Page 11 of Unleashed

Sylvie’s mouth drops open. “You’re becoming a lawyer?”

I squeeze my fists under the table and force myself to engage. “That’s the rumor.”

Patrice scrunches up her face. “You mean to tell me you’re not one now?”

I stare at the table as I focus on the pain in my fist. “I’ve never given you that impression.”

“Yes, you did.” Uh, sure.

Rhonda asks, “What area of law?”

I look at Rhonda and smile. “Juvenile law.”

Shasta mumbles, “How fitting.”

I lean closer to her and whisper, “Let me know if you still think that’s funny when you’re scrubbing a Chipotle shitter.”

Patrice laughs. “Matlock for youngsters?” For fuck’s sake.

In my peripheral, Simone smiles, but when I look at her, she kills it and studies her pen-twirling.

Val says, “Rod will make an excellent attorney. I’m so proud of him.”

I grin. Hearing Val say that about me is humbling and exhilarating until Betsy admonishes her for calling me that. Jesus motherfucking Jones.

I grin at her confused horror, as if she detonated a bomb. The only bomb here is Betsy the turd. “It doesn’t apply to you, Val.” That woman can do no wrong. Ever. I’d request that name by itself on my tombstone if she asked. One name like Madonna. Pitbull. Jigsaw. Rod.

Grating noise consumes the remaining part of the meeting. I try not to stare at Simone, but it’s impossible. Everything we’ve been through. Everything we made each other feel. Her naked body against mine. Her waterfalls. Her passionate kisses. All of it raids my mind.

As soon as Brandon stops yapping, I jump up. However, Hadley grabs my arm and whispers, “Rod, come on.”

As usual, Brandon is clueless about any drama exploding around him and leaves the room. Shasta starts toward the door, but I snap, “Don’t think we’re done here, Montgomery.”

She sucks in her lips, and I wish they’d suck up the rest of her. I glance at Simone, who is gathering her folder and purse. We make eye contact, but Betsy soon hijacks it. “What’s the deal with you? Is it Rod or Greg? It seems to be that anything goes for everyone else!”

I avoid looking directly at her for fear of burning my retinas. With every ounce of patience and civility that I can pull out of my ass, I answer, “Don’t call me anything.”

I roll my eyes as Betsy squawks more. I push past her and head toward Simone, but I almost run over Rhonda. Steadying her, I mutter, “Sorry, Ronnie.”

“No problem,” she whispers with a sigh. Behind me, Hadley pleads with me to stop. I do, but only to block Simone’s path to the door. Simone and I face off, and there’s no anger or hurt for five seconds. Only questions. After receiving the annulment notice, I haven’t mailed, emailed, faxed, overnighted, sent a pigeon, smoke signals, or hired a messenger to deliver that letter I wrote to her in Durham. I removed the page in Eden’s diary and tucked it into the back pocket. I still remember every word.

When the initial shock wears off, Simone’s eyes harden, and she digs her blue nails into her green folder. “Can you move now?”

“Yeah, but I won’t.”

Val hurries over. “Greg, please let her get back to the hospital.”

“Mental? It’s about time.”

Simone mutters, “My internship, if you must know.” I always liked how her forehead wrinkled, and her lips quirked when irked.

No. I hate the hell out of all of her.

“I don’t.”

Simone shakes her head as she kills me louder than The Fugees. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

“I have more of a right to be here than you do.” Regardless of our painful breakup and my brain telling me to hate Simone, I miss her.

---