Page 89 of Do You Take This Man

“SHE LIVES!” BRITTA’Ssmile filled my screen later that night, though her voice was hushed.

I winced and glanced at the clock on my wall. It was after ten, and I hadn’t left the office all day. “Sorry, is it too late?”

“No, just give me a minute.” The phone fell to her side, and I listened to the bedding rustle and then heard Wes’s muffled, sleepy voice. “It’s RJ. I’ll be in the living room,” she said softly.

“Hi, RJ.” The end of my name trailed off, and I imagined Weshad already gone back to sleep. Minus three friend points for not thinking before calling at ten at night.

“Sorry,” I said when she held the phone to her face again, their living room in the background, the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her. “I forgot he has to be up so early.”

“He’s already back to sleep. He’s been getting up early to train with Cord. Lately he’s passed out by nine.” She pushed a curl off her face, eyes bright. “I don’t think he even fully woke up. What’s going on? Haven’t talked to you in a few days.”

“It’s been a week.” That was an understatement. “You remember I told you I was on a big case?”

“Sure,” Britta said. “Something happen?”

“I’m off the case.” No one enjoyed making their client mad, but it was chilling when Dina’s anger turned to me specifically, hearing her accusation that the spectacle of the weddings on the side had taken my focus and attention from her case. When I talked with Eric, he told me more details. I had asked him to, but every new piece of information was an added papercut.

“I know you can’t give details, but are you okay?”

The breath that escaped my lips was shakier than I wanted, and my chest felt tight.

“I’ll rephrase,” Britta said, searching my face on the screen. She, Kat, and Del always joked about how I lawyered them—made use of silence and a stony expression to get them to talk—but Britta never needed to do anything to get me to talk. “Tell me why you’re not okay.”

“It’s stupid,” I said, pulling in another breath I wished were steadier.

“Okay.” Over her shoulder, a framed photo of Britta and Wes hung on the wall, taken after a race. They were both sweaty and smiling ear to ear, holding up matching medals. Theirs was the only love story I had total faith in.

I’d seen the photo a hundred times, telling her I appreciated cheering from the sidelines when she invited me to run with her. They were so happy together, and they just seemed to get each other. I’d thought I had that with Lear, that maybe there was a possibility he was worth taking a chance on. “It’s a hit at work, but I think it will be okay eventually. I have to quit the weddings early, but I can live with that. I liked the weddings, but I love the law.”

“So why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

“I’m not about to cry,” I said, my eyes prickling with budding tears.

“Okay.”

“I don’t cry.” She was my best friend, so she knew that wasn’t true, especially since two teardrops trailed down my face as I said it.

“I know.” She gave me a half smile. “Tell me what’s going on. Do you need me to fly to North Carolina to kick someone’s butt?”

I laughed, wiping at my face. “Wouldn’t you just send Wes?”

“Nah, I’m way tougher than he is. Is this about the guy?”

Lear’s razor-sharp, perfectly aimed words from the wedding came back to me like ice water. “That’s done.” I gave her the highlights, ending with him calling me out as cold and heartless.

Britta listened, continuing to search my face while I spoke. “So,” she started, tucking a curl back into the scarf around her head. “You fell for him.”

“Rookie mistake... I knew better than that.”

She rolled her eyes and ignored my cynicism. “And let me guess. Then he didn’t call, and you didn’t call, and you both ended up resentful?”Maybe Britta is the one who should be in the courtroom.

“I can’t speak to how he feels.” Though of course I could. His voice had dripped with resentfulness. “He said I enjoyed making him feel small, that cold is my default setting.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way...”

“No one says that before anything nice,” I pointed out.

“They don’t.” She brushed a curl back that wasn’t there, her nervous tell. “You’re good at making people think that’s true. You only let people see the emotions you choose to show them, so the people in your life don’t always know how deeply you feel. In that way, you’re a good liar. It’s always worked for you as a defense mechanism before, I think.”

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