Damaged Goods (Don't Call Me Hero Book 2) (17 page)

“At least five years.”

“Has it really been that long?” Julia’s tone reminded me of forced conversation at a family reunion—when you’re cornered by an estranged relative and feel obligated to be cordial.

The woman leaned against the bar, her bright green eyes focused on Julia’s face. It made me feel invisible. “What are you up to nowadays? Last I heard you were a city prosecutor some place up north.”

Julia fiddled with the stem of her glass. She looked nervous, uneasy. “I’m actually back in town now. I’m working for a small firm in Minneapolis.”

“Really?” The woman’s voice pitched in volume.

Julia hummed. “And yourself?”

“I stayed with Grisham and Stein after graduation. I’m about to make partner.” She laughed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Finally.”

“Congratulations,” Julia said stiffly. “It sounds like you’re doing well for yourself.”

I watched the other woman’s gaze settle onto the untouched glass of champagne. “Are you celebrating something?”

Julia pushed the glass farther down the bar, readily dismissing it. “Oh, that’s nothing.”

“Well, this was a fun surprise,” the woman said, straightening. “We should do it again when I’m not running off to meet with a client.”

“Indeed.”

Despite the other woman’s words, there was no exchange of phone numbers or any other kind of contact information. The two said their goodbyes, and as abruptly as this woman—Melissa—had disrupted our conversation, she was gone.

I looked down to the beer bottle cradled in my hands. I had unknowingly peeled away the paper label and had shredded it beyond recognition.

I tried to school my features as Julia would have. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, releasing nagging feelings of inadequacy and doubt along with it. “Mind explaining what that was?”

“Melissa Ferdet. We went to law school together.”

“You didn’t introduce me,” I couldn’t help but point out.

“That was rude of me, I’m sorry.” Julia raked her fingers through her hair. “I suppose I was too rattled by Melissa’s appearance to think about it.”

“And why would that be?” I wondered aloud.

Julia ignored my question. She slid off her bar stool and retrieved her suit jacket. “Come on, Marine,” she coaxed. “It’s time to take me home.”

She retrieved her wallet and tossed a stack of money on the bar top. I followed her outside, unreservedly aware of the glass of champagne that was left behind.

My brain refused to quiet as I followed Julia on my bike back to her apartment. I couldn’t help feeling dismissed, with Julia ignoring my existence when that woman had shown up, much as she had the glass of champagne. The longer Julia had gone without introducing me or including me in the conversation, the more self-conscious I had become. I probably looked like a stranger eavesdropping on their conversation.

There had been something off about Julia’s interaction with that Melissa woman, more so than two people who hadn’t seen each other in years. More troubling, here was a woman who was in Julia’s class. I had always known she was out of my league. Julia and I couldn’t have been more mismatched. What happened when she got bored of slumming with a city cop who suffered from night terrors?

By the time I reached her apartment, I was ready to explode.

I stood in the threshold of her bedroom while she changed out of her work clothes. “What aren’t you telling me about that Melissa person?”

Julia stood before her clothes bureau, removing her jewelry with care. “What do you mean, dear?”

“You were too
rattled
to introduce me?” I recited her earlier excuse. “I’m not buying it. I’ve never once seen you not in control.”

Her dark eyes flashed. “I was embarrassed,” she growled. “Is that what you want to hear?”

My mouth opened and closed. “Wow. I thought that was the case, but I didn’t think you’d have the balls to actually admit it to my face.”

“What? No.” The anger drained from her features. “Oh, Cassidy. Darling, no. Nothing like that. I wasn’t embarrassed about
you.
I was embarrassed because of
me
.”

My brow furrowed in contemplation. I couldn’t fathom what she’d have to be embarrassed about.

Julia hung her head and her strong, proud shoulders slumped forward. Despite how angry and hurt I felt, it made me want to go to her.

“This isn’t how I imagined my life turning out,” she rasped. “Estranged from my family. Working with snot-nosed law students to get the sentences of petty criminals reduced. Honestly, Cassidy, you’re the only thing in my life that I’m proud of.”

I swallowed hard. I’d sorely misjudged the situation.

“That can’t be true,” I gently assured her. “You’re the most amazing, accomplished woman I’ve ever met.”

Julia slowly shook her head. “Melissa and I were in the same year at law school. We were top of our class, got the same competitive internships. She’s going to be partner at one of the top criminal defense firms in the city, and what do I have to show for all of my work? I couldn’t even tell her I was a public defender, that’s how much of a coward I am.”

“Baby,” the word of endearment slipped off my tongue before I could rein it back in. “You’re amazing. You’re smart and strong and the hardest worker I know. If being a public defender makes you so unhappy, why not find something else?”

“But that’s the thing. I
am
happy,” she insisted. “I know I complain about my co-workers, but I’m so fulfilled doing this work and helping people who might otherwise get lost in the shuffle. So when it comes to the Melissa Ferdet’s of the world, why do I feel ashamed of what I do?”

“Does it ever bother you, defending people who’ve committed a crime?”

Julia frowned. “These aren’t high profile cases. My clients didn’t murder, rape, or commit armed robbery. And with the exception of when I defended my father, they’re not white-collar criminals who embezzled millions of dollars. These are petty crimes that most of them most certainly committed. But it’s my job to see they get a fair trial and an even fairer sentencing. Did you know that the average public defender client receives five more years of incarceration than someone represented by a private lawyer?”

“I’m sorry.” I hung my head in guilt. “It’s Mendez. I told him about your job, and he got in my head.”

“You must have thought about it before though; we’re not working on the same team anymore.”

Her words reminded me of the conversations I’d had that day.

“I talked to David Addams. He said he’d look after your mom, but he doesn’t think I should be helping you. He doesn’t think I should have forgiven you about what happened with your dad in Embarrass.”

Julia’s next words were carefully chosen. “And what do you think?”

“I think he makes a good point. But at the same time, I don’t think you had much of a choice. He’s your dad—what were you supposed to do? Let him rot in jail?”

“It hasn’t escaped my notice that if I’d done that, I would have gotten custody of my mother.”

My stomach lurched. I hadn’t considered that.

“It’s all I’ve been able to think about since the trial. If I hadn’t defended him in Embarrass, my mother would be under my care.” She licked her lips. “I do believe this is what’s called Karma. I seem to have received my comeuppance.”

“But you’d probably still be living in Embarrass,” I pointed out. “Would you have wanted that?”

“I’d still be city prosecutor,” she said, although that didn’t answer my question.

“What about you?” she turned the question on me. “If I hadn’t defended my father and used inside information to win my case and you’d successfully sent my father to prison, do you think you would have stayed in Embarrass, too?”

“I honestly don’t know. I enjoyed myself in Embarrass—obviously you were a big part of that—but also people like Grace Donovan and David Addams. Hell, I even kind of miss my breakfast buddy, Franklyn. But I wouldn’t have been able to run from my PTSD forever. It would have only been a matter of time before I had to move back to a city big enough to have resources that could help me deal with this.”

“Then you’ve answered your own question.”

“Which one?” I’d lost track.

“If I would have wanted to stay in Embarrass. If it would have made me happy. The answer is no.”

“No?”

“Because Embarrass wouldn’t have had you, Cassidy Miller.”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. The corners of my eyes felt damp. “You certainly have a way with words, Counselor.”

CHAPTER TEN

I was an anxious wreck the morning Pensacola was slated to come into town. I rambled around Julia’s apartment, half dressed for the day with a toothbrush sticking out of my mouth. I hadn’t felt so out of sorts since my first date with Julia. I couldn’t understand it. Pense and I had a great relationship. We’d drifted apart somewhat since returning to the States, but that was no reason for my stomach to be performing acrobatics.

“You don’t have to come to dinner tonight,” I announced.

Julia sat drinking her morning coffee on the couch in her living room. “Do you not want me to meet your friends?”

I spit the toothbrush out of my mouth. “No, of course I do. I just mean if you had to work tonight, I’d understand.”

“I’ll be there, Cassidy.”

I smiled, albeit a little sheepishly. “Okay. What’s the name of the restaurant again?”

Julia had made the recommendation and reservation after convincing me that my friends could appreciate dinner conversation anywhere but at a sports bar, which was my go-to spot, especially considering that Pense’s wife was pregnant.

“L’étoile Blanche. It means ‘white star.’”

“Can you spell that?”

“Probably not,” she chuckled. “Look in my phone. It’s in my work bag,” she said, gesturing to the black leather satchel that hung from the back of a dining room chair. “I’ve got the address under the letter L.”

I rummaged around the smaller pocket at the front of Julia’s bag. I found a pack of gum, but no phone. Inside the bag’s main pocket I was met with an equal lack of success. Sandwiched between two case files was a hardcover book whose binding was stamped with the inked logo for the St. Paul Public Library. Curiosity momentarily distracted me from my quest for Julia’s phone. I pulled the book out of the bag:
Surviving PTSD
.

“What’s this?”

Julia hummed from the living room. “What’s what, dear?”

“This book,” I said, holding it up for her to see.

“It’s research,” she said simply. “You’re not the only one in this relationship that’s affected by PTSD.”

“Sorry to be so much trouble,” I shot off.

“Cassidy,” she frowned, “you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You don’t have to do this, Julia,” I said, shaking my head. “You don’t have to settle for damaged goods. I’m not like one of your clients you have to fix.”

Her eyes narrowed as she gave me an incredulous look. “You think that’s what this is about? That I get off on so-called
fixing
people? That I see you as a project?”

“I don’t know what to think about it,” I admitted. “I don’t know why you’d go through all the hassle.”

“If my motives are unclear, then you’ve sorely underestimated how much I care for you.”

“Is this how you show someone you care?” I said, feeling myself getting angry all over again. “By sneaking around and reading about PTSD behind my back?”

Julia leaned forward in her seat. “The last time I checked, there’s no law against educating yourself. And I was hardly ‘sneaking around.’ I invited you to look in my work bag.”

I didn’t have a ready retort to her logic. I imagined this was probably going to be a repeated occurrence in all of our future arguments—I would overreact and fly off the handle and she would calmly try to talk me down by being maddeningly reasonable.

“I’m going to be late for work,” I scowled.

The indignant anger faded from her features. “Cassidy, don’t leave like this,” she pled. “You shouldn’t start your day being angry.”

I worked the muscles in the back of my jaw. “I don’t have much of a choice.”

+ + +

I met Private First Class Terrance Pensacola during my second tour in Afghanistan. I was in my fifth year of enlistment, and he was green. We were stationed at Camp Leatherneck in the Helmand Province of Afghanistan, which had been transferred over to the Afghan Armed Forces shortly after I returned to the States. When Pensacola had been assigned to my team, I’d kind of taken him under my wing. I had no natural maternal instincts, but there’d been something about the gangly kid from Detroit that reminded me of myself even though physically we couldn’t have been more different.