“Next week? How in the hell did she get a hearing that soon?”
Court cases usually take weeks of depositions, hearings, mediation, and getting court dates. Not a week.
“Guess the courts aren’t too busy out there in Hicksville,” he says snidely. “Not enough land disputes and baby daddy drama, I guess.”
“It’s not that bad.” I try to defend Williamson County, but he cuts me off.
“Just keep your paperwork and evidence tight, Blake. We can get a drink afterward and discuss your future in the company.”
I hear the truth. If this case goes well, I’m set. Maybe I’ll even get opportunities for bigger and better contracts that would mean I’m not constantly chasing new clients and business, filming commercials with Amy in corn fields.
If it doesn’t go well, I might as well let the children of the corn take me because I’m as good as dead either way.
“Sure, Frederick. Sounds great.”
* * *
The phone rings in my ear for the third time.
Why isn’t Zoey answering my calls?
This isn’t exactly something I can put in a text. I hang up and dial again, but an incoming call interrupts me. It’s a number I don’t know, but something makes me answer it.
“Hello?”
“Blake, it’s Zoey. I’m on Jacob’s phone.”
“Okay. What’s wrong with yours?”
That’s a relief because at least she’s not avoiding me. I’d started to get worried she was ghosting me, scared once again and retreating into her fears after I did so much to chase her out of them.
“Nothing, but uh . . .” There’s a pause, and I can feel her desire to say something.
“What, Zoey?”
“Did you get . . . have you seen . . . uhm, how. Was. Your. Day?”
The intentional directness of the question is obvious, and I realize she wants to talk about the same thing I need to talk to her about. But she wants to see if I know anything first.
“Are you talking about Yvette Horne’s lawsuit?” I ask.
A whoosh of air releases from her, and relief floods her voice. “Oh, thank God. Yes, and what the hell? And what are we going to do?”
I get the feeling her mind is spinning and she could ramble on and on with more and more questions.
“Nothing,” I reply simply.
“Nothing?”
“Well, not about the lawsuit. That’s between Yvette and Everlife, but—”
“I can’t see you anymore,” she blurts out.
“What?” Shock fires through me, hot and cold all at the same time.
“I mean, not until after the court hearing.”
Okay, that’s a little better, but . . . “Why? That has nothing to do with us.”
Us.
I like the sound of that. I’m finally one half of a couple, like Amy and Fernanda or my mom and dad. It feels good.
“It does, though. You’re named in the suit with Everlife, and I’m named as a witness. For the claimants.”
My heart stops, and I can’t help a little bit of anger filling my voice. “What? Why?”
It’s a stupid question, but I’m dumbstruck as I realize she’s right. In a criminal case, defense and prosecution witnesses being together would be a conflict of interest, but—
“Does that even matter in a civil case?” I’m reaching for straws, but she’s worth the risk.
“I don’t know! Maybe? Probably? I’ve never been called to court before, and I can’t fuck this up,” Zoey says with a sigh. At least this isn’t about her getting scared, but the retreat is the same, reaffirming that being with me holds some danger. Even if it’s legal risk, not life or death. “Especially if I want Jeff to look into Richard’s death more.”
I can’t help it, I growl at the idea of spending even a single day without her. “I see.”
Zoey sighs miserably again. “It’s about our careers. I can’t chance anything putting my professional reputation in question. Not when the whole county would love to see me fail. Not that they’d have luck getting anyone else to do what I do.”
Bitter doesn’t sound good on her, but I wouldn’t want her to lose the one thing she’s always done with pride.
“I have never been more tempted to break the rules, say fuck it to right and wrong, and do whatever the hell I want. A rebel with a cause . . . you.”
At least that gets a warmer chuckle. “Aww, you’re sweet. But you’re no rebel, Mr. Hale.”
“I could be,” I argue, knowing she’s right.
“I could be too, but it’s not who we are. And I like who you are,” she tells me, and I can hear how much it scares her to admit that.
“I like who you are too.” I sigh in resignation. “Okay, I’ve been waiting for you for weeks. Hell, longer that than if you count when I was looking for the mysterious figment of my imagination woman who’d get turned on by my reading Oprah’s Book Club books to her. I guess one more week without you won’t kill me.”