She sits up and stares at me like she doesn’t recognize me.
“You rotten bastard!”
And you know how the rest of that conversation went. She takes a swing at me, I toss her clothes out the window, etc., etc.
• • •
“Now listen up, buttercup.”
I look down at her beautiful, infuriated face, locking my eyes with hers.
“I’m falling in love with you.”
Kennedy goes completely still beneath me.
And I shake my head. “No, I am in love with you. When I look at you, think about you, I can’t decide if I want to fuck you, strangle you, or just hold you in my arms. Usually all three. And if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I don’t give her the chance. “You’re everything I’ve been searching for, before I even knew I was looking. I pushed the plea deal because it’s the right thing to do for the case—and because I’m terrified if I win you’ll hold it against me. And I already have so much to make up for.”
Her chest heaves, like she’s sprinting—and in her head, she probably is.
“Let me up, Brent. Let me up right now.”
I release her wrists and climb off, sitting next to her, my leg hanging over the bed. Kennedy sits up, but doesn’t move from the space beside me. I can practically see the wheels spinning in her head.
I tuck her hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to say anything back.”
It’d be fucking nice if she did—but she doesn’t have to yet.
When she speaks, she focuses on her folded hands in her lap. “This is all happening so fast.”
“I know. It’s fast, but it’s real, Kennedy.” I take her hand. “We are real.”
She stares at our hands, but doesn’t hold mine back. It lies like a weight in my palm.
“I care about you, Brent—you must already know that. I don’t . . . I don’t know if I have it in me to love you. I’m not sure I’m capable of it. I dreamed about being with you for so long . . . and then, after school, I let that dream die. Cremated it. Buried it. Sunk it to the bottom—”
“Yeah, thanks—I get the picture.”
Her eyes tighten. “I think . . . I like it buried, Brent. It makes everything easier. My relationship with David and the relationships I had before were easy. I could enjoy them and then move on when they were over, because they didn’t affect me. They didn’t alter my life or who I am.”
I think about Waldo and frozen ponds.
“You like skating the surface.”
Her forehead wrinkles, not understanding. So I clarify.
“If you never dive in the deep end, you never have to worry about drowning.”
She nods slowly. “Yeah. It’s like that.”
Kennedy withdraws her hand and stands up. She rubs her eyes and sighs. “I’m going to go home and think, okay?”
Am I disappointed? As fuck.
Beaten? Not a chance in hell.
I know where she’s coming from—more than she’ll probably ever understand. And like I said before, I’m patient. I’m relentless.
I don’t believe for a second that she’s incapable of loving me. There’s too much passion between us—so much feeling. I think she might even love me already.
I just have to help her see it.
Kennedy faces me, her posture taking on a more professional air—even though she’s still gorgeously bare.
“And there’s not going to be a plea deal. I’m sticking to the plan I have. If I change that now, I’ll always wonder if it was because it was the best choice for the case, or because I let my feelings for you sway me.”
I nod, resigned but not really surprised.
“Okay.”
She picks up my shirt from the bed, starts to slide her arms in, but I hold up my finger, stopping her. Then I open my bedroom door and there, in a neatly folded pile outside of it, are Kennedy’s clothes. Like I knew they would be.
Kennedy chuckles a little when I pick them up and hand them to her. Then she calls out into the hallway, “Thank you, Harrison.”
I should really pay him more.
We’re both quiet as she gets dressed—minus her bra. Just can’t bring myself to feel bad about that.
Then she approaches me, reaches up on tiptoes, and kisses me softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She will. It’s our final matchup. Our Battle Royale. And when it’s done, only one of us will be left standing.
• • •
“I call Justin Longhorn to the stand, Your Honor.”
Justin adjusts his navy tie, smooths his hands nervously down his tan slacks, and takes the stand. After he’s sworn in, he looks at me and I give him an encouraging nod.
“How are you doing, Justin?”
He swallows hard. “Not so good.”
I gesture around the courtroom. “It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? How quickly the legal system can move . . . swallow you up in its cold, hard machinery?”
Kennedy rises. “Does Mr. Mason have a relevant question for the witness, Your Honor?”
I glance back at her—eyeing her sweet legs beneath her dark blue skirt. “I have several.”
“Let’s get to them, then,” the judge nudges.
“Yes, sir.” I look back to Justin. “How old are you, Justin?”
His voice is small and squeaky with youth. “Seventeen.”
“Do you have any interests? Hobbies?”
“Pretty much just computers.”
I walk him through his childhood. How his interest began with Xbox games and Game Boys, then escalated into online gaming and coding. How he became friends with anonymous posters on message boards, which led him to secret chat rooms where hackers gather. And there he developed his hacking skills. How they would brag about their accomplishments, always trying to impress and outdo each other.