Page 57 of Truce: Declan
“Can I get an autograph for my kid?”
“Of course,” I say. “Although I don’t have anything to sign, or a pen.”
When we pull up at a traffic light, he hands me a pad of paper and a pen. “Maybe we could take a picture when we get to your stop?” the cabbie asks. “My son would love that.”
“Sure.” I force a smile.
The radio in the cab, a local news station, rattles off the weather report. Another cold and bitter day tomorrow, followed by a chance of snow.
“What were you doing at the police station?” he asks, glancing at me again in the rearview. “Helping out a friend? I heard you guys did a food drive last winter at the police station on the north side.”
The radio station’s reporter gives an updated newscast featuring yours truly.
In other news, Noah Reece, a professional hockey player for the Ice Dragons, was arrested and released after child abuse allegations from his newly acquainted girlfriend. More on the story up next after these messages.
“You were arrested?” the cabbie asks and shifts uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. His hands remain on the steering wheel, his grip tight.
“I didn’t hit my son, his stepdad did that, but no one gives a shit about my side of the story. Can you change the radio station?” I grumble and fold my arms across my chest.
When the cabbie drops me off, he doesn’t get out for that picture that he requested, and I’m pretty sure I saw him ball up that autograph I did for his son and toss it on the floor of his passenger side.
My reputation has been ruined, all from one lousy phone call and an allegation for a crime that I didn’t commit.
I’d sooner put my life on the line and walk in front of a speeding bus than let anything happen to Zayn.
How could Charlotte not realize that about me?
I head on up to the address that my lawyer gave me. It turns out it’s his condo, not his office. He lets me in, and we have a brief discussion on the following steps to get Zayn and how the process works.
“I need you in front of the cameras after your hockey game.”
“Why?” I ask. I hate the media. Everything about it makes my skin crawl. There’s also zero chance the interview questions will be about the hockey game. They’re going to bombard me with the arrest, the allegations, and the fact that I have a kid and haven’t been around for him, never mind the fact that I didn’t know he existed.
It will inevitably be my fault because that’s the way the news works.
“Are you telling me that Grant isn’t going to be spinning this a hundred different ways to make you look bad?”
He’s right. That’s why I hired him, because he’s the best. It doesn’t mean I’m happy with his advice. “Fine.”
“And do me a favor, look happy about it. You want people to like you, because that judge will see and hear things that can’t be forgotten. Even if they swear not to rule based on media information, everyone’s biased, even when they don’t intend to be.”
“Wonderful,” I say and force a smile.
“Just think, Noah, you’re doing this for Zayn.”
* * *
After I get home from the lawyer, I need to unwind. My mind is racing, my heart won’t stop pounding, and I’m desperate for a shower after spending time in that prison cell.
Did that murderer, the Russian, get out of prison?
I’m not worried that he’ll find me. I’ve got no issue with him, but somehow, I’m the center of the news story when he’s the one who pretty much admitted to murdering a man.
And I’m the innocent one.
Celebritydom at its finest. This world is fucked up.
I toss my phone on the bed and strip down for a nice, hot shower. It’s not as relaxing as I’d like, with my thoughts racing and my anger simmering regarding Charlotte.
