Page 11 of Just Let Go

Grady shifted from one foot to the other.

“I don’t like it,” the judge said. “We believe in our business owners, and we expect their property to be taken care of and our people to be respected.”

Grady didn’t like how this sounded.

“You did neither of those things last night. I know you have plenty of money to make this little mistake go away, but then you’ll probably find yourself back in another courtroom just like this one in a few months’ time. From what I understand, this isn’t your first run-in with the law.”

“I’ve learned my lesson, Your Honor,” Grady said so lamely even he didn’t believe it.

“Not yet, Mr. Benson. But you will.” The judge leveled his gaze, focused on Grady like a hawk on a wire who’d just spotted a field mouse. “You’re going to help clean up the mess you made at Hazel’s Kitchen. That means not only will you pay for the repairs, but you will helpmakethe repairs. If you don’t know how to swing a hammer, son, it’s time you learned.”

“Your Honor, I’m not sure if you know who I am or what I do, but I’ve got a competition coming up, and I can’t miss it. If I do, I won’t have the points to qualify for the Olympic team.”

The judge’s eyebrows lifted. “Perhaps if you’d had a better weekend, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“But, Your Honor, there are only a few races left before the deadline.”

Judge Harrison narrowed his gaze. “I see. Well, you’ll have to find a competition that’s scheduled for after your five weeks here in Harbor Pointe.”

“Five weeks?” Grady’s tone turned on the verge of disrespectful. “What about my training?”

“We have a ski lodge just outside of town. I’ll allow you to train there. I’m sure the kids up there would love to spend some time with an Olympian.”

“Your Honor, this is a little unorthodox,” Grady said, despite Stuart’s hand that served as a warning on his arm.

“Well, then, I’d say the punishment fits the crime.”

“You don’t understand.” He had to be at that race. He had to win back his spot on the team. If he won, if he was fastest, Coach wouldhave no choice but to take him back—the fans would demand it. It wouldn’t matter that his technique was ugly or his attitude was hard. They’d put up with him—like they always had—because he was the best.

If he didn’t race, how would he prove it? It would just be that much tougher to fix his mistakes.

“I understand plenty. Which is why you should be thankful I’m offering you community service instead of dragging this out for months with a trial that could end up with you in jail.”

Grady lifted his chin as he took the judge’s point.

“Once you’re finished cleaning up the mess you made at Hazel’s, you’ll move on to other projects here in town. You’ll start with the restaurant, help with our upcoming Winter Carnival, and do whatever else we come up with for you to do. Total number of hours of community service, one hundred and fifty to be completed six hours a day for five days for five weeks. Should put you back on the racing circuit by—” he glanced down at what Grady could only assume was a calendar—“mid-January. I assume there will still be a race or two left.”

One. There would be exactly one race weekend left. He’d practically have to win it to get the points. No room for error. “Your Honor, that won’t leave me any time to train,” Grady blurted.

The judge’s eyes darted to Grady, who snapped his jaw shut.

“You’ll be released on bond, but if you leave the city limits for any reason other than training at Avalanche Mountain, you will be apprehended and the offer of community service will be off the table.” The judge eyed Grady. “So what will it be, Mr. Benson? A long trial that will end in jail time, given all the video proof against you, or community service right here in Harbor Pointe?”

Grady clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm.

“We’ll take community service, Your Honor,” Stuart said.

“Good,” Judge Harrison said. “I think that’s the smartest thing you’ve done in a long, long time.” He pounded his gavel, stood, and disappeared through the door where he’d entered.

Stuart turned to Grady. “I’d say that’s a win.”

If he wasn’t already in so much trouble, Grady might’ve throttled him. “A win? Are you serious?”

“You’re staying out of jail. That’s a win in my book.”

Grady raked a hand through his dark hair, hitting a bruise he’d undoubtedly sustained in his fight the night before.

The sheriff—Gus—strolled over as the reporters clamored toward the front of the room. “Best get you out of here,” he said.

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