Page 23 of Come Break My Heart Again

Ryder’s case garnered a decent amount of news coverage seven years ago. Crime is common in the city. Not so much in Fernwood, Massachusetts. The local police force is made up of two middle-aged officers who spend most of their time settling arguments over lawn decorations or parking ordinances. His arrest fanned a lot of flames of the ongoing outrage regarding the trailer park in town, which made for some flashy headlines.

I skim the article that restates a story I have memorized. I was grateful for the amount of media attention back then. Desperate for details no one would tell me.

Now, it’s all reminders I don’t want.

“I remember that case.”

I startle, biting my tongue instead of the lower lip I was gnawing on. I quickly fold up the paper and stand. “Good morning, Mr. Kennedy.”

“Ian, Elle,” he corrects warmly as we shake hands.

Ian Kennedy is a longtime friend of my father’s. They attended Harvard Law together and have kept in touch since. He’s been a mentor to me since college, offering advice on studying for the LSATs, applying to law school, interviews, internships, and most recently, jobs. I’ve known Ian and his family my entire life. But his serious attitude, so similar to my father’s, has always made me act more formal around him.

I match his smile. “Right. Sorry. Morning, Ian.”

He takes the seat across from me and reaches for the newspaper I abandoned on the table. “I haven’t read today’s paper yet. Ryder James was the kid’s name, right?”

Hearing his name burns, like salt poured in an open wound.

“Right.” I tuck a wayward strand of hair behind one ear, hoping my tongue will stop throbbing soon. Praying that will be the end of the topic.

“I had some friends in the DA’s office back then,” Ian tells me. “They threw the book at that kid, and he landed Boyd as a public defender.” He snorts. “Would have been better off representing himself.”

I reach for my water and take a long sip, wishing I could cover my ears. Looking into Ryder’s case as a licensed attorney was a thought in the back of my head ever since I started law school. Before then, honestly. I knew he couldn’t afford to pay for representation. That he took a crappy deal.

My heartbroken seventeen-year-old self was in no position to do anything about it. Armed with a law degree, I could have.Ifhe’d let me represent him, which I doubt he would have. The rejection might have been worth it, to see the look on his face.

“Surprised it’s getting this much attention,” I say.

One article in a major newspaper isn’t wall-to-wall news coverage. But it’s more than most cases get. And it would have been a hell of a way to find out Ryder is getting released early if Nina hadn’t called me last week.

“Drug-related deaths have increased by twenty-eight percent in the past five years,” Ian says. “It’s a hot topic in the mayor’s reelection campaign. Half the city wants to crucify him for not doing more; the rest want to criticize him for ruining the lives of kids who get in over their heads.”

I nod.

Ian takes a sip of coffee. “He lived in Fernwood. Your paths ever cross?”

“The town is pretty segregated,” I hedge.

“Mmhmm,” Ian replies. He taps the paper with one finger. “Cases like this don’t help.”

“He’s a fucking Two, Elle. What the hell were you thinking?”

I push the memories from the past away, where they belong. “No, they don’t.”

Ian relaxes back in his chair. “So, how is studying for the bar going?”

“I’ve barely started,” I admit.

“That’s all right. You just graduated. You’ve got plenty of time.”

Ian and I talk for another hour, sipping coffee and discussing various legal topics.

And the entire time, I’m fighting not to look at the paper.

6

“What are the chances we’ll win tonight?” Juliet asks as she plops down on the grass beside me to stretch her hamstrings.

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