving my daughter into the care of another man. Never imagined a scenario where that would ever be okay. But there’s no jealousy, no urge to lay him out and snatch her back. I’m just . . . grateful that it’s not all on Jenny alone.

She murmurs to our daughter and nods at me, gratitude in her eyes. Like an omen, there’s a crash outside, snapping us out of the moment. My mother rushes everyone to the door. As JD goes to follow, I grab his shoulder, talking more with my eyes so as not to frighten the precious bundle he holds in his arms.

“Make sure you lock that door behind you. You

understand what I’m sayin’?”

Don’t wait for me, is what I’m telling him. Lock the damn door and keep it locked, even if I’m still on the outside—nothing touches them.

He nods, his face solemn. “Yeah, I get you, Stanton.”

I turn and cross into the living room.

“Hey, wait!” he calls. I glance back and JD tosses me a set of keys. “Your brother put shit tires on your truck—it’ll get caught in the mud. Take mine.”

I look at the keys in my hand, then back up at him. He nods. I nod. And that’s all there is to it.

Sofia was right when she said men are simple creatures. With this easy exchange, I’ve agreed not to stand in his and Jenny’s way, and he’s agreed to never give me a reason to kill him. Over and out.

I rush out the door and sprint to the truck. The stark reality that I have no idea where she is consumes me—pushes on my brain, threatening to crack it. I know the Monroe property as well as my own. If she went out the back door, there’s a good chance she’d be headed toward the cornfield.

Unless she turned around.

“Goddamn it!” I yell, hitting the steering wheel, trying to drive quickly enough to cover more ground, but still scan the fields for a sign of where she could be. The truck vibrates with the force of wind, and pea-size hail pelts the windshield. I think of her out in this weather, alone—unprotected. Is she cold? Is she scared? Every muscle in my body seizes up at the thought.

“Come on, baby,” I utter through clenched teeth. “Where are you?”

They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. I don’t know if that’s true. But I know for certain there’s a point when your fear for someone you care about . . . someone you love . . . becomes so intense, so paralyzing, that everything else fades away. And you’re consumed with thoughts of them: the way they laugh, their scent, the sound of their voice. Every moment I’ve shared with Sofia flickers through my mind, like a silent film. Sofia beside me in a courtroom, beneath me in bed, the days we teased and talked, the nights we moaned and sighed. And every image makes me crave more. More time. More memories. All the moments we haven’t shared yet, all the experiences we haven’t had, all the words I never said. I need them. I need her.

More than I’ve ever needed anyone. Anyone.

I close my eyes and pray a silent prayer, beseeching and begging. For another chance to do it right. To relive every second with her, to treat her with the reverence she always deserved.

To cherish her.

Please, God.

And when I open my eyes, I have to believe that God heard me. Because I see her in the distance—hair whipping, stumbling in the wind and on those four-inch goddamn heels. My first thought is: thank fuck she’s safe. My second thought is: I’m going to strangle her.

I drive up quick and the truck screeches as I hit the brakes a few feet from where she stands. The wind pushes and the hail pours down as I climb out of the truck, tearing my way to her. It bounces off the truck, pelts my face and shoulders in icy shards.

My voice booms louder than the wind. “Which part of the cattle are clusterin’ did you not fuckin’ hear me say?”

“What?”

And then I’ve got her. She’s in my arms, against my chest, warm and alive, being squeezed so hard she might not be able to breathe. But I can’t let go.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I pant harshly against her ear.

She looks up at me, wide eyed and so goddamn beautiful it makes me tremble.

“Don’t do what again?”

I push her hair back, holding her face. And my voice cracks. “Leave.”

I press her against me, clasping her to me, sheltering her with my own flesh and blood. My body sighs, my bones slacken with relief that she’s here and whole and safe.