Page 105 of Romancing the Grump
But Summer said it. And knowing how well she knows me, she said it with no expectation that I would say it back.
I don’t care what Felix says. I will never deserve her.
I also don’t think I can live without her.
On my other side, Mom lifts a hand and gently pats my shoulder. “I’m glad you made the trip up, Nate. I know it means a lot to your brother.”
Nate.It was what my dad always called me, so I was more than happy to leave it behind when I started with the Appies and everyone just called me Nathan. But there’s something nostalgic about hearing it now. There’s a warmth in Mom’s voice, a tenderness I’ve forgotten.
“Did I miss it?” my sister, Cassie, says as she walks toward us. “I thought that phone call would never end. The babysitter couldn’t find Allie’s meds, and I literally had to suggest fifteen different places for her to look. You know where she finally found them? On the counter,exactlywhere I told her they would be in the first place.”
I feel a twinge of excitement at the thought of seeing Cassie’s girls tonight. I don’t see them enough, and I’ve always had a particular soft spot for Allie.
“You didn’t miss anything,” Blake says. “We’re still waiting for the attorney.”
“Oh, good.” She looks at me and smiles. “Hey, Nathan.”
I stand and pull my sister into a hug. My flight got in late enough last night that I just grabbed a hotel room in Boston rather than making the drive up to Portland, and when I got to the courthouse, Cassie was on the phone, so I haven’t seen her until now. “It’s good to see you,” I say.
“How are you?” She lifts her hands to my cheeks, holding my face while she looks into my eyes. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks, little sister. Appreciate it.”
“Are you sleeping? Eating enough? Is the team working you too hard?”
“I asked him the same thing,” Mom says. “Without the swear word. We’re in a courthouse, Cassie. Show some respect.”
Cassie rolls her eyes. “It’s not a church. And no one’s going to arrest me for sayinghell.”
“There’s Franklin,” Blake says, standing up.
“We aren’t done talking about you,” Cassie says as she squeezes my arm. “As soon as all this is over.”
I ignore Cassie’s warning and focus on the attorney striding toward us. He’s tall and broad, with deep brown skin and a shrewd gaze. At first glance, he’s pretty intimidating, but when he smiles, his entire face shifts, revealing a warmth that immediately puts me at ease.
“Franklin,” I say, reaching out to shake his hand. “Nice to finally meet you in person.”
“Likewise,” he says. “I’ve already told you how big of a fan I am.” He shakes hands with Mom and Cassie, then leans in and gives Blake a hug. “How are you holding up?” he asks.
Blake nods. “Doing okay. Just ready for this to be over.”
“It will be soon,” Franklin says.
He gives us a quick walkthrough of what to expect once we’re in the courtroom. Given the new evidence from the neighbor’s ring cam that places Blake in the vehicle the entire time his friends were breaking and entering, combined with the affidavits speaking to Blake’s character and integrity provided by his hockey coach and his high school principal, the district attorney should move to drop the charges against Blake completely.
We hope.
Franklin keeps insisting there are no guarantees, but he doesn’t seem worried, so I’m taking that to mean the rest of us shouldn’t worry either.
The whole thing takes about fifteen minutes. For all the frustration and struggle we’ve dealt with over the past two months, it feels anticlimactic to have it all end so easily.
But just like that, Blake is free, his record clear. Like thewhole thing didn’t even happen. The judge admonishes Blake to choose his friends wisely and to always remember that guilty by association is stillguilty.Then we’re free to go.
For weeks, I’ve been walking around with this weight on my chest, this worry. And now it’s gone.
I turn and pull my little brother into a hug. He drops his head onto my shoulder and sniffs a few times, his whole body shaking. I squeeze a little tighter. IfI’mpractically floating with relief, I can’t imagine how he must feel.
“You’re all right,” I say. “You’re good. It’s over.”
